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7372
RED BADGE
DETECTIVE
DODD
MEAD





SUDDEN DEATH
by Lee Thayer
The body of Marvin Hayden was discovered in his
own library, dead from a bullet wound in his head. The
pistol was undoubtedly his. The Medical Examiner tes-
tified that the shot could have been fired by his own
hand.
But the old butler, Gillespie, scoffs at the idea of sui-
cide. He knows what he knows. ". . . Caught red-
handed. Yes l The two of them together. And blood
on his hands l Let them squirm and lie. The truth will
out. Even if Mr. Valentine did drag in the smart red-
headed detective, Mr. Peter Clancy. But of course he
wanted to protect his sister. And if she was in it, so
was Mr. James, mind you. And no one but a man's
own old faithful servant to see that justice was done!
The master never killed himself, mark you. His sudden
death was not suicide but—MURDER!"
Lee Thayer's latest is a thrilling and fiendishly in-
genious story—the mystery of the minute. Read the first
few pages and you will be unable to put it down.
By the Same Author
THE THIRTEENTH FLOOR
HELL-GATE TIDES
THE SECOND BULLET
DEAD STORAGE
ETC.


Would You Like to Know
how RED BADGE book* are selected?
Each year, hundreds of detective-story manuscripts
are submitted to the literary editors of Dodd, Mead
and Company. From these only a very small number—
ten or twelve at most—receive the coveted Red Badge
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If you would like to receive this eight-point test
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449 Fourth Avenue, New York


SUDDEN
DEATH
By LEE THAYER

RED BADGE
DETECTIVE
DODD
MIAD
DODD, MEAD & COMPANY
NEW YORK
1935


Copyright, 1935,
By DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY, Inc.
AH rights reserved—no part of this book may be
reproduced in any form without permission in
writing from the publisher.
PRINTED IN THE U. 8. A. BY
<fiumn & IBoben Compattp, 5nc.
BOOK MANUFACTURERS
R A H W A Y. NEW JERSEY


To
Eleanor Talbot Smith
WITH THE PERMANENT AFFECTION
OF THE AUTHOR





SUDDEN DEATH
i





CHAPTER I
"I killed Marvin Hayden."
The words forced their way through clenched teeth.
The man's narrow, highbred face was thrust forward. His
breath came unevenly. There was a strange, almost
fanatic glitter in his eyes.
In blank amazement, Captain of Detectives Kerrigan
stared across his office desk. He glanced at the small
correct bit of engraved pasteboard that lay upon his
blotter.
"Mr. Douglas Evarest," he read aloud. "Do you mean
me to believe—"
"I have waited too long already." The man's thin sen-
sitive hands were pressed down hard and flat on the pol-
ished oak of the desk top. The arms looked as rigid as
rods of iron. He cleared his throat as if it hurt and added
with somber violence, "I am giving myself up. Surely I
make it plain."
"But, Mr. Evarest—" Kerrigan rose slowly to his
feet. His swivel chair oscillated queerly with the uncer-
tainty of the movement—"I can't understand. It doesn't
seem reasonable. I mean, you know, the only information
the police have in regard to you is that you played bridge
at the Haydens' night before last. Gillespie, the butler,
told us that, but there was nothing—"
"How could Gillespie know that I came back Sunday
i


2
SUDDEN DEATH
night—later—and killed Hayden?" Evarest spoke with
a strange sort of desperate clarity.
"Killed him? How?" Kerrigan's glance was cool and
incisive.
"Shot him. With his own pistol." The answer came
promptly but Evarest's hps were dry, and as he closed
them in a hard straight line, the muscles of his throat
contracted visibly.
"You could have read those facts in the papers yester-
day or this morning, Mr. Evarest." Kerrigan's tone was
grave but curiously gentle. "The district attorney's office
isn't having any secret sorrows about this case. You
could also have read of the arrest—" He suddenly
reached out, switched on all the lights and turned to fix
the other with his keen, slightly bulging eyes. "You're
maybe a friend of young James Hayden?" he asked
quietly.
Evarest started back. "I—why, yes. Of course. I—"
He stopped suddenly, with a strange, angry, baffled ges-
ture.
"In which case," said Kerrigan, still mildly, "if you
really are guilty of the murder of his father, do you mind
telling me why you have let so much time go by before
you showed up here?"
"Put it down to cowardice if you like," said Evarest
with a bitter half smile.
Kerrigan studied the man's scholarly, determined face.
"Maybe you were putting your house in order as they say
in books. Was that it?"
"If you prefer," Evarest agreed. "I had some neces-


SUDDEN DEATH
sary arrangements to ".
“Wait a second.” Kerrigan threw up his hand impa-
tiently, for the buzzer on his desk was sounding with im-
perative intermittent insistence. “Take a chair, Mr.
Evarest. I'll be with you— What?” He spoke into the
instrument. “Oh. Well, tell him— No. Put him on."
There was a slight pause, then Kerrigan said, "No.
Where are you? Oh. I might have known. And the
kid with you? ..." An instant of silence in which the
police detective chuckled grimly. "Oh, yes, I know
you're the original little Bright Eyes—and perhaps-
All right, your honor. Maybe I could use an extra pair
of brains. Come on in. What? Bring the kid? Hold
up. I'm not so sure. Wait a second.”
Not for an instant had Kerrigan's searching glance
wavered from the tense strained face of the self-accused
murderer who fronted him grimly. Now he dropped his
voice. “Mr. Evarest."
“Yes?” The man's eyes seemed to focus with diffi-
culty.
“Did you ever hear of a chap-name of Peter Clancy?”
Evarest shook his head. "I don't—don't think so.
And yet the name”
"He's a private detective. Not on the force, you un-
derstand, but between you and me he's damn clever.”
“But I don't need—or want—".
“Just so.” Kerrigan nodded wisely. “But I do. See?
I've never found it profitable to turn down Peter Clancy,
so if you don't mind I'd like to have him in. He's out-


SUDDEN DEATH
side now.”
Evarest frowned. “I suppose it must be,” he said dully.
“Whatever you say. I'm ready."
Kerrigan lifted the telephone instrument and then low-
ered it again, keeping it in his hand. “What do you
know about young Berkley, Mr. Evarest?” he asked
hastily.
“Val? Mrs. Hayden's brother Valentine?"
“Yes. Must be an enterprising kid. Seems he's en-
gaged Clancy's services. He's out there with him now.”
“Not here!”
“Yes. Clancy wants to bring him in. Do you mind?”
The face of Douglas Evarest was like a white mask
through which dark burning eyes gazed blankly.
"It must be, I suppose. What does it matter?” he said
hoarsely.
Kerrigan spoke a few words into the telephone. A
minute later the door opened.
"How are you, Jake? Oh, I beg your pardon.”
Kerrigan watched the strong homely face of his un-
official colleague with eager interest and some amuse-
ment. It was good to see Peter Clancy taken aback.
The identity of Kerrigan's visitor had been made in-
stantly plain, for young Berkley had spoken the other
man's name in a startled tone as he came through the
door.
“Douglas Evarest! What are you doing here?” The
young voice was rough with apprehension. "Did Emily
send you? Has anything new happened? Oh, God ..."
He came forward, his face, sensitive, untried and undis-


SUDDEN DEATH
ciplined, working oddly.
Kerrigan's voice sounded firm and unemotional as hard
rubber. “Mr. Evarest, my-er—unofficial friend, Peter
Clancy. Sit down, Mr. Berkley. We have some interest-
ing news.”
"Did Emily send you, Douglas?” insisted Valentine
Berkley. "For Heaven's sake, tell me what's happened.”
"You're worried about-your sister, Mr. Berkley?" ob-
served Kerrigan, glancing keenly aside at Peter Clancy.
"Naturally he would be,” Peter answered for his new
client. “The shock of her husband's death was a terrible
thing for Mrs. Hayden.”
"She was bearing it O.K. when I saw her yesterday,"
Kerrigan said, not unkindly, though Clancy thought he
detected a hint of hidden sarcasm. “Your sister has good
strong nerves, Berkley. Not many women as young as
she is could show so much self-control through a long,
grilling day, and after such a night.”
Douglas Evarest had dropped back into his chair. He
was clutching the arms. His head was thrust slightly
forward and he coughed twice without seeming to know
that he had done so. His strained febrile glance flashed
from one face to the other without an instant's pause.
Clancy bent his red head as he carefully ground out the
end-of a cigarette in Kerrigan's ample ash-tray, but his
steel-blue glance took in every detail of the scene.
“You won't find many girls like my sister,” Berkley
retorted, sharp upon the end of Kerrigan's remark.
“She's Oh, well. You wouldn't understand.” The
boy was in his early twenties and might well be forgiven


6
SUDDEN DEATH
the emotion he apparently could not entirely control. He
dashed his hand across his face in a gesture as pathetic
as it was dramatic. "At any rate I mean she shan't be
bothered; do you see, Captain Kerrigan? I found out
through Reggie Van Loo about Mr. Clancy and he's
agreed to look out for—for everything—and—"
"That's all right, Berkley," Clancy interrupted quietly.
"Captain Kerrigan has some news for us already, I think.
Something that hasn't gotten into the papers, Jake?"
"Well—er—yes." Kerrigan glanced aside uncertainly.
"And for the benefit of all concerned I propose we keep
it to ourselves for the time being. I'd a whole lot rather
the district attorney's office didn't get wise until—well—
until we've had time to check up a bit."
"Looks like Updegraff sure was trying to make char-
acter with the proletariat on this case," remarked Peter
Clancy. "For an assistant district attorney, he's made a
big enough splash on the front page to-day to suggest he
might have political ambitions. Been stealing your thun-
der, Jake?"
In Kerrigan's throat some indistinguishable profanity
rumbled, then he said: "It's not my habit, as you're well
aware, Pete, to invite the press to take orchestra seats
before we know what the play's about. But Mr. Upde-
graff and that man of his, Inverness, have their own
methods. Inverness has talked aplenty and so has Up-
degraff. And even before the medical officer got his re-
port in—"
"Hold on, Jake," Clancy interrupted swiftly. "Of
course I don't know anything first hand—except what


SUDDEN DEATH
physical possibility."
"I was sure of that much from the first,” said Kerrigan,
addressing Clancy, but with an oddly compounded side
glance at Douglas Evarest. “Whatever Updegraff may
contend, the fact remains that the body of Marvin Hay-
den was discovered in the man's own library, and that
the weapon used, according to the ballistician, was un-
questionably his. There are witnesses to prove that the
pistol had fallen within reach of his hand. He was shot
... at close range ... through the head. From the
nature of the wound”-Kerrigan's expression was grim
with the details he withheld—“no powder marks would
have been visible in any case.”
"It did-really-look like suicide?” gasped Evarest,
white to the lips.
"And if it did, Mr. Evarest"_with a thrill of excite-
ment Kerrigan watched Peter's intent face as he sprung
his trap—"will you still assert that it was you who killed
Marvin Hayden?”


CHAPTER II
"Douglas! Youl But how utterly—" Valentine Berk-
ley started to his feet. "Why, you left the house before
eleven Sunday night. And it wasn't until much later
that—"
"Yes. Yes, Valentine. I know," Evarest interrupted
thickly. He looked as if he were about to faint.
Clancy put his hand on the shoulder of his young client.
"Mr. Evarest is a great friend of your family, isn't he,
Berkley?"
The boy looked up into Peter's serious, clever face.
"Yes," he answered at once.
"A very close and old friend of James Hayden—and
of your sister?"
Valentine's dark brows drew together sharply. "Of
James Hayden. Yes. Of course. We—my sister and I
haven't known him so long. Only since she married—Mr.
Hayden. About two years ago. But we are all—very—
good friends." He spoke slowly, staring down at Douglas
Evarest's bent head.
"Maybe I ought to say in so many words"—Kerrigan
looked from the boy to Clancy and then back again—
"that Mr. Evarest came in here of his own accord a few
minutes ago, and in no uncertain terms confessed to the
murder of Marvin Hayden."
"But why—" began Valentine.
9


10
SUDDEN DEATH
"Skip it for the minute," Peter interrupted crisply but
with an apologetic gesture. "I'd like to ask Mr. Evarest
a question, Jake. May I?"
"Sure." Kerrigan nodded.
"Did you know, Mr. Evarest, that even when a man
confesses to a crime it is necessary that he prove his
statements?"
"Why?" Evarest bit his lip as he bent his startled
glance on the face of the red-headed detective. "In a
case—as serious—as—as murder—I should think it would
be enough—"
"But it isn't." Kerrigan spoke definitely. "You see,
Mr. Evarest, a good many of us have heard of you in
various ways. It's quite easy to understand that your
researches have been along very different lines from what
Clancy's and mine have been, and that it is quite likely
you weren't wise on the point that Clancy has just brought
up. Now that it has been brought up," he repeated, "how
do you propose to prove that it was you who shot Mr.
Hayden night before last?"
"I—" Evarest coughed, and had to begin again.
"Wouldn't a description—of it—be enough?"
"It would have to contain facts that had not appeared
in the papers." Peter spoke with grave insistence. "And
if, Mr. Evarest, it turns out, as seems quite possible ac-
cording to the last accounts, that the presumption of
suicide is sufficiently strong to clear James Hayden when
he appears in the Homicide Court to-morrow morning—
would you then wish your accusation of yourself, just
made to Captain Kerrigan, to stand?"


SUDDEN DEATH
II
.
“Suicide," Evarest exclaimed in a hushed voice. "If
suicide can be proved-proved "
"Then you withdraw the confession you just made to
me.” Kerrigan nodded sagely. "You see, Mr. Evarest,
yours is one of the cases that makes it necessary to get
more proof than a man's own word for his having com-
mitted a crime. We're in our jobs to see that justice
doesn't miscarry, not even when”—he cleared his throat
-"when a chap would make a try at giving his life for
a friend."
“But you mustn't-you mustn't think that,” Evarest
broke in uncertainly.
"If you believe that there's a chance it can be proved
to be a case of suicide,” Kerrigan retorted shrewdly, "it's
a cinch you didn't fire the shot yourself, Mr. Evarest. A
child could see that. It's clear enough why you said you
did. You see why, don't you, Mr. Berkley?"
The boy's extraordinarily handsome face had gone from
white to red and to white again. His soft, rather full
lips were trembling. “You did it to make certain—to
protect”
"Hush,” said Douglas Evarest sharply. “There
mustn't be a shadow of suspicion of-of-anyone. I'd
far rather die than have"
“ 'It is a far, far better thing that I do than I have
ever done,'" quoted Valentine, with a strange, half-en-
vious glance at Evarest's drawn face. The young voice
gave to Sidney Carton's immortal words their full meas-
ure of expression. “It is a far, far better rest that I go
to-"


12
SUDDEN DEATH
"Oh, stop," cried Evarest, repudiating with a shocked
gesture a drama of statement naturally unbearable to a
scientific mind. "You don't know what you're talking
about. I'll—"
Kerrigan had put his heavy hand on Evarest's shoulder.
"You go home, sir, and get a good rest," he said quietly.
"I know very well you'll be on hand if we need you. In
the meantime, there's no one wise to what's just happened
but us four." He looked hard and steadily at Valentine
Berkley. "I'll ask you to give me your word, Clancy,
that you'll keep absolutely mum. And you, Berkley?
Thanks. For every reason in the world, we can't have a
leak. You understand? Very good. They'll call you a
taxi, Mr. Evarest." Kerrigan had opened his office door.
"Thank you for coming," he added in an ordinary tone.
"I think everything will be all right."
"What do you mean—everything will be all right?"
Valentine retorted with nervous heat as the door closed
behind Douglas Evarest. "How can it possibly be all
right, Captain Kerrigan?"
"It wouldn't be satisfactory to you then," countered
Kerrigan, "if it could be proved that your brother-in-
law shot and killed himself?"
"Well, but—" Valentine started and then stopped short.
"Maybe you think Mr. Hayden wasn't the kind of a
man who could do it," Kerrigan suggested shrewdly. "Is
that what you were going to say?"
"Don't put words in my client's mouth, Jake," warned
Clancy, smiling briefly. "Given the necessary state of
mind, anyone could commit suicide—"


SUDDEN DEATH
"Just what I was going to say," Valentine broke in
with sudden eagerness. "And if Mr. Hayden really did
for himself it makes Douglas look rather the fool, doesn't
it?" His short laugh had little mirth in it. The two
older men watched him curiously. Becoming conscious
of their scrutiny he flushed again as he added: "Of course
Douglas is all kinds of a swell—every way—and he
doesn't often make a play to get into the limelight."
"You think that might have been his object in this in-
stance?" Peter studied the young face still, though he
was apparently intent only on the cigarette he was light-
ing.
"It makes a great scene," Valentine argued with an
unconscious lift of the head as if he, himself, were play-
ing a noble part. "It would make a great hit with—I
mean—if—if anyone ... If Jim Hayden were to find
out—and he's almost sure to, sooner or later—"
"How could he?" Peter interrupted. "We've all
agreed—"
"And you think Douglas would never mention it him-
self—later—when it was safe?" Valentine interrupted in
turn. "Well, maybe he wouldn't but you must know the
world well enough by now, Mr. Clancy, to realize that
it would be a temptation to a good many men to let their
—er—friends know how much of a sacrifice they'd be
willing to make. However, I don't think Douglas put on
a very good show. He didn't fool you for a minute, did
he, Captain Kerrigan?"
"You could have done it better, I suppose," grunted
Kerrigan with a half frown.


14
SUDDEN DEATH
The boy's head jerked nervously. "If I'd thought of
it," he said in a queerly contemplative tone, "I believe
I could have made it-more convincing.”
"At least you were in the house,” said Kerrigan. “You
wouldn't have been called on to explain how it was pos-
sible for you to be on the scene of the murder when all
the doors and windows were found locked. It certainly
isn't to be supposed that Mr. Evarest had a key. Wish
I'd thought to ask him how he intended to explain that
circumstance."
“I think you ought to be satisfied with the way you
made him back water as it is, Jake.” Peter had not
missed a word of the previous dialogue. "However, it
seems to me that this attempt of Evarest's to shoulder
the guilt presents several other questions of interest.”
"Yeah?” Kerrigan made no attempt to disguise his
willingness to be enlightened
"Well,” said Peter judicially, "you brought up one
point yourself. If there is a doubt in Evarest's mind
that it might be a case of suicide-not murder—then, as
I think you expressed it, it's a cinch he isn't guilty. On
the other hand, if it was-murder-and an innocent man
takes the blame—then it's equally a cinch that the finger
of suspicion points very definitely at someone to whom
he is more than commonly devoted. And it is very much
on the cards that he might have reason to believe that
the suspected-er-friend-cannot prove his innocence."
"Is actually guilty of the murder," Kerrigan corrected.
“That's what you mean. No question about his thinking
just that. Kind of a shame to turn the tables on such


SUDDEN DEATH
a—such a character as Mr. Evarest. I've always heard
these high-grade, first-chop modern young scientists were
pretty dumb when put up against the ordinary things
of life."
"Ordinary?" cried Valentine. "Good Heavens, Cap-
tain Kerrigan, how can you call the murder—or suicide—
of a man of Mr. Hayden's position 'ordinary'?" "I
"Rich or poor, high or low, it's all in the day's work
to laboring men like Clancy and me," observed Kerrigan
without heat. "Maybe what would excite us to spasms
would be to be told about some swell family of billionaires
that was all turtle doves together and didn't want to grab
one another's yachts and wives and divorced children.
Of course I daresay there are some, but they don't
exactly come our way." After which explanation Ker-
rigan allowed his broad face to intimate that he had a
few other more important matters on his mind than in-
structing Gilded Youth.
Peter Clancy rose with great promptness. "I only
dropped in to get your official sanction, Jake," he said,
"and to pick up any crumbs you might be tender enough
to let fall. Hope you won't mind if we now carefully
remove ourselves."
"You're going over there, I suppose." Kerrigan fol-
lowed them toward the door.
"I thought I might as well—in any case."
"Sure," said Kerrigan. He gravely responded to young
Berkley's "good-bye." At the door he touched Clancy's
arm and gave a quick jerk of his thumb over his shoulder.
Peter said: "Oh, Jake. About that Whittaker rob-


z6
SUDDEN DEATH
bery— Excuse me. I'll be with you in a second, Berk-
ley," and drew the door shut. "What is it, Jake?"
"What do you make of this situation, Pete?" Kerrigan
asked in an abrupt but carefully lowered voice.
"I believe there's more than one person thinks we're
doing with a case of murder," Clancy answered with some
indirection.
"You've said it." Kerrigan passed his large blue hand-
kerchief across his forehead. "God knows I wish we
could make it suicide. Save a lot of work. But if all
this gang of well-wishers comes barging in—"
"What about this young Berkley, Jake?" Peter broke
in earnestly. "Give it to me straight. Have you any-
thing against him? I wouldn't have a client of mine—"
"Take it easy, old scout. The kid has a gilt-edged
alibi. Sound as the rock of Gibraltar."
"So I inferred from what he told me. He's a queer
one—but—interesting and artistic, don't you think?"
"I don't draw my little wages for thinking along those
lines." Kerrigan frowned. "Personally, what they call
temperament gives me a pain in the epiglottis. Take that
to Wiggar when you go home."
"You bring it yourself," urged Peter. "He'll love it.
Dine with me. Can't you? Promptly at seven. And we
can talk. I mean you can and I'll sit at your feet."
"Says you!" Kerrigan retorted with unmixed scorn.
"Yes. I'll make it if I can. You'll maybe have found
out something by then that you'll want to get off your
chest. Get rid of your client though, so we can talk
free. Adios."


SUDDEN DEATH
17
"I'll do that," said Peter cheerily, opening the door.
Valentine was standing close outside, drawn up like a
soldier on guard. He gave the detective of his bow and
spear a searching look as he fell into step. Kerrigan
watched them curiously as they crossed the outer office
and passed into the hall side by side.


CHAPTER III
Peter Clancy stepped into the waiting limousine. Berk-
ley followed. A handsome young chauffeur in spotless
fawn-colored livery closed the door. The front glass was
tightly shut so that Peter was, to all intents and purposes,
alone with his young client. As they started, the detec-
tive sank back among the luxurious broadcloth cushions
and observed carelessly: "Your brother certainly did him-
self well in the matter of cars. I don't know when I've
seen anything richer or more beautiful than this one."
"Brother?" Berkley instinctively repudiated the im-
plied relationship. "Mr. Hayden had no taste. I picked
out the upholstery and the ebony gadgets to go with some
sables and things of Emily's."
"Oh," said Peter quietly. "Then it's your sister's
car?"
"Yes. A Christmas present. Not last Christmas.
She's had it over a year. Getting on for two."
"It still seems in a fairly good state of repair for such
an antique." Peter responded to the scorn in the boy's
voice rather than to the words. "Mr. Hayden— You
still called him that?"
Berkley nodded shortly.
"To his face?"
"Yes." The reply was sharp and bitter. "Why not?
He was years older. Fifty-eight. I think I told you."
18


SUDDEN DEATH
19
"And your sister isn't so very much older than you.
Twenty-nine you said. ..." Peter, quietly meditative.
"He would have been very much in love with her no
doubt."
The boy's averted face was sullen. "He was.”
Peter felt the words to be significant. The use of the
past tense meant more than a reference to the immediate
past he shrewdly inferred, but he made no such observa-
tion aloud. Rather, he repeated the words, guilefully ac-
centing the pronoun as if he had understood the other to
have done so. "He was? Do you mean- Perhaps I
shouldn't mention it, Berkley. Stop me if I'm being in-
discreet. But as man to man—when there's as much
difference in age as that—there are likely to be other-
differences.”
“What are you getting at, Clancy?”.
“Well” Peter glanced up at the red traffic light that
had stopped them at Twenty-third Street. “_If Mr.
Hayden was more in love than-his wife-and he de-
spaired of winning her-after two years—it would be a
strong reason to believe that he was in a state of mind
to kill himself.”
"Oh,” said Berkley with a sharp little gasp. “That. I
see.” He turned to look into the detective's plain, pleas-
ant face. “You think suicide is the best bet, Mr.
Clancy?”
"For all concerned, Berkley. Don't you?”
“Would it be the most advantageous to my sister?"
The boy flushed darkly as he put the counter-question.
“That's what I care about, Clancy. I don't give a damn


ao
SUDDEN DEATH
about the others."
Peter blew a smoke ring and shot a swift arrow of a
glance through its center. "In what way might it not be
the best solution for her, Berkley?" he asked with a sym-
pathetic concern that was as appealing as it was flatter-
ing. "You have formed some ideas about that. I wish
you'd tell me just what they are. To get the best results
I must depend largely upon your knowledge and observa-
tion."
"Well, I should think it fairly obvious," said Valentine,
bending eagerly forward. "Would it be a credit to my
wife—a feather in her cap, or quite the reverse—if I
wanted to kill myself?"
"I didn't know you were married," Peter murmured.
"What? I? Well, of course not. I was only putting
it— See here, Clancy, I don't care to have it talked
about—accented, you know—Jim's coming back unex-
pectedly last night— I don't want anyone to think . . .
If suicide can be proved without dragging Emily in, well
and good. That would be swell. But if it's necessary
to make it appear—" He broke off as the car swung from
Fourth Avenue into Twentieth Street and continued east-
ward. "Oh, we're nearly there and I wanted to say—
There's so little time in a motor. It's here and then it's •
there. What was I saying?"
"I think I caught the drift of your ideas," said Peter
kindly. "You're very fond of your sister, Berkley, aren't
you?"
"Ra-ther. Why, Clancy, she did it all for me. Can't
you see? Can't you understand—"


SUDDEN DEATH
31
"What?" The flash of Peter's eyes was like the swift
unsheathing of a dagger.
"Oh, my God," groaned the boy, catching Peter's arm.
"I don't mean— No, Clancy! Not that! It is that she
married old Hayden mostly on my account." The words
came in swift jerks. "My future . . . People don't pay
—one can't make money with the things I like to do. I'd
spent—a lot. I believe she liked him. I'm sure she
did—at first. She told me. She said she wouldn't marry
him else. I—I tried to believe. I did believe her. But
afterward—"
The car swift and silent had made the necessary turns
around the railed oasis of Gramercy Park and now drew
up noiselessly before one of the old great houses on the
north side. The chauffeur at the door stopped the words
on the boy's lips. Turning to Peter, "Come," Valentine
said shortly, and took out a key as together they went
quickly up the spreading brownstone steps.
Peter was familiar (as what dyed-in-the-wool New
Yorker would not be?) with the imposingly restrained
facade of the old Marvin mansion that had come down to
the late incumbent through his mother's family, together
with the scarcely less impressive line of ships that had
-founded the family fortune in the days when steam was
little more to the towering East Indiamen than a pleasing
accompaniment to the tea which was one of their reasons
for being. With the coming of steam and the develop-
ment of South American trade the old romance of the sea
had materially abated, and in Marvin Hayden the chief
interest in the present line of coastwise freighters had


22
SUDDEN DEATH
been wholly financial. This much was common property.
The extent of the fortune that his astuteness had amassed
was understood to be well up in the nine-figure class.
As Peter watched Valentine Berkley's nervous and im-
patient manipulation of the lock, he wondered how this
vast fortune would be divided and what changes would
come to the stately old house in which Marvin Hayden
was born—and in which his shattered and defaced body
had been found.
Someone had heard Valentine's key in the lock and had
come to the door as the boy threw it open. A young
footman trod upon the large feet of a uniformed police-
man as they both stepped back somewhat precipitately.
"Mr. Berkley," the footman murmured to the officer
on guard. "He lives here you know. You'll have to let
him—"
"Are you telling me my business?" The cheeks of the
policeman were expanded apparently to make it possible
to encompass the smile that he turned upon the red-
headed gentleman whose face could be seen above Val-
entine Berkley's slender shoulder. "How are you, Mr.
Clancy. Begorra, I haven't laid eyes on you since—"
"Never mind when, Murphy," Peter cautioned with a
grin. "No use raking up that job."
"I'd never be surprised if you found more answers
than you told the teacher, sir, just the same." The eld-
erly Irishman dropped his voice. His keen little eyes
twinkled. "I hope you're in on this—though it looks like
a clear case enough."
"Of suicide," said Peter. While the footman relieved


SUDDEN DEATH
them of their outer things, his eyes had been busy. His
ears, too. He was quite sure that he had heard a move-
ment in the back of the spacious drawing-room that
opened on his left. The drawn curtains of the front
windows shut out the evening glow, but there was a light
burning in the far end of the room. He could see it
shining along the edges of the tall carved fireplace di-
rectly opposite the door.
"That's all, Hopkins." Valentine had heard most of
the short conversation between Clancy and the officer.
Too anxious in his own mind to pay much heed to the
matter of it, the manner gave him added confidence in
his cleverness in securing the services of the private de-
tective. The regular police showed none of the antagon-
ism that some of the boy's rather sensational reading
would have led him to expect. He took Clancy eagerly
by the arm and drew him a few steps away. "What do
you want to do first?" he asked.
There was no further sound from the unseen end of
the drawing-room but the light continued to burn.
"Who's in there?" Peter spoke quietly, indicating by a
slight gesture.
"I don't know." Valentine shook his head. "The
police? Or possibly—"
"Your sister?" Peter supplied as the other hesitated.
"Well, it might be. But—"
"I'd like very much to have a few words with Mrs.
Hayden if you think she would consent to see me."
"I've told you the whole story." Valentine frowned.
"Is it necessary to trouble her? She's had a terrible


24
SUDDEN DEATH
time. You can't imagine how-how awful it's been.”
"I can form a pretty good idea, but if she is down-
stairs—” Peter suggested.
Valentine bit his lip and then with a quick jerk that
gave to his hair the flash of dark wings, he started for-
ward. “I'll ask her," he said.
As the boy vanished, Peter moved a few steps nearer.
The thin shoes he habitually wore fell soundless upon
the thick rugs. Murphy stood close to the front door.
The footman had disappeared beyond the end of the
great staircase that, rising from the rear of the hall, came
forward to a landing and a balcony. Peter could dimly
see the carving of the balustrade and the rich hangings
that obscured the upper flight of stairs.
For an instant he stood there listening intently. Then
he heard Valentine's voice, raised almost in protest. The
few syllables that reached his ear removed from him
every trace of hesitation. He entered the drawing-room
at once.
Valentine turned to him swiftly. "It's only Douglas,"
he said. "Here before us. Did you tell Emily "
"I only came to bring a few flowers.” Evarest's face
showed pale but calm in the softly shaded light. He mo-
tioned toward a square purple and silver box that stood
unopened on the carved teakwood table. "Emily's up-
stairs. She doesn't want to see anybody. I was just
going.”
"You wanted to make character—to tell her” Val-
entine broke off half ashamed as he caught the look of
pain on Evarest's thin scholarly face. “Well, anyhow,


SUDDEN DEATH
25
most any man would.” The tone was grudging but apol-
ogetic. "Would you like me to take the flowers up to
her?”
“Or send Hopkins. Just as well. Valentine"
“Yes.”
"If there's anything I can do. Anything. Jim will
be freed. He must be. In the morning. But the hours
in between ... For all of us ... Emily and "
“Don't!” cried young Berkley fiercely.
Evarest drew in a sharp breath. "Emily and you,” he
finished determinedly. "You are so much to her, Val-
entine, my boy. Be with her all you can.”
“Er-yes, yes, Douglas. Of course." Berkley turned
with Evarest and went with him toward the door.
Peter did not follow. Something on the table beside
the unopened flower box attracted his attention. A small
object. Perfectly normal in its surroundings. A half-
smoked cigarette, crushed but still smoldering, in a cloi-
sonné ashtray. A man, waiting, would naturally take a
cigarette from the box there. . . . Peter did so medita-
tively. It was almost a mechanical action-natural to
any man. Nothing peculiar about the fact that here was
an abandoned cigarette-except that the paper at the un-
lighted end of it was unevenly tinted a pale, bright car-
mine.


CHAPTER IV
Peter sent Valentine Berkley to take Evarest's flowers
to Mrs. Hayden and to inquire whether she would not
grant him a short interview. Believing that the boy had
already imparted all that he knew—or was willing to tell
—of the tragedy, Peter felt freer in his absence. Almost
immediately thereafter the detective went out into the
hall where he found Murphy in earnest converse with a
slight inconspicuous man in a superlatively tailored chauf-
feur's uniform. At Clancy's appearance, like magic the
smart military cap and long braided top-coat were re-
moved and the man stood forth in the correct indoor garb
of the upperest of upper servants. Neither the long coat
nor the charmingly striped trousers that it served almost
to hide were, to the chauffeur side of Wiggar, an answer
to prayer. Only his devotion to his master made the
compromise possible and he never laid aside the slightly
incongruous portions of his habiliments without a touch-
ing though silent pean of thanksgiving. As he appeared
now, so would he fain appear, if convenient to an all-
wise judge, on the last great day. With the dignified
consciousness of a perfection that, like a good wine,
needed no bush, he approached his master. "I think I
have everything you may. require, Mr. Peter." He pro-
duced an elegantly finished pig-skin bag that he had mo-
mentarily deposited in the shadow of a large chair.
26


SUDDEN DEATH
»7
The young footman who had responded with consid-
- erable promptness to Wiggar's ring at the bell, had wit-
nessed the preceding metamorphosis with an admiration
amounting to awe. Something told Hopkins that to serve
under a general like this would be a liberal education.
He stepped forward alertly to take the suitcase, but Wig-
gar waved him aside with an expression that might well
become a priest in the event of some mad and presumptu-
ous acolyte's having presumed to offer to relieve him of
the monstrance.
Peter's observant eye caught the by-play, although
part of his mind had already preceded his body through
a tall dark closed door in the wall opposite the drawing-
room. A brief and restricted survey of the arrangement
of the lower floor had determined the fact that a spacious
dining-room occupied nearly the whole of the rear and
was reached through arched double-doors opening into
the back part of the drawing-room, as well as through
an inconspicuous one in the dark panelling of the hall
behind the foot of the great staircase. From the size of
the other apartments Peter concluded that there probably
was but one more on this level: the library: the room in
which Mr. Hayden had been found—dead.
From the moment of his entrance, like a lode-stone,
this library had drawn his thoughts. Here was to be the
beginning, if not the end, of his quest. He now had a
pretty shrewd idea of what was supposed to be required
of him, though it had not been put to him in so many
words. But Peter Clancy took no man's money unless
he was able to give entire satisfaction, and at this min-


28
SUDDEN DEATH
ute, as he opened that dark door, he wondered grimly
what the chances were of his being able to satisfy bis
young employer.
"Hello, Dillon. What? Still on the job?" Peter
paused an instant on the threshold.
"Oh, it's you, Mr. Clancy?" The finger-print expert
looked up without surprise or enthusiasm. "Yes, the
boss wanted me to do this check-up and I was busy all
day yesterday on that Holtzberger case." His harassed
and tired glance took in Wiggar, who was closing the hall
door. A pained expression flitted across the face of Adam
Dillon. "You and your man Friday won't find much, I
guess," he added in a tone that halted between disgust
and a grudging respect.
"We won't find anything that you haven't. I know
that, Dillon," said Peter with flattering emphasis. "I
only had a couple of seconds with Captain Kerrigan and
he hadn't time to tell me it was you he'd put on the case
or I wouldn't have had to bring Wiggar to help me out."
He was glad to be able to speak with some degree of
sincerity. Dillon was actually very clever in his own
line. A good technician, but not overburdened with logic.
It is one thing to see and quite another to realize what
it is you are looking at. Peter's eyes travelled swiftly
about the room. Standing quietly at attention just inside
the door, Wiggar's glance followed that of the master as
if it had been a flashlight, illuminating as it passed.
From the large fireplace opposite, along the book-lined
walls it flashed, paused for a brief instant at a closed door
in the rear wall, then on again, completing the circuit of


SUDDEN DEATH 20
the bookcases and stopping once more at the three long
windows that formed a flat bay toward the street.
"What about those curtains, Dillon?" Peter asked,
turning his head but not his eyes in the direction of the
busy expert. "Were they found like this, do you know?"
"The whole confounded works is just as was, Mr.
Clancy," Dillon asserted irritably. "You know Captain
Kerrigan. It's much as anybody's life's worth to move
anything till he gives the word."
Peter knew someone on the police force had made cer-
tain that the French windows were securely locked on
the inside. He guessed that it was Kerrigan and if so
the chances were that the curtains had been as little dis-
turbed as possible. Those on the two windows farthest
from the hall hung close together in heavy, straight folds.
The remaining pair, however, showed a long slit of city
twilight between them.
"Were you here, Dillon, before they moved the body?"
Peter had advanced quietly to the centre of the room.
He stopped near the corner of a long library table and
stood looking somberly down at a priceless Samarkand
dyed now with a crimson more precious to the late owner
of that house than all his vast possessions. ... A shat-
tered vessel never to be mended. Wine spilled unto the
day of judgment. . . .
"I was not. Worse luck," grunted Dillon. "Would
have been a lot more satisfactory if I had been. And
to-day the district attorney's been butting in every little
while. He thinks he's got swell ideas. Up to date and
all of next week, if you ask him."


SUDDEN DEATH
3*
"Bet you'll find a bottle of Roger & Gallet's violet
perfume on Hayden's dressing-table if you'll go and look,"
Peter asserted. "Mind if we handle these other things
now, Dillon?"
"No," the technician acceded grudgingly. "I've printed
and photographed the outfit for Kerrigan. I suppose
you've got the old man's O.K. to go the limit as per usual.
You'd ought to get back onto the force, Mr. Clancy, and
be official."
"It would cramp my style," Peter grinned. He was
mentally cataloguing the small, obvious lot of personal
effects before him. Besides the two handkerchiefs, the
cigarette case and little match box, there were only a flat
pencil in a gold sheath, a few keys hung on swivels in an
elegant little leather case, two tiny gum-drops or some
such candy, carefully folded in waxed paper, a small ob-
long of white tissue paper, slightly crushed, and a very
much crumpled paper of a stiffer quality.
The last Peter unfolded gingerly. "A bridge score,"
he remarked. "Emily. V. Evarest. Self. Hum-m-m.
And 'Self was finding it hard sledding."
"They were playing bridge. And it was Sunday
night," exclaimed Dillon, with unexpected virtue.
"Maybe it was a judgment on them. You can't afford
to trifle with the ten commandments."
"The punishment for breaking the Sabbath might seem
a bit excessive," Peter murmured mildly. "Did Kerrigan
figure out what this bit of tissue paper was?"
"I don't believe he had much time to work out any-
thing with Inverness and Mr. Updegraff buzzing around.


31
SUDDEN DEATH
What is it?" Dillon's curiosity was at last aroused.
"You tell him, Wiggar. It's up your alley."
"Thank you, sir." The chauffeur-valet's face was ex-
pressionless but a light flame burned warmly in his sub-
merged consciousness. "It would seem to be the bit of
tissue that is customarily inserted between cards—calling
cards."
"Same here," Peter agreed, and with an untamable boy-
ish impulse that he could never entirely overcome to show
off before an intrigued audience he added, "The pencil is
imported, Hardmuth. The keys belong to a safe. The
little candies are probably cough drops or something like
that, and Hayden was in evening dress—dinner coat and
black vest. Am I right, Wiggar?"
"Quite so, sir."
"Then you've seen the body." Dillon turned up his
nose, which seemed unnecessary as it already showed a
definite upward trend.
"I have not," Peter asserted. "Is it in the house?"
"Yes. Upstairs. But if you really haven't seen it,
how did you guess—"
"I didn't. I knew. So did Wiggar. Simplest thing
in the world. In a business suit any man would have
had twice as many gadgets as these in his pockets. He
would have had a case for his cards instead of having
tucked one or two into his vest pocket. No cards left.
He was at home. This little hunk of tissue paper shows
wear, so it must have been in that pocket some little time.
A white waistcoast would probably have been to the laun-
dry. And besides, full dress is hardly required for a small


SUDDEN DEATH
33
family game of bridge."
"Yeah," Dillon agreed. "Sounds easy. Guess I'd a
figured it out for myself if I knew as much as you two
do about the house tricks of this kind of folks. Some
class, all right." He stood back to view his own handi-
work and then began to arrange his camera.
Peter, avoiding the sinister stain on the rug, went
quickly around to the other side of the table. "Was this
drawer open?" he asked, looking closely at the faint
smudges of white powder over which Dillon had been
working.
"Don't you ask a whole lot of unnecessary questions,
Mr. Clancy?" The expert sniffed as he replied. "Of
course it was open. Just that much and no more. Ker-
rigan said to take particular pains with it."
"Naturally," Peter muttered. He stooped and through
his glass was studying the fine lines of whorls and ridges
with deep attention.
"When you're all done"—Dillon's voice was edged with
sarcasm—"I don't want to hurry you at all, Mr. Clancy,
but if you'd get out of the way a minute I could take
the pictures and as they're the last I wouldn't mind to
be getting along onta this."
"Excuse me, Dillon." Peter stepped back. "I was all
steamed up over the beautiful way you've made those
prints show up. Never saw a neater piece of work. Ker-
rigan told me you were good, but—" His encomiums
were cut into by a report and a burst of light. This was
twice repeated and at the end Dillon turned a suddenly
appeased countenance. "You can get back and study
■


34
SUDDEN DEATH
those prints as long as you like now, Mr. Clancy," he said,
smiling. "I'm through."
"Thanks." Peter's glance had flashed to the door. "I
suppose they're used to the racket you make with the
light," he remarked. "Must be a bit trying though.
Sounds too much like a pistol shot to be very comforting
—after what has happened here." He had availed him-
self of Dillon's kind permission and was again examining
the half open drawer through his glass.
"I guess they can't hear much that goes on in this
room," said Dillon, gathering up his paraphernalia. "I
understand this here library is built sound proof. That's
how they explain nobody heard the shot that done him
in."
"Nobody heard it," Peter repeated in a low, thoughtful
voice, still busy with his glass. "And you say the pistol
was kept in here."
"Yes, sir." Dillon was almost ready to depart and his
round face had become quite cheerful.
"You're going right over to the laboratory?"
"Yes, sir. To get the pictures developed. Kerrigan
wants 'em in a hurry."
"Do you think you could wangle a set for me, Dillon?
We can take the photographs we need, of course, but it'll
use up a lot of time and they won't be as good as yours
probably."
"Sure, Mr. Clancy," Dillon replied with more than a
touch of condescension. "Any particular ones?"
"I'd specially like those I just saw you take." Peter
had straightened up but his eye lingered on the open


SUDDEN DEATH
35
drawer. “So clever of you, Dillon, to take several from
different angles. I'd like to see all three, if you don't
mind. And, Dillon, you photographed the weapon I sup-
pose?"
Peter rather expected to be reminded that he was ask-
ing more unnecessary questions. Instead, Dillon merely
shook his head.
"You don't mean—" Peter turned swiftly around and
gave the little expert his undivided attention.
"It wasn't any use," Dillon answered. "Kerrigan has
the gun. At least he took it away with him.”
Peter's eyes narrowed. He stared at Dillon as if the
clever technician were a point on some far distant horizon.
“There could be but one answer to that,” Peter said
slowly after a minute.
“That's right, Mr. Clancy.” Dillon nodded.
“There were no fingerprints to be found."
Dillon nodded again.
“Then,” Peter's voice dropped low, "in that case--the
pistol was handled with gloves—or—it had been wiped
clean."


CHAPTER V
"Wiped clean. So that's what Updegraff's going on,"
Peter repeated.
He had only Wiggar for audience now. The finger-
print expert had been gone some minutes. Peter made
the most of his opportunity in his usual fashion. Be-
tween him and his faithful servant, every part of the room
was gone over with a thoroughness amazing in the short
time.
Peter went first to the tall casement windows and ex-
amined the catches. They were all secured, not only by
key but also by strong bolts at top and bottom. A table
containing a number of expensive ornaments stood in
front of the centre window. On each side of it were
chairs. The one on the left as Peter faced the street was
lined up with the table. The other was turned at an angle
away from it. He rested one knee on the chair seat as
he leaned forward to look out into the dusky street.
How quiet it was. The high iron railings of the little
park seemed scarcely more immobile than the budding
branches of the trees that drooped above them. All day
the police had been defending from invasion this oasis of
wealth and fashion that still held out against the drifting
sands blowing in on every hand from foreign shores.
Even the ubiquitous reporters had been appeased for the
minute, having gone off glutted with the sensational meal
36


SUDDEN DEATH
37
of hints and promises that the new publicity-seeking as-
sistant district attorney had allowed to be spread out be-
fore them. There were few passers-by in the street. A
burly policeman paced slowly along the pavement,
stopped for a second in front of the opulent curve of the
shallow steps below Peter's window, and apparently with-
out seeing him there, went on again.
A few minutes later a low knock sounded on the
library door. Wiggar went to open it.
"Mr. Clancy." It was Valentine Berkley. "I don't
want to interrupt you."
"Yes. Come in," said Peter.
"I— No, thanks. I'll wait for you. Across the hall.
When you're finished. Otherwise I might be in your
way."
The boy's nervousness had increased. Peter was sure.
"I'll be with you in a couple of minutes," he said pleas-
antly. "Will that do?"
"Certainly. Oh, certainly." Valentine shut the door
in haste.
Peter looked at his solemn servant with thoughtful
eyes. "More than one person believes this, my dear
Wiggar, to be a case, not of suicide—but of—murder."
"Quite so, sir. And you, yourself, Mr. Peter? If I
might make so bold—"
Peter shook his head. "Too soon to answer. Defi-
nitely. But it looks . . . Hum-m-m. . . . Did you ever
think, Wiggar, that it might not be too good judgment
on the part of a bird to fly off the nest in order to attract
the hunter's attention away from it?"


38
SUDDEN DEATH
“You mean to imply, I gather, Mr. Peter, that if the
bird remained sitting, it—or the-er-nestlings—might
not have caught the eye at all.”
"And the bird's efforts at protection might have just
the reverse effect to that intended,” Peter finished medi-
tatively. Then his tone changed. “I'll see what young
Berkley wants, Wiggar. Wait for me in the hall-or-
ah-downstairs—if you prefer. And keep your eyes
open.”
“Thank you, sir," said Wiggar with just the faintest
touch of hauteur. Surely Mr. Peter knew that the last
admonition was unnecessary.
Peter stopped an instant by the way to say a word to
Murphy who was still on guard in the hall.
“Yes, sir. I've been on duty here in this very illegant
spot since early afternoon," the policeman answered
Peter's question.
"Have you heard the noise of Dillon's flash in there
every little while?”
“Well, not to say heard it like you would ordinarily
I must say, sir. Just a kind of a 'Bing!' and that's all.
Must be a grand built house. Listen to it. You can't
bear nothing. And of course there's a mess of servants
somewhere about, besides the lady and her brother.”
He stopped with large square paw upraised. There
was complete silence. Even the noises of the city streets
were stilled. Murphy shook his grizzled head. "It's un-
chancy sounding,” he added. “I don't like an inside job,
and that's the truth, Mr. Clancy. I'd rather be pound-
ing the flags.”


SUDDEN DEATH
39
An inside job, Peter repeated inwardly as he crossed
the hall. An inside job. With every door and window
secure, what else could it be, this case on which he had
been called ... so late ... so late. If he could have
been with Kerrigan at the start! Now he had to depend
mostly on the admissions—the guarded story of an im-
mature boy-prejudiced. ... Perhaps-
Peter saw him—at the other end of the long drawing-
room. A fountain had been built in there and all about
were exotic ferns and flowers. Upon a cushion on the
floor Valentine leaned, like some young Narcissus, look-
ing down into the clear waters of the pool. He started
when Peter spoke his name and leaped to his feet.
"I just wanted to tell you, Mr. Clancy,” he said in a
low voice, “that my sister-my sister says she really can't
see you to-night. You don't know what she's been
through. That damned puppy of a what do you call him
- district attorney-prosecutor! Persecuter would be a
better name."
"Hush," said Peter. "It's too bad. But you mustn't
get excited. You've got to keep your nerve, Berkley.
Everything's being done”.
"Oh,” the boy flung his arm out in a wild, dramatic,
though unstudied gesture. “Everything is being done to
-to make it look black for—"
"For?" Peter prompted quietly.
“For Jim Hayden," Valentine responded harshly.
"Jim Hayden. He's the one—the only one under sus-
picion. You understand that, don't you, Clancy?"
"I know he's been arrested.” Peter drew the boy's


SUDDEN DEATH
41
unable to check the detective's movements-if indeed he
wished to.
Peter spent but a few hideous minutes in that somber
room of tragedy-of mystery. When he came out again
into the hall, Valentine had disappeared. Farther along,
on the other side a door stood open. Peter went quietly
forward.
“Yes. I forgive you. But, oh, Valentine darling, be
care "
The low voice broke off suddenly but the sweetness
of it seemed to linger in Peter's ears like the overtone of
sustained and muted strings. Emily Hayden had stopped
abruptly when, through the partly open door, she became
aware of the approach of a stranger. She drew herself
together, releasing herself from the boy's protecting arm.
He started toward the door. "I'm sorry, Clancy,
but"
"Forgive me," said Peter with his perfectly natural,
open, friendly smile. His eyes showed nothing but apol-
ogy for his intrusion, but their keen glance took in every
detail of the beautiful room, and of its mistress, the most
gorgeously beautiful thing in it.
She put her brother aside with a sharp, determined
gesture that yet was subtly protecting, and drew nearer
to the open door, her head held high like that of a spir-
ited horse.
"I'm very sorry, Mr.-ah-Clancy, isn't it?"
That voice would wile fishes from the Firth, thought
Peter, while he bowed his red head in answer to her ques-
tion and silently waited for her to continue.


42
SUDDEN DEATH
"I'm afraid my brother has caused you unnecessary
trouble.” She was a little breathless though she held
herself well in hand. "I don't believe we require —
What I mean is- Oh!” Under Peter's steadfast
searching gaze her control suddenly broke. "I can't, Val-
entine," she cried, turning almost angrily toward her
brother. "No more to-day. I've stood enough. He can
ask me questions to-morrow-if it must be.”
"To-morrow," said Peter gravely, "may be later than
you think.”
"No," she said. Her fine large hand on the boy's
shoulder was gripped so that that the knuckles were dots
of pearly white. "Mr. Clancy. I'm sure you are- That
Valentine meant well in securing your services. But it
isn't necessary. It won't be necessary. They'll release
James Hayden in the morning. They must. He could
never-never-"
She came close to Peter now and as if sensing suddenly
the importance of convincing this stranger whose keen
blue glance seemed to probe her to the soul, she flung
out both hands and gripped his wrists.
"It was suicide. You understand? You are clever
enough to understand and realize that it could have
been only that. Only that. Jim couldn't, Couldn't!"
In mercy Peter turned away from the look on her
ravaged face.


CHAPTER VI
"Be sure it's Gillespie that brings them, and when he
comes ask him to wait." Peter's tone was in no sense
dictatorial but simply took a prompt response for granted.
He leaned back in his chair, and while Valentine spoke
over the house telephone he took a swift but intensely
interested survey of the room.
The furnishings, Peter rightly surmised, had been left
to the boy's taste, and gave to this earnest student of
human nature another side light on the characteristics of
his young client. It was a bed-sitting room, but the old-
fashioned homely name for it was singularly out of place.
The walls were hung with a paper covered with huge
white calla lilies, shaded in silver gray and silver green.
On the floor was a spacious rug in various tones of white
with a queer, intricate border of a spirited mauve and
turquoise. Thin curtains of lemon tissue veiled the fall-
ing night, and framing the three big windows were dra-
peries of brocade that harmonized the light and vivid
colors of curtain and rug. Opposite the door into the hall,
on a low dais, was a bed arranged in the Empire manner
with the side toward the wall. It was hung with the
same brocade as the windows, the long, shining folds
flowing down the steps to the floor. Near the head, on a
carved alabaster bracket, was a small figure in marble,
exquisite in workmanship but so sternly restrained in its
43


44
SUDDEN DEATH
unaccented modelling as to seem indeterminate man or
woman. Beneath this, on a small table at the bed's head,
a light, sheathed in alabaster, burned in translucent splen-
dor, as in a shrine.
In all the pale, softly shining room, this point of light
caught and held Peter's attention. He was staring to-
ward it when Valentine left the telephone and came across
to him.
"What is it called—the statue?" Peter asked without
changing the direction of his gaze.
"Beauty, it is to me." The boy's full lips moved
softly. "My sister calls it 'Love.' The man who made
it named it 'Truth.'"
As if irresistibly drawn, Peter rose and moved toward
it. "The ancients held that they are one—Beauty, Love
and Truth," he said.
"For me Beauty is enough," the boy's tone was unex-
pectedly and sharply defensive.
Peter smiled. "So, like a true devotee, you keep a
perpetual light burning at her shrine."
"Is there any harm in that?" Valentine retorted.
"None," said Peter. "But is it really a fact? Do you
keep a light burning here day and night?"
"Yes. What of it?"
"Nothing," Peter answered cheerfully. "A pretty idea
I think. But doesn't it keep you awake?"
"On the contrary." Valentine shrugged as if to shift
a weight on his slender shoulders. "I can't bear the dark.
Or to be shut in."
"I have that feeling too." Peter sounded sympathetic.


SUDDEN DEATH
45
"Almost like—what do they call it?"
"Claustrophobia."
"That's it. Do you suffer from— Oh—" Peter
glanced quickly toward the open door.
A tall man, thin to the point of attenuation, stood there
holding a sheaf of folded newspapers. His skin was very
white and his hair was even whiter, but he showed no
other effect of age as, at young Berkley's signal, he came
softly into the room. His movements were entirely
soundless, but Peter felt that the silence was not that of
soft contacts but of well oiled and finely machined steel.
Valentine received the papers and handing the top one
to Clancy, he said: "Don't go just yet, Gillespie."
"Thank you, sir." The man held himself stiffly, re-
maining a few feet inside the door.
"Hum-m-m," murmured Peter. He glanced at the
headlines and then more attentively at the column of less
vociferous type. "Nothing specially new here. Being of
the opposite party, you can't expect the Meteor to play
up the assistant district attorney's theories to the same
extent. Rather picturesque idea hinted at here. Am I
interrupting you, Berkley?"
"No. What is it?"
"The Meteor wonders if Mr. James Hayden had a pre-
monition of his father's death and if that was the reason
for his unexpected return. Obviously the more sane and
conservative papers are going to favor the contention that
Mr. Marvin Hayden died by his own hand."
"No!" The man near the door spoke with sudden vio-
lence. Then recollecting himself, his thin lips closed with


46
SUDDEN DEATH
the precision of a sprung trap.
"You think your master had no reason to wish his life
ended?" Peter's voice and manner were tuned to a
nicety. Courteous, grave, with a dignified friendliness
and the quiet assumption that he would receive an im-
mediate and unequivocal answer.
"Beg pardon, sir." The man spoke with a very slight
but unmistakable Scotch burr.
"You heard what Mr. Clancy said, Gillespie."
"Yes, Mr. Valentine. I heard. Is it your wish that
I should answer?"
"I'm a private investigator, Gillespie," Peter explained
with quiet assurance. "I came here at Mr. Berkley's in-
stigation. In taking a case my chief object is to further
the ends of justice. I presume, in the present tragic cir-
cumstances, yours would be the same."
"No doubt, sir." Gillespie was obviously impressed, as
Peter intended him to be, by the careful and somewhat
elaborate phrasing, but the Scotch temperament does not
lightly give even information away. Quietly Peter
pressed his question changing its form but little. "You
don't believe Mr. Hayden had any reason to wish to end
his life?"
"He wouldn't have done it, reason or no reason. That's
what I mean, sir. As to reasons—" Gillespie hesitated.
His pale gray eyes shifted to Valentine Berkley and then
dropped to the floor. "It's not for me to say—here," he
added. "Others know. I'll—I'll repeat what I've said.
In the proper time and place."
Peter saw that Valentine was staring at the servant


SUDDEN DEATH
47
with strained, fascinated eyes. His arms were hanging
limp but his hands clenched and unclenched spasmodi-
cally.
"You were very fond of your master." Peter's man-
ner was as simple and natural as if he had observed noth-
ing and was speaking about the weather. "I can readily
see that, Gillespie."
"I came to Mr. Hayden when he was first married—
more than thirty years ago, sir," Gillespie said simply.
"And you stayed on after his second marriage."
"As you see, sir."
"You have been content under your new mistress?"
"None of the servants have reason to complain of her,
sir."
Peter heard Valentine take in a quick, harsh breath,
and knew that he, himself, had not been mistaken. The
word "servants" had been emphasized, and with a pur-
pose. . . . Quick to comprehend, Peter did not feel it
necessary to follow this lead further. The inference was
plain. What Gillespie meant to convey was that it was
not the servants who had reason to complain of Emily
Hayden, but that someone else had.
Peter assumed a look of pleasant dullness. "Nice that
you all liked the new Mrs. Hayden. Made things pleas-
ant all around. And of course Mr. Hayden was glad not
to have to part with you, Gillespie, after so many years."
"He couldn't have got on without me, sir. I do really
think it." The corners of the dour mouth drooped. "And
sore, sore shall I miss him. A better master than he was
to me no man ever had."


48
SUDDEN DEATH
"No doubt he will have remembered you in his will,"
said Peter kindly. "That ought to help."
"It's not of that I'd be thinking." Gillespie's eyes
shifted suddenly to Clancy's face. His tone was almost
if not quite resentful.
"No?" said Peter with a pleasant smile. "Well, some
people would, no doubt. Uncalculating devotion is a fine
thing to see, Gillespie. Your feeling toward Mr. Hayden
must have made the shock of his death harder to bear.
The papers didn't say, I think, why it was you went
down and discovered—the tragedy."
"It was not me that was there first. The papers all
should have that much right."
"Why, I don't think they made it so very clear." Peter
glanced doubtfully at the newspapers on the table. "And
Mr. Valentine, not being wakened until after the police
came, could tell me little of his own knowledge. How was
it you happened to go down, Gillespie? It was some-
where around twelve, wasn't it?"
"Yes, sir. I think it wasn't but a few minutes after.
Not more than ten minutes after, I should say. They
were both there then."
"They? Who?"
"You must know that, sir. Mrs. Hayden and Mr.
James."
"You didn't expect Mr. James Hayden home Sunday
night."
"No, sir."
"The papers say he flew—from Baltimore."
"That's what they say. Yes, sir."


SUDDEN DEATH
49
"You think there's any question about it?"
"Of course there isn't, Clancy," Valentine broke in
fiercely. "We all went down to the Marvin Line pier to
see him off Saturday. Emily, Douglas and I."
"He was sailing for South America I understand. On
business?" Peter's tone was casual.
Valentine hesitated for an instant and Gillespie an-
swered the question. "On business. Yes, sir. For his
father. It was Mr. Hayden that sent him."
"I see," said Peter slowly. "The Marvin Line calls
for and delivers freight on the way South I believe, Balti-
more being the first stop on this trip for the San Salvador.
Do you know why young Mr. Hayden returned from
there?"
"I could—" Gillespie's eyes shifted to the floor once
more. "No, sir," he corrected himself in a hard voice.
"His coming was quite unexpected to me."
"To everybody," Valentine exclaimed. "Probably
something important he'd forgotten. Maybe he wanted
to get further instructions from his father. It would be
no trick to fly back from Baltimore for the night, find
out what he needed to know, and join the San Salvador
again at New Orleans, by plane or even by rail. I think
she was to lie over a day there to take on a cargo. There
was oceans of time."
"I see," Peter repeated, and added quietly, "By the
way, Gillespie, I think you forgot to mention how you
chanced to go down to the library—at 12:10 it was you
said, last night. What took you down so late?"
"Mr. Hayden did not come up to his room, sir, and


50
SUDDEN DEATH
he's rarely out of his bed later than 11:30 unless he's
been to the opera.”
“Or the theatre?”.
"He never goes to the theatre, sir. Doesn't care for
it. I mean didn't.” The old servant bit his lip, perhaps
to keep it from trembling though his voice was firm
enough.
“So when he did not come up to his room," Peter
prompted.
"I went down, sir.”
“You were anxious about him?"
“Well-yes."
“Why?"
"I told you before, sir. It was not his habit to be late.
Methodical he was, sir. Very.”
“That's the truth anyhow," said Valentine bitterly.
"A regular martinet.”
The servant's long upper lip drew itself down to an
improbable extent, but he said nothing.
“When did you see Mr. Hayden last-alive, Gillespie?”
Peter ignored the interruption.
“After showing Mr. Evarest out and putting away the
card table, I went in to Mr. Hayden."
"In the library?”.
“Yes, sir. He always read for a little before he re-
tired."
“What time was that?"
“A quarter past eleven, sir.”
“Was he reading then?”
“He was.”


SUDDEN DEATH 51
"And seemed quite like himself? Not disturbed?"
"He was more at ease than he's been for some time.
Yes, sir. He took his bicarbonate of soda very kindly,
without making any objections."
"You gave him medicine?"
"Only a half teaspoon of soda in a glass of hot water.
He'd been having just a touch of indigestion. Nothing
more."
"He was otherwise quite well? You're sure?"
"Oh, perfectly, sir. His health was far above the
average. In fact he hasn't had an ill day in years. Once
in a while he did indulge, if you'll pardon me, sir, a re-
grettable taste for scallions. During the Spring months.
They didn't agree with him. No, sir."
"Hence the soda. I see. . . ." Peter paced across the
room—and back. When he was directly in front of Gil-
lespie he said: "Mr. Hayden could not have been suffer-
ing without your knowing it? Can you be sure of that,
Gillespie?"
"Mr. Hayden wouldn't have had an ache in his little
finger without coming to me to ease it." The valet shook
his narrow white head emphatically. "Could I ask why
you thought he might, sir? I don't see—"
"Secret illness—a desperate painful illness—is often
the cause of suicide."
"But it was impossible, sir, that he should have had
even a slight cold without my knowing it, and indeed he
did not—he did not kill himself," exclaimed the faithful
servant with such emphasis that his head shook and his
neck contracted with a kind of rigor. "He'd no thought


SUDDEN DEATH
of doing any such thing. He feared and hated the very
idea of death. He wanted to live. To live. He was only
fifty-eight. He had every reason to expect many, many
good years more. And he did not want to die. He had
plans."
"What kind of plans?" Peter's voice sounded cool in
contrast to the excitement of the other.
"We were to go abroad this summer."
"We?"
"I would have gone with them—Mr. and Mrs. Hayden
and her maid. He had not given up the trip. He men-
tioned it again to me that last night, now I think of it,
sir. Said he's about decided to include—Denmark—I
believe it was—or Finland. One of those northern places
we'd never been. And that we'd stay away a year at
least."
"Mrs. Hayden knew about this projected trip?"
"Oh, yes, indeed, sir."
"You weren't included, Berkley?" Peter's tone was
that of casual interest.
"No. I was not included." The boy opened his lips
just enough to reply and closed them again in an un-
boyish bitter line.
With hands clasped behind his back, Peter paced
slowly over and stood looking down at the translucent
alabaster lamp. Presently he raised his eyes to the small
marble figure that stood above it. Still regarding it, he
said: "I want to get the matter of time perfectly straight
in my head, Gillespie." He turned as he spoke the man's
name. "I think you can help me better than anyone,


54
SUDDEN DEATH
quite conversationally but he was sure that Gillespie
started.
"Mr. Valentine couldn't have seen me. He'd fallen
asleep. His door was open. His book was lying on the
step there and he was sleeping soundly."
"Well, it doesn't matter," said Peter easily. "What
time was that?"
"I was in the library not more than a very few min-
utes. I think it couldn't have been more than twenty
or twenty-five minutes past eleven. Mr. Hayden prefers
that I wait in my own room until he rings for me to open
his windows and put out the light. I came directly from
the library through the pantry up the servant's stairs at
the back to this floor and on up the stairs you see there
to my room."
"Where you stayed until twelve o'clock?"
"Yes, sir."
"You heard nothing to alarm you?"
"No, sir."
"Mr. Valentine was still sleeping when you went
down?"
"He was, sir."
"You looked in Mr. Hayden's room?"
"Yes. He wasn't there."
"You didn't think he might be in Mrs. Hayden's
room?"
Gillespie shook his head. Peter glanced covertly at
Valentine Berkley, and forebore to press the point.
"Had you any idea of what might have happened to
keep Mr. Hayden up so late?"


SUDDEN DEATH
55
For an instant there was blank silence in the room.
The man's eyes widened until there was a space of faintly
bloodshot white all around the pale iris. The pupils were
contracted to a pin-point.
"There's been trouble in this house. Black trouble,"
he whispered. "For more than a year. Wicked trouble.
. . . And last night—last night—I was afraid! Afraid 1"
"Hush," cried Valentine in a voice that was not his
own. "There's someone coming. Pull yourself together."
"Beg pardon, Mr. Valentine." The modest young
footman, Hopkins, seemed embarrassed by the battery of
eyes that met him on the threshold. "It's Mr. Gillespie.
He's wanted downstairs. By the gentleman that was here
this morning from the district attorney's office. If you'll
excuse—"
"It's all right." Young Berkley had recovered him-
self by a violent effort and spoke firmly. "You may go,
Gillespie."


CHAPTER VII
PETER paced slowly the length of the long room and back
again. He stopped in front of Valentine Berkley and put-
ting both strong hands upon the boy's shoulders forced
him to look up.
“What is this black trouble that Gillespie talks about?”
he asked with kind but stern insistence. “If you expect
me to be of the slightest use I must know.”
Valentine shifted from one foot to the other and his
eyes were anywhere but on Peter's face. He cleared his
throat and wet his lips before he could speak. “Hayden
-Mr. Hayden—was a jealous man. Frightfully jealous.”
“Of whom?"
“Of everyone who loves her. Everyone. Even the
girls she is fond of. Even me. And Williams and Evar-
est and Charlie Fosdick and—”
“And James Hayden?” Peter's hands were like steel
clamps on the boy's shoulders. He paused a breathless
instant and then went sternly on. “Was your sister's
husband jealous of his own son?"
"He had no reason to be. That I swear.” The young
face looked white-hot. "Emily has stood - Oh, you
don't know—you couldn't imagine what she's had to
stand, Clancy! Why, all that evening when we were
playing bridge—the hateful, sarcastic things he said to
her and to me!”
56


SUDDEN DEATH
57
"Mr. James Hayden was not here at that time?" Peter
did not intend to be deflected.
"No one knew it if he was. We all supposed of course
he was in Baltimore."
"All?"
"Yes. All."
"Forgive me for insisting, Berkley, but are you sure
your sister did not know that he was coming back?"
"Of course she didn't. How could she?"
"Don't be absurd," said Peter quietly. "A telegram—
wireless—or a long distance message would have reached
her quite easily."
"But she would have told me." The boy frowned pain-
fully. "We've never had any secrets—not since I was
a—just a baby."
Peter repressed an inward smile of scepticism and
changed his line of inquiry to approach from another
angle. "Since you and your sister are so close you would
know all about her friends. Were any of these men that
you mentioned—Fosdick, Evarest, Williams—in love with
her?"
"No one could know Emily well and not love her,"
said her brother with strong conviction. "But that's not
necessarily what one means by being in love."
"Naturally not." Peter smiled. "But be your age,
Berkley. You know whether any or all of these fellows
cared for her in that way."
"Well," said the boy with a faint half smile, "Charlie
Fosdick isn't the platonic type. Not that it does him any
good in this instance. Williams is just a friend."


SUDDEN DEATH
"And Evarest? That was a pretty serious play he
made this afternoon in Kerrigan's office."
"That was because he's scared about Jim Hayden."
Valentine spoke quickly. "They've always been closei
than brothers. He'd do anything in the world for Jim."
"Or your sister?" Peter asked in a perfectly level tone.
"Emily? She hasn't anything to do with it!" Valentine
retorted hotly. "I'd die for her, too." He caught him-
self up. "—If there was any occasion," he added in a
lower voice. "But there isn't. Jim probably had noth-
ing to do with it either, and Douglas has just made a fool
of himself. With the best intentions of course. No one
could doubt Douglas's motives. He's a bit of a fossil,
perhaps, and not too up and coming outside his own
alley."
"You know him very well?"
"Oh, yes. His house is in some ways more like home
than this. His old mother is a character. She and I play
chess together a lot. I have quite a flair for old ladies."
"Um—yes." Peter was not to be drawn. "And know-
ing Evarest as you do, is there any doubt in your mind,
Berkley, that he is in love with your sister? Isn't it your
feeling that the grand stand play this afternoon was in-
tended to impress her?"
Valentine bit his lip. The glance he flashed at Peter
was unexpectedly sharp and unquestionably frightened.
"Well, only indirectly." He stumbled in his eagerness.
"I mean, you know, Clancy, that—well—you see, it's this
way. . . . Douglas would never— I mean he's unsel-
fish. He really is. I've watched him. He wouldn't make


SUDDEN DEATH
59
a play as against—" At the odd smile in Clancy's eyes
he stopped abruptly.
"He wouldn't come in as a rival to his friend, James
Hayden—would even lay down his life for him—"
Peter's glance held that of the younger man almost by
force. "—but if Evarest knew how matters stood be-
tween those two—as well as you do, Berkley—by taking
the burden of the crime on his own shoulders he would
not only save Hayden but must earn as well your sister's
undying gratitude. Isn't that what you so carefully re-
frained just now from saying?"
"You're too sharp for me, Clancy. You see too much,"
Valentine admitted, almost in a tone of relief. "But,"
he continued after a second, "if you think there's any-
thing out of the way between my sister and Jim Hayden
or anyone else, you're dead, dead wrong. You'd better
believe that." His eyes were threatening. "She couldn't
fool me. I'd know. I'm younger than you—a little—
but I got over believing in Santa Claus a long time ago.
I've talked to her about Jim Hayden." His teeth grated.
"He's not worth— But then—contrasted with his father!
Oh, Clancy, the life here has just been hell!" His hands
twisted impotently. "Can you imagine?"
"A man's jealousy of his own son," Peter muttered,
shaking his head grimly, and after a slight pause he
added: "Had there been a showdown, Berkley?"
"I don't know for sure. But I—think—so."
"The son was sent away. Banished practically. To
South America. Hayden was taking his wife abroad—
for a year." Peter's low, meditative tone was serious to


бо
SUDDEN DEATH
a degree. “Was there any talk of a divorce?”
"No." The boy shook his handsome head miserably.
"Your sister would have welcomed it?"
“And so would I-even though it meant giving up ”
The glance he cast about the unique luxury of the room
completed the sentence. It expressed the poignant regret
that such an action would have entailed upon the boy's
beauty-loving soul. Peter noted it with grim apprecia-
tion.
“And with all this you can form no idea why James
Hayden came back, secretly, Sunday night?”
“Not unless—" The boy shivered suddenly from head
to foot and looked up sidewise into the detective's pierc-
ing steel-blue eyes.
"What is it you're afraid of?” Peter asked gently.
“Better put it into words. Maybe it will help you."
“I'm like Douglas, I guess.” Valentine tried to steady
his nerves. “I'm afraid Jim can't-can't prove that he's
innocent. That he'll have no way ..." His hand was
half over his mouth, gripping his chin. "How could any-
one else get in? Everything locked up. But Jim had a
key-keys to both locks. If he's guilty ... It will be
horrible-horrible for Emily. But I'd rather she'd know,
Clancy. If James Hayden is that kind of a-a man it
would be better for her to know it, wouldn't it? Before
it was too late. If he should turn out to be cruel-like
his father. ... Better for her to know it than-” the
panting voice halted and after a second went on-"than
to make her think it was someone else-as Douglas tried
to do. He hasn't any more courage than I have, really,


62
SUDDEN DEATH
says you're immune and he won't be tying any strings
to you."
"Well, that's good." And in truth the expression of
Berkley's delicate face lightened by several shades. "I
say, Clancy—what I was going to before—when I see
Mrs. Evarest I'll just casually ask her what time Douglas
got in Sunday night. She'll know. She never goes to
bed. He left here at 10:45. If he went straight home
as he always does, he'd get in a few minutes after eleven.
Say ten or fifteen minutes after. She won't know what
I'm driving at and of course she'll tell the truth. So
then we'll know if there was any chance that he could
have made a plausible story if Kerrigan had believed his
confession this afternoon and pinned him down."
Peter laughed with a boyish eagerness that was infec-
tious. "Too bad to spoil a good story," he said. "Good
—and story—in both senses. Not very nice of us to laugh
when a noble lie goes on the rocks. You're right. It
would crack up in a most ignoble manner if Evarest's
mamma says he was at home with her between 11:15
and 12:10 night before last."
"I'll bet you a dollar he was," Valentine responded ex-
citedly. "I mean I'll bet you a dollar that he was at
home and, like the absent-minded beggar that he is, never
realized how that small fact put the kibosh on his grand
stand play."
Peter grinned and shook his head. "I won't bet unless
you'll give me long odds, Berkley. There are too many
chances in your favor. It looks as if the only serious
result of Evarest's well-meant effort was to sharpen the


64
SUDDEN DEATH
testimony that bears heavily—on someone else. Always
a matter of suspicion. ... If we could establish a mo-
tive. ... I suppose you don't know the details of the
disposition of the great Hayden fortune?"
Valentine frowned. Peter thought he avoided his eyes,
though he replied at once: "I don't know how Gillespie
stands, but I should imagine he would be well taken
care of."
"You do know some facts about a will though."
Something in the boy's tone caused Peter to jump to this
conclusion. He made the statement with unobtrusive but
definite conviction. "Has one been drawn recently?"
His penetrating glance was fixed on the boy's face.
"Yes. That is, I believe so."
Peter thought, he knows it. Aloud he said, "How
recently?"
"I think it was executed—is that what they call it?"
"Yes." Peter did not smile at the obvious reluctance.
He said no more in words. Just waited, holding the
younger man's eyes with his.
"—was executed last Thursday."
Peter's eyebrows went up. "Did James Hayden know
the provisions of it before he left?"
"Yes."
"Did your sister?"
"Yes." Even more bitterly.
"And you?"
"I told you," Valentine retorted fiercely, "that we had
no secrets from each other."
"You'd better tell me about it," said Peter quietly.


SUDDEN DEATH
6S
"It isn't idle curiosity that makes me say this. I can find
out in any case, but it will be better if you tell me. He
didn't leave you anything?"
"Huhl You've said it! He despised—detested—
Oh, well—there was really no reason why he should have
considered me in his will any more than he did when he
was alive."
"Your sister will provide for you," Peter said tenta-
tively and in a soothing tone.
"Yes. She would. Of course. If—"
"If what?"
"I mean you know, Clancy, I wouldn't have stood in
her way! If it was for her happiness. Only maybe it
won't be. Now." He flung out his hands in a fierce, wild,
uncertain gesture that was very convincing. "I don't
know what to think. I'm all at sea. You talk of mo-
tives. Well, then, I can't understand why Jim Hay—"
He struck his clenched fist on the table and stopped in
the middle of the word.
Peter's intuition made swift work of the broken, enig-
matic phrases. "As long as he lived, Mr. Hayden would
have provided liberally for his son," he said hurriedly.
"It would have been a matter of pride." Valentine as-
sented with wide anxious eyes. Peter hastened on. "But
when the father was no longer in the picture he wouldn't
care who knew—that he hated—his only son. Hated him
to the extent of disinheriting him! . . . Entirely?"
"Left him a beggarly five thousand. I understand that
makes it impossible for him to contest the will," Valen-
tine muttered. His voice sounded harsh and strident. He


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looked as if he were near the breaking point. “And
Emily!” He shook his fist tremulously. "Only that
night, God! It was only two nights ago—before us
all at the card table—with his horrid eyes sneering-
sneering—Hayden asked me point blank if I knew about
his new will. I was so mad I couldn't speak. Just
nodded. And he laughed and said, “So you'll take pre-
cious good care of your respected brother-in-law, I know.
It's your best bet, my boy– He said it with that cold,
devilish grin. -because your sister loses everything if
she marries again, and she's too damn pretty to—""
The boy choked. His whole body was shaken with
nervous fury. Peter watched him with a strange, steady
aloofness. After a second he said, “Berkley, where is this
will?”
Valentine bent his head still lower. "I_” he mut-
tered shakily, "I don't know."


CHAPTER VIII
"Hope I'm not late," said Kerrigan, hastily seating him-
self in the chair Wiggar had pulled out for him. "Well,
Pete, what do you know?"
"Not much. Only the geography I learned in my ex-
treme youth." Peter grinned. "The earth is round like
a ball or sphere. It does not appear round to us because
we see so little of its surface at a time, but there are
many proofs that it is so, among which are the following."
"Quit your kidding," said Kerrigan severely. "I'll
admit the earth is round. Let's go on from there."
"Don't you want to hear the proof?" Peter sounded
disappointed.
"If it'll ease your mind."
Kerrigan's soup sounded good. Wiggar shuddered in-
wardly but forced himself to listen lest he miss the accom-
panying words of wisdom that he felt were about to be ex-
changed when the persiflage was over.
"Well," said Peter with a graceful gesture, "let's pass
it. To tell you the truth, Jake, the proofs never seemed
so hot to me. I just kind of knew that the earth was
round."
"A hunch?" asked Kerrigan with a quick glance at the
plain intelligent face opposite. "So you've got a hunch,
Pete? Well—do you mind passing it along?"
Peter laughed out loud. "Don't tell me you're begin-
67


68
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ning to believe in my hunches, Jake. I'll be damned! as
Queen Victoria was wont to remark. To think I could
take you in like that. Haven't you noticed that I always
spring my hunches after we've sorted out all the evidence
and the answer's as plain as the nose on your face.”
“Or yours,” Kerrigan countered, touching his own with
a slur of thumb and flaunting fingers. “There's not much
to choose between, is there, Wiggar?”
"It would depend, sir-I should imagine," said Wiggar
sedately, "on whether one preferred the classic or the
er—more robust type, if you'll excuse the expression.”
“You can't mean you think Clancy's old proboscis is
worked out on any accepted pattern," jeered Kerrigan.
“At least I can think of worse words than robust for
yours, Jake. Leave Wiggar alone. He let you down
easy." Peter helped himself to a piece of roast duck.
"Speaking of classic features, though”—Kerrigan
splashed a large spoonful of applesauce beside the dress-
ing on his plate—“how did you make out to-day with
your young Adenoids?”.
“Do you mean Adonis?" Peter gulped.
"If you prefer,” grinned Kerrigan with a large wave
of his strong blunt hand. Then his face became serious.
"How does he fit into the picture, Pete? Can you make
out?"
Peter frowned. “You said yourself, Jake, that he had
a cast iron alibi. I checked up and everything seems to
prove it. Apparently he keeps his door open and a light
burning all night-every night. The servants pass along
the hall to the stairs that go up to their quarters on the


SUDDEN DEATH
69
top floor. There isn't any back stairway above the third
floor. Gillespie saw-or says he saw Berkley asleep."
“Yes,” Kerrigan put in quickly, "and one of the maids
-her name is Kitty something. I have it here. Kitty
Quinlan.” He closed his notebook with a snap. "She
saw him sound asleep when she came in from the theatre
a little before twelve. . . . You don't really suspect the
kid, do you, Pete?”
"Dammit, Jake, isn't it our business to suspect every-
body?”
"But where would be his motive? You don't think
Hayden would have left him much, do you?”
"No," said Peter shortly.
“Seems to be crazy about his sister," mused Kerrigan,
one enquiring eye on Peter's face as they went on with
their dinner. “Brothers aren't-always. . . . Any com-
plex there, would you say maybe, Pete?"
"She's been like a mother—and everything else to him
apparently. He has plenty of reason to be as devoted as
he seems." Peter's nose wrinkled in distaste. “The boy
has a lot of charm. I'd hate to think there was anything
slimy or abnormal about him.”
“But you've been suspecting him of murder.” Ker-
rigan grinned. "Isn't that worse?”
“Maybe. Seems more natural though, somehow.”
“You're falling for that kid,” warned Kerrigan.
"I'm not.” Peter sounded irritable. "I can see his
faults. Plenty of them. He's capable of a lot of things,
but"
"Too bad she drinks,” Kerrigan quoted sardonically,


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"she has such curly hair."
"Oh, shut up, Jake."
"What a sweet mother you'd make, Pete. Nature left
him childless that all his cases might call him papa."
Peter's annoyance broke up in one of his dazzling
smiles. "You're full of poetry to-night, Jake," he re-
marked. "Sounds as if things had been going well to-
day."
"Might have been worse," Kerrigan admitted expan-
sively as he eased a button of his neat waistcoat. "I
think I'm going to have a nice bit of a show for you to-
night, Pete. Unless you've something you'd rather do."
"I don't care to get back to Gramercy Park until fairly
late," Peter replied with a sharp look. "And I have to
wait here for a message in any case. What's the show
about?"
"What's the message about?" Kerrigan countered.
"Maybe I ought to tell you," grinned Peter, "since I
sent it in your name."
"The hell you say!" spluttered Kerrigan. "Of all the
cheek. What was it? Who was it to?"
"In consideration of Wiggar's feelings please say 'to
whom was it addressed.'" Peter glanced up into the ex-
pressionless face of the man who was carefully floating a
little brandy on top of the coffee in the tiny cup at his
master's elbow. "You may not know it, but when Wiggar
hears a sentence ending itself with a preposition he bursts
into loud sobs and at this critical instant of his career his
tears might put out the flame of the brandy."
Kerrigan watched the rite with interest but was not to


SUDDEN DEATH 71
be deflected. "Looks good. You can fix one for me,
Wiggar," he said in passing, and added: "If I may make
so bold, what, why, how and to whom, was the message
you sent in my name, Mr. Clancy?"
"It was to the captain of the San Salvador, en route
from Baltimore to New Orleans," Peter replied easily.
"I wanted you to get the credit of thinking of it, Jake,
as well as to make sure we'd get a reply."
"Nice of you, sweetheart," drawled Kerrigan. "How'd
you know I hadn't thought of it already?"
"Because you had so much on your mind," Peter an-
swered gently, "and besides I made a few judicious in-
quiries which convinced me you had not seen any such
necessity."
"No. Nor I don't yet," said Kerrigan bluntly.
"Neither do I. That is, not to say necessity," Peter
observed. "But advisable? Yes. Sooner or later you'd
be bound to see that it was advisable to learn what reason
James Hayden gave to the captain for abandoning the
ship at Baltimore."
"He said it was business. Something he'd forgotten to
ask his father," Kerrigan said a little blankly. "He'd
probably have told the captain the same thing even if it
was a lie."
"And then, again," mused Peter, "he just possibly—
might not."
"Well, wouldn't he be the fool—" Kerrigan started to
ask, but broke off as the loud sound of a bell floated up
through the house. "See if it's for me, Wiggar," he said
hurriedly. "If it is, have it brought right up. We're


73
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through dinner, aren't we, Pete?"
"Yes. What's all the excitement?" Peter also rose
and followed his friend as he hastily left the table.
"Never you mind," said Kerrigan. "I'll show you in
a minute—if we had luck. I know you have a projector
and a silver screen, Pete, as well as this swell place to
show pictures. Tell Wiggar to set 'em up. Hurry."
"You'll appreciate what I'm doing for you I hope, Mr.
Clancy," said Kerrigan a few minutes later, when, after
sundry swift preparations, they settled themselves side
by side on a sofa in the now darkened living-room.
Wiggar was nearly bursting with curiosity and pride
but his hand on the crank of the motion picture machine
was as steady as that of a Robot. Kerrigan's messenger
had brought a roll of film. It was already in place.
"I'd be a lot more grateful if you'd give me some idea
what it's all about," Peter responded. "You couldn't
have thought it necessary to use a movie camera to take
a picture of a dead man. So what?"
"We owe it mostly to the D.A.," Kerrigan explained
with an odd kind of triumphant haste. "He's out to make
a killing on this case. Make no mistake. And he—well,
you can't say he forced them—but he made it plain
enough that if they refused—"
"Oh, for heaven's sake, Jake! Forced whom? And
refused what?"
"Amn't I telling you?" Kerrigan's nationality cropped
out plainly when he was excited. "Updegraff insisted on
those two—Mrs. Hayden and her step-son—James Hay-
den is her step-son. Seems funny."


SUDDEN DEATH
73
"Yes, yes," said Peter. "What did Updegraff—"
"You'll see in a minute. Don't get all het up. I got
the D.A. to let me get my camera and that special light-
ing outfit I told you about. You remember?"
"Sure. And you took pictures of—"
"What I'm going to show you, my lad. And be thank-
ful. If they come out as they ought to it'll be about as
good as if you'd been on the job from the start. Better,
because we can study 'em at our leisure. Stop the action
at any point we please. See what I mean?"
"Jake, ole pal," Peter said with sincerity, "it was
mighty darn decent of you to let me in on this."
"And before the D.A. has seen it too. Mark that. I
told him they couldn't possibly be developed before to-
morrow. He didn't take much stock in the motion pic-
ture idea because it wasn't his own, so I don't owe him
much anyhow. Humoring a child was the way he treated
me." Kerrigan grunted. "It may be something to show
to a jury—later," he added somberly. "Well, shall we
begin? I'll explain as we go along. And if either of us
says 'stop,' you be quick on the trigger, Wiggar. Trigger,
Wiggar. Gee, I don't know a better rhyme. Trig in the
sense of being neat, too, eh, Pete? Pretty good. What?"
"Very," said Peter with a chuckle. "And I fancy we
may be wanting all the comic relief we can get."
"You've said it." Kerrigan was sober again. "I'd
have waited until they'd taken the body away but Up-
degraff wouldn't have it. So you'll see. . . . Start her
up, Wiggar."
"Thank you, sir."


74
SUDDEN DEATH
A click—and a large rectangle of almost blinding light.
Instantly, upon the silver screen there appeared a corner
of the Hayden library, marvellously clear in detail.
Slowly, with the swing of the camera, there came into
view the windows in the shallow bay, then the east wall
with the fireplace and the solid ranks of books. As the
moving eye passed the corner of the rear wall it came to
rest with a queer effect of insistence on the door that
Peter knew led into the dining-room though he had only
seen it closed as it was now.
"Wish I'd had a talkie machine," Kerrigan muttered,
scarcely above a whisper. "I can tell you what they said.
It wasn't much. Go slow, Wiggar."
Again the eye of the camera moved deliberately.
Slowly deflected to take in the edge of the beautiful
Samarkand. ... A pair of polished pumps, resting upon
the border of the rug. A body dressed in well-cut dinner
clothes, twisted a little sideways. A head . . . Even the
camera seemed to shudder away from the ghastly thing.
Its glance slipped aside to the out-flung right hand and
to the automatic that lay just beyond the curved finger
tips.
"Stop." Kerrigan's rough voice was pitched low.
"Hold up a second, Wiggar. You see this, Pete? I mean
the pistol and the hand. Young Hayden swears this was
the way they were when he came in. That is as near as
he can tell—because, according to him, the room was
pitch dark. He stepped on the gun and picked it up be-
fore he realized what it was."
"Oh-h-h?" said Peter enquiringly. "The light switch


SUDDEN DEATH
75
is close to the hall door. Did he mention why he didn't
use it?"
"I asked him. He said he knew every inch of the room
and was going over to put on the light in the lamp on the
table."
"Fair enough—maybe. The light on the table. I see.
And the body lay between the table and the door. . . ."
Peter's voice was as bleak and colorless as the still picture
on the screen. After a second he said: "Mind if we go
back, Jake? I'd like to look at it again."
"O.K. by me." Kerrigan wondered if Pete were going
to ask the same questions that had occupied his own
mind.
To Peter there was a strange, eerie sense of something
like omnipotence in thus turning back the wheel of trag-
edy. It was as if he walked back through those lost
minutes and looked again upon the body of the dead man.
Murdered? Ah, who could say?
"Queer he pitched over backward, Jake," Peter mur-
mured. "They don't—usually."
Kerrigan nodded confidentially to himself in the dark.
"Just what struck me, Pete, at first, until I had a chance
to look around. Then I figured he struck the big chair
that stands by the table. A little farther over. You'll see
it later. It's in a position to throw him over, twisted a
bit like you see, and mostly on his back. I guess I got it
right, too, because there were a few spatters of blood on
the chair. And he came down hard enough to spill some
of the things out of his pockets. You can see that slip-
pery little paper of cough drops caught there in the lining


76
SUDDEN DEATH
of his coat."
"Oh, that's what that speck of white is? I wondered.
And that's his own little gold pencil on the floor?" Peter
put the question without unduly accenting the pronoun,
but Kerrigan took it up at once.
"I don't think there's any question that it belonged to
Marvin Hayden, though it wasn't marked. Anyhow Dil-
lon tells me there weren't any fingerprints on it but those
of the corpse. So that seems to be that."
"It does," Peter remarked quietly. "Guess I have it
straight in my mind now. Shall we go on?"
"Yes," said Kerrigan. "But maybe I'd better explain
something now. There's a black-out in a second. That's
where the act begins. Understand? Updegraff told them
he wanted to see what they said had happened. That if
they had nothing to hide they'd, be only too glad to show
him. The three of them were there together, Pete. Mrs.
Hayden, James Hayden and Gillespie. So far as we can
find out they didn't have any chance yesterday morning
to rehearse—or to talk it over except before witnesses.
. . . So I figure that if they look uncertain in what they
do sometimes, we ought to give them the benefit of the
doubt—to some extent, anyway. Because could you re-
member, with the dead body right there before you,
exactly what you said and did? I couldn't."
"You're a fair-minded old scout," Peter observed in a
low voice. "I'll try to copy you. ... All right, Wiggar."
Slowly once more the camera moved its cruelly truthful
eye over the shattered casque that had once contained the
thoughts, good, bad, and indifferent, of Marvin Hayden.


SUDDEN DEATH
77
It passed again along the helpless arm, rested an instant
on the pale hand, so near the small, powerful engine of
destruction, searched, as a man might, the far corners of
the empty room—and then with the completeness of
death, the black-out plunged them all in utter darkness.


SUDDEN DEATH
79
they were in. As if James Hayden might hear him if he
raised his voice. "Of course we had to have lights on to
take it."
Kerrigan felt rather than saw his companion's nod.
The eyes of both men were glued to the figure that had
hesitated for a second in the doorway. Now Hayden
moved confidently forward, one hand stretched a little in
front of him in a gesture seeking and at the same time
protective. It was entirely the position of a person in the
dark moving among accustomed surroundings.
No fictitious drama of stage or screen had ever gripped
Peter Clancy as did this one unfolding before him. That
the man, knowing what was before him, could play his
part with any degree of self-control seemed a marvel—
and indicated—what? Hardened guilt? Or innocence?
Quietly, step by confident step, Hayden was advancing
across the room. The camera now took in a corner of
the long library table and part of the still figure on the
floor.
James Hayden's foot fell square on the butt of the
automatic, and he stopped dead. Then swiftly he stooped
and picked up the weapon. For an instant he weighed it
in his hand, paused as if in startled wonder, and moved
forward toward the lamp. In doing so his foot struck
the body.
Peter did not wonder at the awful, stony rigor of young
Hayden's face as he stooped again, feeling about the floor
in the confusion of utter horror. The leap to his feet, the
dash back across to the light switch beside the hall door
was a convincing piece of acting—if acting it was.


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SUDDEN DEATH
“The room was light from now on,” whispered Ker-
rigan. "Look.”
With giddy rapidity the camera swung half around the
room and came to rest on the door in the back wall. Al-
though the drama was of necessity a silent one Peter felt
that the door he gazed at was opening without a sound.
Slowly it turned. Against the blackness behind her, like
some exotic flower, blossomed the figure of Emily Hay-
den. In the swift instant that she stood there Peter noted
with surprise that she was fully dressed in an embroidered
Russian tunic with hanging sleeves. A costume more
appropriate for the day than for the middle of the night.
... Valentine said she had gone to bed. . . . Perhaps.
... He would ask Kerrigan. But not now.
The camera had turned again. The flash-past of the
walls was dazzling in its swiftness. They were in front
of James Hayden now; close in front. He had whirled
away from the light switch and, still holding the auto-
matic, was staring across the room, obviously at the
woman who had at that instant opened the door.
"She called his name,” Kerrigan whispered. "Low.
Like this: 'Jim!' She couldn't remember if she said any-
thing else. I asked her what she thought when she saw
she said she couldn't think. She didn't know what she
thought.”
“She came right to him though,” said Peter in a low,
wondering tone. "No hesitation about that, apparently,
for either one."
"He tried not to let her look at the body. See?" mut-


SUDDEN DEATH
81
tered Kerrigan. "He told her that his father had killed
himself. He remembered that—but not the words he
used. Naturally. ..."
"He's explaining-how he came in—in the dark?”
Peter was watching the action of the man and the woman
before him with strained, eager eyes.
“Yes. And see” Kerrigan pointed. “She was the
first to think that he shouldn't have touched the pistol.
Watch this, Pete. She's asking him where it was—and
he shows her. There—on the floor. She tells him to put
it back. He starts to—and then she thinks—(a clever
woman, you'll notice)” Kerrigan's rapid words kept
pace with the tense and agonized action that seemed all
the more poignant for its colorless silence. “She thinks
of his fingerprints on the gun. See? They argue. She
snatches it from him and wipes it on the inside of her
sleeve. And just then "
The police detective's voice stopped as suddenly as if
he, too, like the man and woman in counterfeit present-
ment on the screen, had been checked by some startling
apparition. Again the eye of the camera had shifted
swiftly to that door in the rear wall that Emily Hayden
in her haste had left open. Open it was now and stand-
ing in it-with staring eyes and open mouth-was the
faithful servant-Gillespie.
"Red handed!” muttered Kerrigan. "Don't you see
what Gillespie must have thought? He'd caught them-
red handed!”
“And had he?" Peter asked, hardly above his breath.
“I wonder,” Kerrigan answered uneasily. "If this was


82
SUDDEN DEATH
acting . . . But it looked real."
"You said she was clever," Peter countered swiftly and
they both fell silent.
Gillespie had come quickly into the library. The cam-
era moved with him down the long room and stopped
when he reached the library table. He stood for an in-
stant looking down and twisting his long thin hands as if
he were wringing something tangible between them.
Then he turned in a burst of denunciatory fury to the
man and woman who stood close by. They took the on-
slaught in what appeared to be a frozen immobility.
It was Gillespie who dashed to the telephone and called
the police. The camera followed him and caught an in-
describable look upon his face. . . .
It was the end of the picture. . . . Peter wondered for
long afterwards what that strange look might mean—and
whether it might have come when the picture was taken,
or whether it had really been there in those first awful
minutes, when the servant put his young master's—and
mistress's fate—in the hands of the police. Whatever
else there might be, Peter was certain that in it was a
look of triumph. An ugly look, evil to see if the strange
play they had just witnessed was a presentment of fact.
Fact. What could it be else? Kerrigan raised the
question even as Wiggar turned on the lights in Peter's
charming, wholesome living-room. The relief was so
great that it was like opening a window toward the sea.
"They hadn't had time to make it up," urged the police
detective.
"How do you know that?" Peter's tone, still tense with


SUDDEN DEATH
83
that he had just witnessed, was stern with judgment with-
held.
"Gillespie says he never left the room until the police
arrived. We got there in less than half an hour. The
girl was still holding the gun. Hayden wanted to take it
away from her but she hung onto it, grabbed through the
folds of that wide sleeve."
"Then she was wearing the same dress as when the
picture was taken?"
"Yes. Why?"
"Nothing. Made it easier for her to act it all out I
suppose. Act . . ." Peter stopped.
"Well—go on," insisted Kerrigan. "Act, says you.
Do you believe it would be possible—"
"Did you happen to know, Jake," Peter interrupted,
"that young Hayden and his—what would Valentine
Berkley be to him—step-uncle-in-law?— Well, never
mind. What I mean to say is, James Hayden, Mrs. Mar-
vin Hayden and her brother are all members of the New
York Colonial Players. Didn't you see their pictures in
the rotogravure section of the papers last winter. Some
play. Don't remember what. It's the oldest and best-
known dramatic society in town. Stiff training. And you
have to be not only of the socially elect but you have to
be good, too, or you don't get in."
"Gosh!" said Kerrigan, wiping his forehead. "I didn't
know that."
"Puts a different face on it—perhaps," said Peter.
"Lord! Maybe it does," groaned the police detective.
"I've been hoping all along it might be suicide. But


SUDDEN DEATH
85
been nagging at his mind and that he had taken some
pains to hide from Valentine Berkley, though he had a
shrewd suspicion that his doubts, some of them at least,
were shared by his young client.
Had Evarest tried to shoulder this crime because of a
man's devotion to another man? Damon and Pythias,
David and Jonathan. Friendship would carry a certain
type of man to almost any length. And Evarest, in his
quiet, dry, scientific way, looked the type. But Sydney
Carton did not give his life for Lucy Evremonde's hus-
band. It was his secret love for her. ...
Evarest had seen Emily Hayden that afternoon--and
had to all intent and purpose lied about it. There was
no other woman in that house of tragedy who, conceiv-
ably, could have left the stain of lip-rouge on that crushed
cigarette in the far end of the Hayden drawing-room.
She had gone through the dining-room and upstairs. Sim-
ple to deduce when one knew the layout of the house. ...
Perhaps a natural avoidance of a stranger on her part
-a polite fiction to do away with unnecessary explana-
tions and excuses on that of Evarest. ...
But suppose
Peter watched that exquisite, determined face in the
raw light of Kerrigan's inexperienced illumination as on
the screen Emily Hayden appeared once again to with-
hold the fatal weapon from her lover's outstretched hand.
Suppose Suppose she had a double purpose-a
guilty reason for protecting him. What if she had wiped
other fingerprints from that pistol-earlier? What if
James Hayden knew-or suspected—that she had?


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SUDDEN DEATH
What if Evarest, a constant witness to Marvin Hayden's
cruel treatment of his beautiful young wife—what if he,
also, suspected?
Through the swift enactment of the film, Peter fought
these questions in opposing ranks within his mind. And,
for the life of him could come to no conclusion. Other
elements, other possibilities forced themselves upon him.
To give just weight to each. Not to be taken in by
beauty—and youth. The charm of personality not easily
to be withstood. Kerrigan was right. Peter knew his
own human weakness, his susceptibilities—and his nat-
ural antagonisms.
The play was played. Once more Gillespie turned that
strange look toward the camera—after he had telephoned
for the police. The click of machinery ceased. There
was an instant of darkness, and Wiggar's quiet voice.
."Would you wish me to put on the lights, sir?"
"Yes. All of them. We can't have too much light."
Peter leaped to his feet and instinctively went over to the
windows and flung one of them wide open. He stood
for an instant breathing in the cool night air, listening to
the normal obvious night sounds. Then he turned back
and faced Kerrigan who had remained in his place, watch-
ing absently as Wiggar went about the room putting
things back in their accustomed positions.
"Well?" said Kerrigan.
"In the face of all this—" As if the picture still re-
mained indelibly impressed upon it, Peter motioned to-
ward the silver screen. "In the face of all this, that he
saw in the flesh and heard with his own ears, how could


SUDDEN DEATH
»7
Updegraff have dared to arrest James Hayden?"
"He didn't believe it. Any of it," said Kerrigan gruffly.
"Or at least he said he didn't. Updegraff is one of these
loud-mouthed guys. Plenty of action. And, just be-
tween ourselves, he's got a hate on what he calls the bur-
joy-zee, that you could cut with a knife. A congenital
exhibitionist. Dammit, we don't get many of them, but
when we do, in a position like his, there's hell poppin' all
along the line. He thinks he's fair-minded, but he'd a
damsight rather believe a servant than he would a boss."
"You mean Gillespie?" Peter's tone was quick and
sharp.
"Yes. He's depending on Gillespie to get the case be-
fore the Grand Jury. And I wouldn't wonder if it
worked. What that Scotchman has to say about the con-
ditions in the Hayden house, and the relation between—
well—let's call them the two stars in my last motion pic-
ture—is a-plenty. Apparently he hates them both like
poison, though he goes long on the righteous indignation
side. Quite Biblical about Sodom and Gomorrah. What
did you say, Pete?"
"Gillespie!"
"Well?"
"Gillespie was in the library, he says, at 11:15."
"Yes," said Kerrigan, staring at Peter's mobile face.
"But apparently Hayden wasn't shot until some time
later. His son declares the body was not really cold when
he touched it. They all agree that it was then as near as
possible to midnight."
"I know," said Peter absently. "But wait. The


88
SUDDEN DEATH
library is practically sound proof. Nobody admits having
heard a shot. I grant you that Marvin Hayden must have
died almost instantly. And Gillespie says he found James
and Mrs. Hayden in the library, as we've just seen, at
12:10. Right! But how do we know where Gillespie
was half an hour-fifteen or twenty minutes-before that
time? We have nething but his word for it. He might
have heard James Hayden come in. He might have
eluded Mrs. Hayden easily in the dark—and don't you
see, Jake? Why, man alive, they might have played
exactly into his hands, and it might have been Gillespie's
fingerprints that Mrs. Hayden wiped off that gun!”


CHAPTER X
"But where is his motive, Pete?” Kerrigan shook his
head dubiously. “And besides—the man seemed-hon-
est.”
"No doubt," Peter agreed. "Even you look honest-
at times— Jake.”
"But you can't say I act without a motive.” Kerrigan
refused to smile. “And I'm not a long-headed Scotch-
man."
"Nobody could pin it on you.” Peter shook his head.
“And I'd be the last, Jake, to cast aspersions on the
Scotch. One of the bulliest, most open-handed men I
know would wear kilts without a blush. But the canni-
ness of the race isn't all a joke, and I have a hunch that
our friend Gillespie will find himself well fixed financially
when Marvin Hayden's will is read.”
“The will,” Kerrigan repeated dubiously. "It hasn't
turned up yet. I believe that the D.A. was going to see
Shotover, Hendrick & Shotover, Hayden's lawyers, when
he left the house this afternoon. He got me to phone for
an appointment. Young Shotover said they didn't have
the original, only a copy of the will. When I put it to him.
he admitted he thought the will might have a bearing on
the case. Favorable to James Hayden, I could see they'd
been talking it over, those lawyers, among themselves."
Kerrigan grinned slightly. "I didn't tell Updegraff that


9°
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maybe he'd find the will might gum up his case. Thought
he'd better discover it for himself."
"Good work." Peter laughed. "Apparently the pro-
visions of said document will cut Hayden's motive down
considerably."
"What do you know about it?" Kerrigan asked with a
jerk.
"Only what my client told me. Perhaps I ought to
treat it as a confidential communication, however."
Kerrigan gave an exasperated snort. "The D.A. will
have the facts by morning. I can worm it out of him
then. Suit yourself."
"Well, I'd hate to think I was easier to de-worm than
the D.A., but I guess there's no harm in telling you that
according to Valentine Berkley the last will and testa-
ment of the late Marvin Hayden—practically disinherits
his son—and leaves his entire fortune to his widow."
"Oh!" mused Kerrigan. "But Gillespie hints like a
steam-siren that those two are in love. Well, then, it's a
cinch—"
Peter held up his hand in the manner of a traffic officer.
"You interrupted me, Jake. I was going on to say that
Mr. Hayden leaves his entire fortune to his widow—pro-
vided—that she does not re-marry. If she does—she is
penniless."
"Whew!" Kerrigan whistled through his teeth. "Who
knew these facts?"
"Marvin Hayden made no secret of it, according to
Berkley. He knew, so did his sister and so did James
Hayden. By the way, Jake, was Gillespie asked any


SUDDEN DEATH
questions about a will?”
“Yes. He didn't know anything."
“You mean he said he didn't.”
“Right, Pete. Of course we have only his say-so."
"I'll be interested to see that will,” Peter observed
slowly.
"I'd like to see Updegraff's face when he finds out,"
chuckled Kerrigan. "He was planning to work the old
inheritance motive to a fare-you-well. It might keep him
stepping to justify the arrest unless he can dig up some
strong provocation. It's certain young Hayden hadn't
seen his father since Saturday, so it would have to be a
pretty long hang-over of hate. Considerable premedita-
tion, if there's anything to back it . . . which wouldn't
listen so good for Hayden. ..."
“What reason did he give for coming back to New
York last night?” Peter seemed to be thinking aloud.
"I told you,” Kerrigan answered impatiently. "Busi-
ness. Why do you think he came back—if he isn't
guilty?"
“Of what?”
“Murder, of course."
“Oh. There are other things besides hate that make
a man change his plans.”
"I get you.” Kerrigan shifted uneasily. "Love.
Hum-m- I wonder. They say love is gr-rand, but,"
The loud buzzing of the telephone cut him short. Peter
had flung himself down beside the instrument even before
Wiggar could reach it. The impetuosity of his movement
warned Kerrigan as to what the message might be. He


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listened without any attempt at indifference. Wiggar
found several things to adjust in careful silence on a table
near by.
"Hello. Yes. This is Captain Kerrigan," Peter told
the telephone mendaciously. He shoved the legal owner
of the name aside with his elbow and kept the instrument
in his own control.
"Right," he added after an instant, aiming a smart kick
at Kerrigan's shin. "Go ahead."
He scribbled for several seconds on a pad that lay
there. Then he said into the instrument, "All right. I
have it, thank you," and put the instrument down on its
hooks.
"Well?" Kerrigan grabbed at the pad. "It's from the
San Salvador?"
"Yes. I told the captain to address you here in my
care," Peter answered slowly as he twisted away in order
to fill out his hasty abbreviations. "This is interesting.
Pretty interesting, Jake. In view of the known facts."
He picked up a slip that had been held down by the base
of the French telephone. "This is the message I sent.
See?"
Kerrigan, bending down, read aloud:
"'Please advise where important message can reach
James Hayden at earliest moment. Address.' . . . Hum-
mmmm."
"I figured," said Peter hurriedly, "that Captain Or-
mond, if he left Baltimore Sunday night or yesterday
morning, might quite possibly have missed hearing of
Marvin Hayden's death. Even with radios aboard there'd


SUDDEN DEATH
93
be a chance"
“Oh, skip it,” fumed Kerrigan. “What's his reply?"
Peter read aloud from the scrambled message in his
hand.
"J. H. spent Sunday night friends Baltimore. Stop.
Joins ship at New Orleans to-morrow. Stop. Have no
other address.”
“Whew. ..." Kerrigan whistled again. He rocked
a little back and forth on his sturdy, far-spaced legs.
He looked askance at Peter. "Hum-m-m-now-well-
that doesn't look so good, by gum. Not so good for young
Hayden. No frankness there to say the least. Hum-m.
Too bad.”
Peter was frowning intently, but for a minute made no
comment.
"Didn't tell Captain Ormond about the business he had
to talk over with his father," muttered Kerrigan, half to
himself. “Didn't say he was going back to New York.”
"On the contrary, said he was staying with friends in
Baltimore.” Peter shook his head.
"Dammit,” exclaimed Kerrigan angrily, "why can't a
nice smart young man like Hayden make up a story and
stick to it?"
"I should say because he was stuck with it,” Peter an-
swered absently. "Didn't see far enough ahead.”
“That looks like it couldn't have been premeditated-
the murder, I mean,” Kerrigan observed eagerly.
"Or he didn't expect to be caught,” Peter added on a
somber note. "If he hadn't been caught, and had joined
the ship at New Orleans, Captain Ormond probably


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would never have had any doubt that Hayden was in
Baltimore all the rest of the time."
"It would have been a flimsy alibi without backing."
Kerrigan worried the question like a dog with a bone.
"I have an idea," said Peter slowly, "that Marvin Hay-
den's death was meant to look like a convincing suicide.
. . . And even now, Jake, you know, it could—possibly
—be that."
"You don't think it though, Pete. I can see that plain
enough. Let's pretend that I agree with you for once. If
it is murder—"
"Meant to be camouflaged as suicide," Peter put in
seriously. "If the police had thought Marvin Hayden
killed himself, how stiff an inquiry would there have been
about his son's whereabouts Sunday night when he was
known to have sailed for South America Saturday?"
"We'd have sent him word of his father's death by
wireless—to the San Salvador."
"Yes," said Peter eagerly, "and if everything had
worked out a certain way, he could have flown back to
Baltimore and joined the ship before she left Monday
morning. He'd probably mentioned that possibility to
Captain Ormond, with the proviso that he'd meet him in
New Orleans if he decided to stay over with his Balti-
more friends. He had plenty of time. New Orleans is a
long way by sea but only an every day hop by plane."
"You're beginning to think it looks bad for young Hay-
den, Pete?"
"On its face. Yes. How about you?"
"Well—I don't know." Kerrigan hesitated. "You


SUDDEN DEATH
95
haven't seen him, have you, Pete?"
"Only in your pictures."
"Yes. I know. Well—" Kerrigan seemed oddly un-
certain. Suddenly his square face took on a look of de-
termination. "Look here, Pete," he said, "it's not late,
and you haven't anything to wait for, now this damn mes-
sage has come?"
"No." Peter looked curiously at his colleague.
"I'll admit your interfering smartness—using my name,
too"—Kerrigan's half angry grin took the sting out of his
words—"has shown me the whole works in a different
light. But just the same, before we spill anything to
Updegraff in the morning, suppose we see what young
Hayden has to say about this." He touched the paper on
which Peter in legible characters had rewritten Captain
Ormond's communication. "Do you think there'd be any
harm?"
"If I come along?"
"Oh, I knew I couldn't leave you out with an axe,"
growled Kerrigan. "Well, what do you say?"
"Done and done," said Peter. "We'll take my car.
Wiggar."
"Quite so, sir."
• ••••••
"Only nine o'clock." Peter glanced at his watch as
they drove swiftly along the indifferent streets. The two
detectives were strangely quiet, each thinking his own
thoughts. The weight of responsibility that rested upon
their broad shoulders seemed heavier to both, perhaps,
than ever before. In Peter's mind there had already


SUDDEN DEATH
97
Peter thought there was a queer kind of eager reluc-
tance in the last phrase. Was it dread of mentioning her?
Or fear of appearing to avoid a perfectly obvious con-
nection of ideas? Or again, wasn't it merely a natural
and innocent concern for the welfare of these members
of his household?
Peter answered the question at once and in a perfectly
open manner. "I believe my young client had an engage-
ment to play chess with an old lady, and didn't want to
disappoint her. He said he'd be back early."
"St-t-t." Hayden drew in his breath with a quick
sound of disapproval. "That would be Mrs. Evarest, no
doubt. He could have explained. She would have un-
derstood. And—his sister—alone. Selfish—" He spoke
rapidly, absently, in a low, hurried tone. "Oh, well.
Douglas will fix that as soon as he— I beg your pardon,
Captain Kerrigan. What were you saying?"
"Sorry, but this is very important, Mr. Hayden." Ker-
rigan frowned. "So much so that I thought we'd better
speak to you about it to-night." Rapidly and clearly he
opened up the business of the messages to and from the
San Salvador. It was amusing to note that Jake had re-
lieved his friend of responsibility in this matter by ac-
knowledging his own signature to the outgoing wire.
"There's a discrepancy between Captain Ormond's ac-
count and yours to the police last night you'll notice, Mr.
Hayden," said Kerrigan severely.
"Yes. I see that," the younger man admitted coolly.
"Perhaps you'd like to make some correction? It'll
probably be necessary for us to bring this up in to-mor-


SUDDEN DEATH
99
"Yes."
"Taxied from there, I suppose."
"Naturally. Why do you ask?"
"You didn't happen to notice the driver particularly,
or the license number?" Peter's steady eyes rested
calmly on the face of the man whose position had become
so precarious.
"No."
"You had other things on your mind."
Hayden's eyes narrowed slightly. The line of his lips
straightened, revealing the fact that he had a humorous-
looking dimple in one cheek. For some reason Peter re-
sented this. A thing like that belonged to a smile, not
to the sternly repressed emotion that seethed just below
the surface of the man's face.
"Would you mind telling me why you are asking these
questions, Mr. Clancy?"
"Captain Kerrigan will assure you that they are merely
routine," said Peter, with a disarming smile. The police
detective nodded and was about to speak when Peter
went on quickly: "I'd even like to ask a few more, if you
don't mind."
"What are they?" Hayden looked up at Clancy from
under dark level brows.
"Had your father made a new will recently?"
"You know he had, Mr. Clancy, or you wouldn't ask."
The accompanying glance was unexpectedly keen.
Peter smiled. "Fair enough," he said. "Do you hap-
pen to know where the signed will would be kept? Shot-
over says they have a copy only."


IOO
SUDDEN DEATH
"I—" His glance swerved suddenly and then came
back to Clancy's face. "No. I don't know where he put
the will—after he called me in and showed it to me."
"Was your father still active in business? Did he go
to the office of the line often?"
"Practically never. They came to him."
"I see. Then he'd probably have put the will for safe
keeping in his bank?"
"He might have. I don't know."
A poker face, Peter thought, very hard to read. Aloud
he said: "But you did know the provisions of your late
father's will, Mr. Hayden?"
"Valentine told you that, too?" The gray eyes nar-
rowed still more. "Well, yes. It was no secret. What
of it?"
"Don't you realize that the fact that you are practically
disinherited cuts out at least one ordinary motive?" Ker-
rigan broke in eagerly.
Hayden shrugged. "I suppose that might have weight
—even with a man like Updegraff, do you think?" He
spoke bitterly.
"Of course it will," urged Kerrigan. "And if you'd
only explain about what you told the Captain of the Saw
Salvador—"
"Do you believe any explanation I could make would
be worth the breath it would take?" Hayden burst out.
"I'm playing against loaded dice. My father shot him-
self. But how can I prove it?"
"I can't see for the life of me why you refuse to have
counsel," Kerrigan fumed. "It's not reasonable. The


SUDDEN DEATH
101
police have got to act on what they find. And God help
'em if they guess wrong."
Slowly Hayden broke away from Clancy's vivid glance
and turned his eyes on Kerrigan's red, angry face.
"Policemen like you don't get into the papers much, do
they, Kerrigan?" he said on a note of surprised interest.
"Damned if I don't believe you're human. Well—live—
and learn."
"Then you will get a lawyer, Mr. Hayden?"
The bold face was twisted with a queer smile. "I will
not, Captain Kerrigan. Not even for you. I'll do this
my own way." The self-willed jaw was set hard.
"That's your last word, sir?"
"At this time—and on this subject, yes, Kerrigan. It
is my last word."


CHAPTER XI
"Where do we go from here?" asked Peter as Wiggar
stood back for them to enter the car.
Kerrigan glanced back at the tall dark forbidding gray
walls of the "Tombs" and shook his head. "I'm through.
Guess I might as well crawl in somewhere and pull the
daisies up over me."
"Don't be an ass," said Peter genially. "I think we
found out quite a lot of things. Get in and I'll take you
home."
Kerrigan complied grumpily. As they started uptown,
he asked: "Where you going yourself? Thought you'd
managed to wangle a bid to spend the night in Gramercy
Park."
"So I have, but I want to go back to my apartment a
minute first."
"Don't tell me Wiggar has forgotten something! That
would cheer me up a helluf a lot. I see he has a suit case
there in the front seat that would take me to Europe and
back."
"What I'm going back for is a strictly personal matter
in which Wiggar has no concern," Peter remarked airily.
"He can take you on up to your place and come back
for me."
"Do I scent a desire to get rid of the old maestro?"
asked Kerrigan suspiciously.
103


SUDDEN DEATH
103
"Not a whiff. I thought you wanted to go home."
"No," Kerrigan responded slowly. "I think I'll string
along and go back down to Gramercy Park with you.
Just give it all the once over again. Maybe I'll sleep
better."
"O.K. by me," Peter agreed cheerfully.
Kerrigan could not make up his mind whether his com-
panion's attitude was put on or not. He watched the
street lights slip swiftly by for several minutes. At length
he spoke: "Well. What do you think of James Hayden?"
"I think he drinks—some," said Peter quietly.
"Most of 'em do," Kerrigan retorted. "What of it?"
"His hair curls too. Or would if he didn't brush it back
so hard."
"Oh, shut up." Kerrigan's laugh was more like a short
bark. "'T any rate he's a cut above your client or I'll
eat a sun umbrella."
"Matter of opinion," Peter observed mildly. "And as
a matter of fact either or both of them may be guilty as
hell. And then what will we do about it?"
"You're not certain yet about Berkley?" Kerrigan
turned to peer at his friend in the intermittent flash and
gloom of the city lights.
"He hated his brother-in-law. There's no question
about that. And he might think he had influence enough
with his sister to keep her from marrying again," Peter
stated with an effect of moody fairness.
"On the other hand," said Kerrigan, "looks like Hay-
den will be completely sunk, financially, by his father's
death."


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"That's right," said Peter. "Doesn't seem possible
he'd plan to cut his own throat like that. Plan ..."
He broke off. After a second he said: "Look here, Jake.
I'm glad you're coming down to Gramercy again. Some-
thing I'd like to go over with you. No. I can explain it
better when we get there."
Kerrigan sensed that it was something important but
he knew Clancy better than to insist. Little more was
said until after Peter, refusing Wiggar's help, had done
his momentary errand at his own apartment. As they
turned east through the Park, Kerrigan began again to
bite on his sore tooth.
"No kiddin', Pete," he said somewhat abruptly. "Tell
me what you really think about James Hayden. Why
the hell is he such a fool as to act the way he does about
getting a good lawyer?"
"The obvious explanation of course would be," said
Peter slowly, "that he's afraid to take anybody—anybody
at all into his confidence—until he sees how the cat's
going to jump."
"And that means—" Kerrigan hesitated and stopped.
"Just what you're thinking," Peter finished seriously.
"Either James Hayden is guilty himself—or he's very
sure in his own mind—that suspicion can fall hard on—
another."
"Protecting somebody." Kerrigan nodded. "And that
could only be—"
"Let's talk about it later. On the spot," Peter inter-
rupted. "There's something else I don't want to forget.
You've started to check up on the taxi that brought Hay-


SUDDEN DEATH
den to the house, I suppose, Jake."
"I have so," Kerrigan retorted irritably. "And I've
done about seventeen thousand other things, besides hop-
pin' on and off the D.A.'s tail-feathers. I see the point
fair enough, Pete, and I'll get after it seriously first thing
in the morning. We haven't had any luck so far and
you'd think it wouldn't be any trick at all to round up one
of those air-port regulars. I see we've got to find him.
He may be able to check so close on the hour as to make
it impossible that Hayden had time to do anything more
than what he said he did."
"Or," Peter added grimly, "he may know that young
Hayden arrived an appreciable time before Gillespie
found him there in the library and notified the police. It
cuts either way."
Kerrigan only grunted his agreement. They came out
of the Park at Sixty-fifth Street and turned down the
Avenue.
"Why not cross over to Park, Wiggar? You'll make
better time," said Kerrigan.
Peter smiled inwardly at the increase of starch in Wig-
gar's bearing. There was no other protest toward unwar-
ranted usurpation of authority, however. Obediently the
car turned its long shapely nose eastward. They were
held up by the lights at Madison. Peter glanced out.
"Hello," he said. "Is this Sixty-second, Wiggar?"
"Quite so, sir."
"What's the number of that house on the corner? Can
you see?"
"Twenty-four I think it is, sir." Wiggar's hand was.


io6
SUDDEN DEATH
poised to shift gears as the traffic lights winked from red
to green.
"All right," said Peter. "Go ahead, but slow up along
the middle of the next block. Number Thirty-two. If
my young client hasn't gone home yet we'll pick him up.
You don't mind, Jake?"
"I can bear it," growled Kerrigan. "Makes out he
cares such a helluf a lot about his sister and then goes
off and leaves her alone!"
"He's young," said Peter tolerantly. "This it, Wig-
gar? Maybe I'd better go in and fetch him. House all
lighted up. Early. He probably hasn't gone yet."
A transcendentally respectable old butler in spectacles
responded to Peter's ring. Was Mr. Valentine Berkley
there still? The butler thought he was. In fact he was
sure. Peter sent in his card.
Berkley came hastily out from a room at the back. His
face was flushed and his eyes fearful. "What is it,
Clancy?" he panted. "Have you found out that—"
He checked himself with a glance backward at the
wide door that had been and that still remained open.
Through it Peter caught a glimpse of a charming, home-
like interior in which sat a very upright, very thin old
lady at a table before an open fire. In a few brief words
Peter explained that by accident he found himself pass-
ing the door and thought that if "my client" (with a smile
and a flattering emphasis on the two words) was about
ready to leave it would be nice to give him a lift home.
Over Valentine Berkley's face there swept a look of
relief so great that it seemed as if he were about to faint.


io8
SUDDEN DEATH
to the gardens of course, and we used to roll our hoops
together along the paths. Amusing to watch the poor
children sticking their dirty little noses through the iron
railings. I always wanted to pinch them, but Elizabeth
thought it wasn't good form. I suppose it would have
been rather nasty, soiling one's fingers." She laughed, a
little hard, rippling laugh like coins rolling down a steel
stairway.
There was something rather awful as well as fascinat-
ing in the garrulity of this relic of a day that was no more.
Some old people seem to have been preserved as well as
ripened in the sun, but this one's vivacity and youthful-
ness, Peter thought, had been attained by a careful shel-
tering process that strengthened and made resilient the
tougher fibers but had gradually eliminated all the softer
ones. She was as interesting as a marvellous old piece of
china and almost as impervious, it seemed to Peter as he
held her in conversation, while the old butler with the
spectacles helped Valentine with his coat in the hall.
They came back into the room together.
"Oh, there you are, Parker." Mrs. Evarest paused
only long enough to savor one of Peter's politest of
speeches. "You can finish Mr. Valentine's game for him,
Parker, and then we'll have time for another. It must
be early yet. Much too early to go to bed. What time
is it, Parker?"
"I'll see, madam." The butler ambled across the room
and peered shortsightedly up at the clock. "It's just
twenty-five minutes past ten," he observed, coming back
to the group by the fire, where he paused at a respectful


SUDDEN DEATH
109
but privileged distance.
"Oh, my, my," exclaimed Mrs. Evarest, flashing her
handsome rings as she moved her hands in an old-fashion-
able gesture. "We can have several games yet if we play
fast. I never retire before midnight, Mr. Clancy. If I
do, I don't sleep a wink. My son is often out on com-
mittee meetings and what-not for the tiresome old Insti-
tute, and Parker and I sit here and amuse ourselves by
the hour. Unless someone takes pity on me. Like Val-
entine. You're a dear, Valentine." She stretched out
her hand in a manner suggestive of the ancien rigime.
The boy played up by instinct, bending above it with old
world grace. Peter watched the by-play with interest
though the greater part of his mind was again occupied
with thoughts and ideas as serious as life—and death.
"Good night, my dear boy. Nothing is worth worrying
about, remember. Thank you for bringing your friend
in. I hope you'll come again, Mr. Clancy. Do you play
chess? You do? Well, then, you must come. I'm nearly
always at home—now—though it used to be different
when I was a girl. Yes, yes. Quite different. Do you
mind seeing yourself out, Valentine? Well, then, good
night. . . . Parker!"
Peter glanced back as he closed the street door.
Parker had drawn up an humble looking stool and the
two old people were already immersed in their game.
On emerging Peter felt that the vehicles in the street
ought to have been hansom cabs and landaus and that
there should have been the yellow glow of oil lamps in-
stead of the sharp white glare of electricity. In the full


110
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flood of the nearest arc light a man was coming rapidly
toward them. He stopped abruptly as they met at the
foot of the tall old steps.
"Val!" It was Evarest and he "looked both shocked
and perturbed. "You could leave Emily alone, at a time
like this? Why, man alive—r"
Valentine interrupted, pouring out a flood of voluble •
excuses. With the swift change of mood that seemed to
be part of his character, he appeared now perfectly at his
ease. Evarest, Peter felt, was for the moment at least,
much more concerned about Valentine's sister than was
the boy himself. He was an older man, of course, and
far more responsible and serious.
There was a short conversation in which Evarest cour-
teously included Peter. It was soon over. The street
light shone down on the scientist's calm, dignified face as
he bade them good night at the car door.
Kerrigan wished him the same with great respect. The
police detective shook his head as they drove off. "Ain't
people funny animals?" he remarked to the world at large.
"I ask you. Would you think that was the same man
that blew into my office all steamed up this afternoon?
Looks like he'd forgotten by now what it was all about."
"Maybe he has," laughed Valentine. "I shouldn't
wonder a" bit. He's just been reading a paper on some
new biological theory of his own before the Medical Re-
search Society. His mother told me. She's fond of him
in a way but angry at what she calls his neglect. She
always acts as if she'd made him out of whole cloth. If
his father was any help to her she's forgotten it. Isn't


SUDDEN DEATH
in
she a wonder, Clancy? I'm planning to write a play with
her as one of the principal characters. Wouldn't she be
simply marvellous on the stage? 'Make-up and every-
thing?"
"She certainly would," Peter agreed heartily. "By the
way, did you think to ask her about Sunday night?"
"Oh? Oh, yes. Of course. It was just what we
thought. Douglas wouldn't have had a leg to stand on,
Captain Kerrigan."
"Eh? What?"
"If you'd made him go through with his Sydney Carton
stunt."
"His what?" Kerrigan didn't read Dickens.
"You know. This afternoon," said Peter quietly.
"Made Evarest prove what he said about being involved
in this Hayden affair."
"That," said Kerrigan quickly. "Well, what about it?"
"Douglas came straight home from Gramercy Park Sun-
day night." The boy was obviously proud of his cunning
and was not averse to impressing the same on Kerrigan.
"He left there about quarter of eleven and he was home
at quarter past. He never uses the subway and the street
car would take him a half hour at that time of night. So
there you are, you see."
"Just what I thought. A cockeyed story," growled
Kerrigan. "Glad we had sense enough not to strike at
that artificial bait. Simply waste of time, and God knows
we've got trouble enough. . . . And now while we're all
together, cozy-like, Mr. Berkley, and there's no blood for
you to get sick over like there was in the library yester-


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SUDDEN DEATH
day morning, I want you to tell me, confidential, a few
things."
The boy was in the middle of the back seat. Peter
wondered if Jake felt the sudden tension of that supple,
slim body. Whether he did or not, he went quickly on.
"Where do you suppose your late brother-in-law put
this will you told Clancy all about?"
"You don't mean to say, Captain Kerrigan, that you
think he would have taken me into his confidence about
that?"
"Why not?"
"It would never have occurred to him."
"But he did tell you what was in it."
"That's different."
"Humph. Yes," said Kerrigan. "I suppose it was.
But you must have some ideas on the subject. Would it
be in the bank? Or had he, maybe, a safe in his bed-
room?"
"If he had, I never heard about it."
"Do you think he has a safe in the house?"
"He might have. But he never mentioned it in my
hearing."
"What about your sister? Would she know?"
"I doubt it, Captain Kerrigan. There was nothing-
expansive—about my late brother-in-law." The young
voice throughout this colloquy was hard and brittle and
there was an effect of finality in the last words.
Kerrigan, seeming to feel that he was fast getting no-
where, changed to a more conversational tone and began
to inquire about the servants. He elicited little more


SUDDEN DEATH
"3
than the facts he had secured from other sources. Nearly
all of them had been in service with Mr. Hayden for
many years. All had impeccable records and references.
Valentine answered Kerrigan's questions on these heads
with glib self-assurance. Only once, and that almost im-
perceptibly, did he hesitate. It was at the mention of
the young housemaid, Kitty Quinlan. "She can't have
been in the family long," said Kerrigan. "She's hardly
out of the shell now."
If there was in Valentine's response to this a slight
confusion, Kerrigan did not appear to notice it. But to
Peter's quick intuition one thing seemed clear. He had
never laid eyes on the girl in question but from this min-
ute on he had no doubt that she was beautiful.


CHAPTER XII
Murphy had been relieved and a new man was on duty
in the hall. A footman closed the door and disposed of
their outer belongings. Wiggar had gone around the
corner to put Peter's car in a near-by garage. Kerrigan
stopped to give a few instructions to the uniformed man
on guard. He mentioned Peter by name and conveyed to
Patrolman Knip that said Mr. Clancy was to be given
the freedom of the city. Knip's eyes opened so wide that
they seemed to be pushing his peaked eyebrows up across
his forehead. Added to which, his eager grin made it ob-
vious that he had heard, and that favorably, of the red-
headed detective.
After which brief preliminaries, Kerrigan turned
quickly toward the library. "Anybody been in here since
Mr. Clancy left?" he asked in a low tone.
"No, sir," Knip answered promptly.
Kerrigan sniffed. "You never saw Mr. Clancy before,
so how do you know when he left?"
"I don't," said Knip uncomfortably. "I should have
said, sir, that nobody's been in there since I came on
duty."
"That's better," grunted Kerrigan. "Try to make ac-
curate statements, Knip. Nobody else does, but the po-
lice are supposed to. Bear it in mind."
Valentine had touched Peter on the arm. "If you don't
114


116
SUDDEN DEATH
one yesterday morning and I've had precious little sleep
since. I'm a chump for coming down again to-night.
Let young Hayden stew in his own juice. The pig-
headed"
He had walked directly to the long table in the middle
of the room. On entering, Peter put on the lights from
the switch at the door but in addition Kerrigan pulled
the silk tasselled cord of the shaded lamp on the table.
For a minute he stood looking down at the little heap of
objects that had been intimate possessions of the dead
man. He thrust out a stubby forefinger and singled out
the small, flat gold pencil. After regarding it where it lay
on the dark mahogany, he deliberately picked it up and
taking out a magnifying glass examined it from every side
with great attention.
Peter stood regarding him with a smile. "Well," he
said at length. "Find anything?"
"Darn you, Pete," Kerrigan grumbled, "are you kid-
din' me? You did have some idea about this pencil. You
did. Didn't you?” he urged.
"Oh, Jake," Peter chuckled, "you're too easy. You
rise like a hungry trout to a gray-hackle. If there weren't
any finger-prints but Marvin Hayden's on these things
what inference could anyone draw but that they'd never
been handled by anybody but him? So what?"
"So nothing," Kerrigan retorted. “I wish you'd get
your fun out of someone else when I've been on pretty
near forty-eight hour duty and have a helluf a job before
me in the morning.”
“I am sorry." Peter was still smiling. “I'll be more


118
SUDDEN DEATH
sake of argument, that Marvin Hayden's finger-prints are
on the butt of the automatic. James Hayden picks it
up--and then there are two. Two sets of prints.”
“Check."
“Upon which-enter Mrs. Hayden by that dining-room
door. She grabs the gun.”
"And then there are three,” Kerrigan carried on.
“Check and double check," said Peter. "And so, being
a wise lady, she wipes the pistol on her sleeve-and then
there are none!” He was watching the older man's in-
tent serious face.
"I don't know about her being so wise, at that," Ker-
rigan observed with a grim shake of his grizzled head.
"No prints on the gun, so far as Updegraff was con-
cerned, threw the suicide theory out of court. A man
can't wipe off the butt of the pistol after he's done him-
self in, that's a cinch.”,
"But, by the same token, finding Marvin Hayden's
finger-prints on his own automatic wouldn't be absolute
proof of suicide. You know as well as I do, Jake, that
a murderer, if he could get hold of the man's weapon,
could use gloves, or else obliterate his own prints, and
then press his victim's hand around the butt in such a
way as to leave a convincing impression.”
Kerrigan frowned still more heavily. “And were those
two about to work that racket when Gillespie butted in?
That's what I've been asking myself, Pete. Suicide's a
possible theory. But isn't the other—more probable?”
“The wind shifts,” said Peter, in a serious voice. "The
straws blow this way and that." He walked around to


SUDDEN DEATH
119
the other side of the table. "Here's one bunch of straw
that we haven't sifted yet."
"So!" exclaimed Kerrigan. "The lad's hit on it him-
self. Well, Pete, what do you think?"
It took Peter nearly a half hour to tell him. Kerrigan
argued, agreed, and argued some more. At last they
came to an understanding.
"That's the best we can do for now," said Peter. "Un-
less something unexpected turns up in the meantime, I'll
meet you here in the morning. We'll go down to the
Homicide Court together—with our cloud of witnesses—
and God protect the right, Jake, my boy."
"Oh, yes." Kerrigan shrugged. "Don't forget though
that you'd be quicker than me, Pete, to jog the elbow of
the old lady that holds the scales above the courthouse
door. So don't you be tossing your noble sentiments
my way. Good lord 1 I guess I'm tired. See you in the
morning."
Wiggar was waiting in the hall exactly as if he belonged
there. Kerrigan repeated his cautions to Officer Knip
and leaving him on guard, with a final wave of the hand
to Peter, vanished into the night.
With the closing of the door a strange suspense seemed
to fill the house like an odorless expanding gas. In the
almost palpable silence the moving water of the fountain
in the drawing-room was like the low sound of sobbing,
half suppressed; infinitely mournful and weirdly human,
as if it strove desperately to lose itself in the surrounding
blank stillness but could not stifle the upwelling of a tor-
tured soul. Inured to tragedy as he was, Peter felt that


SUDDEN DEATH
121
Peter waited long enough to be sure that it was not
necessary to enter, or to make any report to his young
client to-night. If he were asleep there was no point in
disturbing him. If awake he did not wish to be dis-
turbed.
Peter went on to his own room quietly enough but his
closing door must have slipped in his hand for it fell to
with a quite noticeable slam. He turned and grinning
at Wiggar, slid out of his coat. "That places us for the
night, I hope, to all enquiring friends," he said and added
crisply, "I'll get forty winks on the couch over there.
Call me a little before twelve and then you can turn in
for the night."
"Thank you, sir."
Peter thought the response a little too glib. "Where
have they put you?" he asked, cocking an eye up at the
valet who was spreading a light rug across his master's
feet.
"A couch in the dressing-room there, sir. I thought you
would not mind."
"You old hen," said Peter indulgently.
"Excuse me, sir." Wiggar's apologies were often
slightly tinged with reproof. "A house where murder
has been perpetrated, if you'll allow me to mention it,
Mr. Peter, is hardly as safe as the Bank of England."
"Pooh!" said Peter. "Lightning doesn't strike twice
in the same place."
"Unless there's a reason, sir. I've heard you say that
yourself."
"Have you discovered something?" Peter sat up


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SUDDEN DEATH
alertly. "You were below stairs with the servants a good
deal this afternoon and evening. Did you get any tips?"
"Well, perhaps nothing of importance," Wiggar re-
plied modestly. "I can tell you just as well if you were
to remain in a recumbent position, Mr. Peter."
"All right. I'll recumb." Peter's eyes were quizzical
as he lay back on his pillows. "What did you pick up
about our friend Gillespie? He interests me strangely,
Wiggar."
"Quite so, sir. No doubt. He's a trained man, Mr.
Peter. Very well trained. On that score I could make
no criticism."
"And this from you, Wiggar! It's a pity the poor man
doesn't know what you think of him."
"Oh, he does, Mr. Peter. There's a sort of free-
masonry among the higher classes—of servants, I mean
of course, sir. As far as the profession goes Gillespie
and I would understand each other. Quite. But in per-
sonal matters I would not say we were so much at one.
No, sir. There I am afraid we do not see eye to eye."
"No?" queried Peter with grave inflection. "In what
particular?"
"Well, to begin with, Mr. Peter, Gillespie is a religious
fanatic."
"And you are calm Church of England. 'From battle,
murder and sudden death, good Lord, deliver us,' and all
the rest of the litany."
"Murder and sudden death." Wiggar stopped with
Peter's coat in his hand. "Quite so, sir. I never thought
of it before, but isn't that what might be called tautology,


SUDDEN DEATH
123
Mr. Peter?"
"Well," Peter smiled inwardly, "murder is often sud-
den death, I suppose, but sudden death needn't be mur-
der."
"No, no. Of course. That's quite right, sir."
"And you to criticise your prayer book, Wiggar! I'm
surprised."
"Pardon. It was just a thought, sir. No bearing on
the case."
"No bearing? I wonder. Murder—or sudden death,"
Peter mused. Then crisply: "Let's get back to Gillespie.
What has his difference of religion to do with us?"
"Well, perhaps nothing, sir. And I wish you to under-
stand, Mr. Peter, that I make a practice of tolerance even
with dissenters. Though in this case I admit it is diffi-
cult. Gillespie makes such a point of it. It seems he is
a strict Sabbatarian. So much so that he resented the
family's going to concerts or even playing bridge at home
as was their practice on Sunday evenings. I pointed out
to him that in Scotland many strict observers consider
the Sabbath over at six, but he felt that didn't apply."
Peter could picture Wiggar sedately arguing for his
own hidden purpose, but he did not smile. He saw there
was more to follow. "Has he any other phobias?" he
asked by way of encouragement.
"Phobias? Ah, yes. I see. . . . Phobias. Very good,
sir. Yes. Gillespie is very rabid on what he calls 'sin,'
if you follow me, Mr. Peter."
"Sin," agreed Peter, nodding. His eyes narrowed
thoughtfully.


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SUDDEN DEATH
"According to his hints and innu—innuendoes, there's
been goings-on here, sir. I think he's made it plain to
more than one person, since Mr. Hayden's—ah—sudden
death. Official, I mean, sir."
Peter nodded. "Anything else?"
"You knew Gillespie is married and that his wife is
head cook and a power in the kitchen?"
"I heard Kerrigan asking Mr. Berkley about her in the
car coming down, you know, but that's all."
"Well, sir, the woman has a long tongue and when her
husband is out of the way it seems to run of itself like
an electric clock."
"And you supplied the necessary current, Wiggar."
Peter smiled at the valet's tone of disgust.
"Naturally, sir." There was scarcely concealed com-
placency at the implied compliment. "It seemed worth
while—and I did find out one thing, Mr. Peter, that you
may think has a bearing on the case. It's understood by
the woman Gillespie at least, that the master, some little
time ago, provided for them in his will."
"Do they know anything about a new one?" Peter
asked quickly.
"No, sir. I'm sure they do not."
"Gillespie's status probably isn't affected," mused
Peter. "Did you get an idea that it was—or is—a gen-
erous bequest?"
"It would seem so to me," said Wiggar primly. "Oh,
yes. Quite so, sir. In fact it is understood that they are
to inherit enough to set them up in the country for life.
A matter of two thousand pounds, I believe, sir."


SUDDEN DEATH 125
"You mean ten thousand dollars?"
"Pardon. A bad habit. Seems to make it more real
somehow. Yes. Ten thousand dollars, sir."
Peter was silent for a long minute. Then he asked
dreamily, "What would you do for ten thousand dollars,
Wiggar?"
"Many things, I daresay, sir."
"Among which are the following?"
Wiggar recognized this as a rhetorical question, for
Peter had turned his back to the light and was compos-
ing himself for a brief but needed rest.


CHAPTER XIII
"I'm coming with you, sir."
"Now, Wiggar!"
"Listen, Mr. Peter. ... A house ought not to be as
quiet as this."
"Don't let's get fanciful in our old age." Peter stood
up in a pair of black sneakers, while Wiggar girded about
him the cord of his dark silk dressing gown with care to
leave the arms free. Peter transferred some small mat-
ters to the ample side pockets of the robe where an au-
tomatic already comfortably nestled. He motioned to
Wiggar to shut off the light again and himself opened the
door and paused inside, leaving it ajar.
They stood there for many minutes, the senses of the
man as well as those of the master on the qui vive. Noth-
ing stirred above, below or around them. The small
lights from an unseen source that were thrown down at
the angles of the stairs and evidently were to burn all
night made the surrounding darkness heavier. Knowing
from experience that it was time wasted arguing with
Wiggar, Peter, if the truth must be told, glad of his com-
pany, pulled the door wider and started softly down the
hall. He waited while Wiggar noiselessly locked the door
behind them, then stole swiftly through the revealing
beam from Valentine's door, pausing only long enough
to be sure that his client was still there, and to all appear-
126


128
SUDDEN DEATH
so with alacrity. He did not advertise the fact that he
had swiftly withdrawn the key and put it in his own
pocket. If Kerrigan noticed it he gave no hint that he
had done so. Peter was glad for he did not want the
police detective to get into any trouble and what Peter
hoped to be able to do now was by no means according
to Culbertson.
The key turned with a faint grating click. No chal-
lenge from the inimical blackness that surrounded them.
Peter paused long enough to slip on a pair of very thin
dark gloves. Then he turned the knob, drew open the
door, passed through with Wiggar close behind, closed
and locked it, all in the same silent breath.
"Stay here," Peter whispered, and sent his flash-light
licking along the walls and into every corner of the
library. Exactly as they had left it, he concluded, and
went straight across to the one window where the cur-
tains were still parted—as they had been when Marvin
Hayden's body was discovered.
Before he closed them Peter paused an instant to gaze
out into the square. It was as if he found himself averse
to shutting out the familiar, normal world and took com-
fort in the accustomed sights and surroundings.
On the other side of the park, the lights of a taxi just
leaving the Players Club flashed flickering through the
shrubs and railings. Inside the high fence one of the
privileged owners was waiting with inevitable patience
while her little dog attended conscientiously to every bush
and tree. The same thing, even at so late an hour, may
be seen in all our city parks from the Bronx to the Bat-


SUDDEN DEATH
129
tery, a kind of dog-lovers parade. The large blue-coated
policeman that paced slowly by swinging his night-stick
was only another incident in the familiar picture, but
Peter stepped back and drew the curtains quickly and
closely together when he saw that the policeman had
turned at the corner of the pavement and was coming
slowly back. Kerrigan had thought it worth while to
place a guard outside the house as well as in then. In
that case it was necessary to be extra careful about lights.
If one essays an experiment, however altruistic, without
the required legal authority it is more than advisable not
to involve the sturdy blue arm of the law and the night-
stick that adds so many inches to its length.
Satisfied that the heavy cornice and draperies would
now safely mask the windows, Peter turned on the low
shaded light upon the library table. Wiggar was standing
stiffly just within the door. Except for the thin dark
gloves he had put on he might have been about to an-
nounce dinner, so calm did he appear, but the blank eyes
with which he followed his master's every movement were
not the transparent windows of his excited soul.
Peter beckoned sharply. "Come over here a minute,"
he said in a low tone, though he had little fear, owing to
the sound-proof properties of the library, of being over-
heard. "Did you happen to notice anything odd about
this part of the room?" he asked, indicating with a short
sweep of his flash-light the corner nearest to the door by
which they had just entered.
"Well—the chair, sir?" Wiggar came quickly to him.
"Position strike you as a bit unusual?"


130
SUDDEN DEATH
"Someone might have been looking for a book there
and turned the chair half way in toward the wall for con-
venience," Wiggar ventured.
Peter touched the back of the low padded chair. "It
was this way in Kerrigan's movie. Did you notice?"
"I'm afraid I didn't sir." Wiggar's tone was contrite.
"Perhaps you would have made it a point for observa-
tion," Peter said with quick indulgence, "if you'd searched
this end of the room as I did while Dillon was here.
Look at the floor. Right beside the chair and in front of
that small console. See anything?"
As if moved by the same spring both men dropped to
their knees. Wiggar pointed with a smooth white fore-
finger. "You mean those worn places on the parquetry?"
"Can you read 'em?" Peter asked swiftly. "No?
Well, look. Here's where the console has been moved
out so that the books behind it could be dusted perhaps.
Irregular marks and not so easy to see. But here. This
is what caught my eye. This end of the console that's
next to the corner of the room has been pulled out often—
in a sort of half circle. Notice how the edges of those
dark blocks of inlay are worn?"
"I see it now," Wiggar agreed eagerly.
"Taken with the position of the chair, doesn't it sug-
gest anything to you?" Peter did not wait for an answer.
He rose quickly and grasping the sides of the narrow
bowed table he swung that end away from the wall.
"If it adds up the way I think, we'll find it low down
behind some of these shelves," he muttered half to him-
self. "One sits down. . . ." He stooped, playing his


134
SUDDEN DEATH
me from yon table the keys I requested, if memory does
not deceive, some moments agone."
Wiggar's spirits rarely failed to rise with those of his
master. He had the keys and was back before Peter had
time to pull on again the thin gloves that he had found
it necessary to remove.
"It's important that we don't leave any traces," Peter
explained, working quickly. "I have scarcely a doubt
that somebody—some member of the household—knows
all about this safe. Kerrigan, too, and even the district
attorney will soon figure out that it must exist when—
or if—the will doesn't turn up—somewhere else."
"The will," Wiggar exclaimed softly. "That's what
you're after, sir? You think it's here?"
"I believe it is—or was—here, Wiggar. That's the
point. Is? Or was? If it's gone . . ."
"Stolen?" Something flashed in the valet's brain.
"That might have been the reason, you know," Peter
murmured, glancing quickly at the various documents he
lifted from the several drawers that he was unlocking.
"Who surprised whom? And when? We can figure out
the sequence of what happened last night better if we
know— Here, Wiggar. Catch hold of this drawer.
Take it over to the table. This looks as if it should be—
"It's not in any of the others," he continued, seating
himself hurriedly beside a low occasional table that Wig-
gar had deftly extracted from a nest of carved stands
near by, and on which he had placed the safe drawer.
"If no properly executed will is found, Wiggar—James
Hayden would stand to inherit a large portion of one of


CHAPTER XIV
"Well, I'll be—" Peter jerked out the long envelope
he had discovered at the bottom of the drawer and turn-
ing it over fairly swallowed the last word of eternal con-
demnation. "Five hundred thousand dollars! Look,
Wiggar!" he exclaimed, rapidly extracting the contents
and pushing the strong linen envelope over, face up on
the table.
"An insurance policy? Yes, sir. Quite so, sir,"
breathed the valet, controlling his curiosity with a su-
preme effort.
"But, do you understand? Five hundred thousand
dollars on the life of Marvin Hayden! And see whom
it's made out to?"
"Catherine Hayden. Yes, sir. But I thought Mrs.
Hayden's .name was Emily."
"So it is. And look at the date. The present Mrs.
Marvin Hayden wasn't even born then. 1905."
"Then it must have been—"
"The first Mrs. Hayden," Peter finished impatiently.
"Her name was Catherine. The whole family history is
in Who's Who and the Social Register, and so forth.
Grabbed off time to look 'em up just before dinner to-
night. We're travelling in very good society, Wiggar."
"Yes, sir. That's quite obvious if I may say so.
But—"
136


SUDDEN DEATH
137
"But what?"
"If the insurance was taken out for the benefit of the
first Mrs. Hayden, who is now deceased—I really cannot
fathom, Mr. Peter, the reason for undue excitement in
these present circumstances. I'm not too familiar with
insurance practices, of course, but in the event of the
death of a—er—beneficiary I believe they're called?
Yes. Thank you, sir. Well, in that case I suppose the
policy would hardly be continued."
"But it was," said Peter in a curiously low voice, as
he ruffled a sheaf of slips that had been with the policy
in the envelope. "Receipts to date. For thirty—long—
years. ... In memory. . . . Yes, that's what it was,
Wiggar. I'm certain. Maybe the one soft spot in Mar-
vin Hayden. . . . 1905. The year James was born. His
son. His only son. . . . Marvin was not so rich then—
perhaps not so cold and hard. At any rate, we see, here,
that in the year when his wife Catherine presented him
with a son, he insured his own life for her benefit, to the
tune of half a million. Might have been a thank offer-
ing. . . . And when she died—just two years later—"
Peter turned the thick linen envelope over and pointed
to a memorandum in a large bold hand on the back—
"Hayden assigned this policy—to his little son."
"Assigned! To James Hayden. Five hundred thou-
sand dollars," murmured Wiggar. The mention of so
comfortable a sum seemed to have left his lips molded to
the shape of the final cipher.
"A gift to him from his mother?" Peter mused. "I
wonder if it wasn't that—perhaps—to Marvin Hayden


138
SUDDEN DEATH
at the time. And later—even though he lost all affection
for his son—to the point of cutting him out of his will—
yet, maybe, there remained a sense of loyalty to the boy's
dead mother. ... It would explain these payments.
The policy kept in force. . . . And James Hayden in
reality, at his father's death left far from penniless."
"In which case—" Wiggar glanced up and met his
master's eyes.
"A motive?" Peter's face was very serious. "Or at
least something to counterbalance the disinheriting will.
Debit. And credit. Would one cancel the other in the
minds of a jury?"
"What do you think, sir?"
Peter was frowning heavily as he picked up the papers
one by one, examined them again and put them back in
the drawer exactly as he had found them.
"I think it's not up to us," he said, after a considerable
pause. "Let the district attorney look for the will—and
find it if he can. It's not so very hard. The insurance
policy is there, where Marvin Hayden put it. Updegraff
can make what he likes of that—if he sees it soon enough.
He was so brash about taking James Hayden into custody
that he's cut himself pretty short on time. Without de-
fendant's consent the Homicide Court only allows this
forty-eight hour adjournment and that will be up in the
morning. As it stands it looks as if Updegraff will have
to accept Shotover's copy as more or less conclusive evi-
dence on the provisions of the will. ... In the mean-
time, Wiggar, there's one thing I'd really like to find
out. . . ."


SUDDEN DEATH
139
"Yes, Mr. Peter?" The valet's voice was hardly above
a whisper.
"Does James Hayden know about this life insurance?
If it was a secret and he did not know . . ."
"Then it couldn't count against him." Wiggar nodded
sagely.
"But if he does know . . ." Peter motioned for Wig-
gar to replace the drawer and close the safe. He knew
the valet could be trusted to put everything back in place
to the last meticulous detail, and with gloved hands to
leave no trace.
"But if he does know," Peter repeated softly. He
paced the length of the room and returned as far as the
long table in the centre.
When Wiggar finished a nice adjustment of the con-
sole and the chair at its original angle with the wall, he
glanced quickly down the room hoping for a word of
approval. But Mr. Peter was standing beside the library
table, partly turned away. He was doing something with
his hands that Wiggar could not see. From the move-
ment of the elbows he would have thought, however—
But he must have been mistaken. Of course Mr. Peter
would hardly have done such a thing anyway. And yet—
Wiggar made an opportunity a few seconds later to pause
near the library table. He had been interested in the
chaste and refined small articles that had been taken from
the dead man's pockets. He was more than interested
now to find that, so far as he could judge they were all
still there. If anything had been missing—the little gold
pencil for instance, about which Captain Kerrigan had


140
SUDDEN DEATH
spoken—but it was quite obviously in evidence, gleaming
softly in the low light. Wiggar turned to find his master's
quizzical gaze fixed upon him.
"Well?" said Peter, with one eyebrow lifted.
"I—I beg pardon, Mr. Peter. I was just admiring—"
The valet paused uncertainly.
"The perfume on the handkerchiefs?" Peter suggested.
"Very nice, isn't it? Lasting, too. Even the one that's
been used—just look at it again, Wiggar. Notice any-
thing peculiar about it?"
Wiggar picked up the article indicated and sniffed ap-
preciatively. "Nothing but what you've already men-
tioned, sir." He was surprised to see that his master was
watching him with a certain concentration.
"Look at it," Peter insisted. "Examine it closely and
tell me what you see."
Wiggar complied with conscientious fervor. After a
second he shook a puzzled head. "The handkerchief is
of fine Irish linen, sir," he hazarded. "It's only been
laundered a few times. Has a purple monogram very
well done, probably in Paris from the shape of the let-
ters. It was unfolded, placed in the pocket and I should
say, from the few light creases, might well have remained
in the pocket through the evening."
"It hasn't been used—to rub off anything perhaps?
Look again." Peter's face was serious.
Wiggar's appeared to reflect the mood. "I should think
—not—sir," he said slowly. "I can see no trace of any
foreign substance. In fact I should say it was improbable
that he had used it even so much as to wipe his lips or


SUDDEN DEATH
141
his forehead or his nose." For some reason it seemed to
Wiggar a trifle indelicate to speak of a dead man's having
blown his nose—or not—but strict regard for complete
accuracy constrained him. "Should there be something
on this handkerchief?" he made bold to ask.
"There might have been," said Peter thoughtfully.
"It's a point. I can conceive that it might have been
used. . . . But if you say it hasn't—"
"Oh, I defer to you, Mr. Peter," the valet put in
quickly. "Your observation would be far more reliable
than mine. If you say that it has?"
"I'm not saying anything at all about it right now,"
said Peter somewhat grimly. "We'll see that nothing in
this room is disturbed until we have time to figure out
. . . to observe ... I think I see how . . . But to
prove it, Wiggar. That's the rub. Strange—how difficult
that may be—to prove . . ."
Wiggar's heart under his superlatively correct waist-
coat beat quickly. Could it be that Mr. Peter knew—
knew already—where the guilt of this crime lay? What
had he seen? Guessed? With his quick intuition and
logic, what facts had he forged together link by link?
The servant would have given worlds to ask as he watched
his master switch off the light on the table and cross once
more to the window to readjust the curtains as they had
been.
And Peter's heart was heavy with foreboding as he
glanced out into the dim city square. What was human
justice after all? Not an eye for an eye, or a tooth for
a tooth. We had come to a broader conception than that.


142
SUDDEN DEATH
But there were things—that must be done—lest the in-
nocent suffer. . . .
He knelt there on the chair for a minute looking out.
The street seemed deserted now. No more little dogs
being aired and made comfortable for the night. Only
the faint flip-flop of the law progressing unseen on large
competent feet. The house was on a corner and the
patrolman on guard would lay out his beat so as to watch
the side entrance as well as the front. Must have crossed
Lexington Avenue and gone a little way along the block.
Now the footsteps turned. They were coming nearer.
As Peter moved cautiously away from the window the
bells in the Metropolitan tower began to chime. High
over the city the old familiar changes sounded queerly
irrelevant. Only the single deep note at the end seemed
in accord with that solemn hour of the windy night.
"One o'clock," murmured Peter, as he and his faithful
servant picked their way noiselessly across the room.
"Doesn't seem as if it had been nearly an hour. Well
spent, though, Wiggar. We know now where we stand
and can act—"
Carefully and slowly he opened the door into the
dining-room, reconnoitered, and then silently closed and
locked it behind them. Now that his purpose was accom-
plished, Peter thought perhaps he'd better say a few
potent words to Patrolman Knip that would keep him
more on the alert for the remainder of the night. It
would be easy to pretend that he and Wiggar had just
come downstairs to see if a faithful guard were being
kept. The arrangement of the stairway would have made


SUDDEN DEATH
143
it possible for them to reach the lower hall without being
seen from the front in spite of the lights in the baseboard
at the angles of the stairs. . . .
Peter, peering into the hall from the blackness of the
dining-room, drew back so suddenly that only Wiggar's
quickness saved them from collision. The detective put
out his hand behind him, touched the valet's shoulder
and with the door held open just a crack the two men
waited, breathless.
Someone was coming down the stairs. A shadow
thrown by the unseen light above flickered across the low
illumination on the balcony landing. There was no noise
of descending feet, but the tell-tale shadow swayed nearer
and nearer, until it reached the turn. There it paused
the briefest instant, then moved quietly on—a shadow no
longer, for the low-flung ray of the concealed light re-
vealed a figure, wraith-like in its long robes of flowing
silk. Only the softly, silently moving feet were clear.
The rest of the slender shape was dim against the dark-
ness, but to Peter there came instant recognition. No
one but Emily Hayden in that house could look and move
like that.
Steadily, without faltering, she came down the stairs.
The rear hall was only less dark than the dining-room
but Peter knew she was moving directly towards them.
Guiding Wiggar with the lightest touch, Peter stepped
back clear of the door that immediately thereafter was
pushed softly inward.
If she were to close the door they would be face to
face. The thought flashed through Peter's mind but he


144 SUDDEN DEATH
had no time to seek a better place of concealment. The
darkness was intense. They must trust to that, or else—
She was so close now that Peter heard distinctly her
soft, sighing breath. A note of pain. A moan struggling
for utterance. But she did not close the door. Instead
she passed them, unseeing, and with a step as lightly con-
fident as if it were broad day, crossed to that door through
which she had passed that other night into a room of
horror.
What was she doing there? Had she a key? Or
didn't she know that the door would be locked? Silent
as a cat, Peter stepped cautiously nearer.
She was at the door now. He could hear her hand on
the knob. Fumbling. Twisting it. So she had no key.
She could do no harm. Would it not be best then—
Peter took one long step backward, was poised for
swift retreat, when suddenly the air about him was shiv-
ered with a wild, fearful cry.


CHAPTER XV
"Lights, Wiggar! Lights!"
Peter plunged forward and caught her as she fell. By
instinct Wiggar found the switch and in a flash the whole
scene was illuminated with the brilliance of a stage. The
beautiful creature in Peter's arms was white as death.
"Water!" he cried. "Brandy—" Wiggar was already
at the sideboard when hasty thudding feet announced the
entrance of Patrolman Knip.
"What's goin' on here?" he demanded in the hoarse
voice of an abruptly awakened sleeper. "What the devil,
Mr. Clancy?"
"Hush," said Peter. "Step back, please. Wiggar!"
"There's no brandy here, sir."
"Then water—" Glancing swiftly over his shoulder,
Peter saw the leather door behind the sideboard swinging
on its hinges. "The pantry, Wiggar! Quick," he cried.
The valet must have seen, too, or caught the sharp
insistence in his master's voice. He reached the corner in
a split second and with his finger on the electric switch
in the jamb, thrust open the door.
"Brandy, Gillespie," he said, in the exactly correct
tone of one upper servant to another. "Mrs. Hayden has
fainted."
Gillespie had drawn back as the pantry light flashed
up but he responded automatically to Wiggar's composed
145


146
SUDDEN DEATH
and authentic manner. With a brief nod he produced a
decanter and the proper glass.
"Some water, too.” With smooth celerity Wiggar
caught up a small tray, placed the required restoratives
upon it and returned to his master's side.
“Better put her on the couch over there. Flatten the
cushions, Wiggar. Low at the head.” Peter lifted the
unconscious woman as if she were a child and turned
toward the Empire sofa that stood under the long, leaded
glass window at the back of the room.
At that instant, without previous sound of any sort,
Valentine Berkley rushed in from the hall.
"Emily!” he cried. “What's happened? What's the
matter, Clancy? She's not- Oh, my God!- Not—"
"No. No. Just fainted,” Peter reassured him. “We'll
have her out of this—” Gently he laid down his lovely
limp burden upon the couch.
Valentine glanced about him in apparent bewilderment.
"I heard a scream," he muttered, coming near as Peter
poured out some brandy. "Here. Let me.” He caught
the glass almost roughly from Peter's fingers. "Emily,
dear. Drink this. Just a sip. . . . She doesn't hear!
Emily!” His hand was shaking.
Peter quietly took the glass and forced a few drops
between the girl's exquisite pale lips. The other men
stood by in silence. Gillespie, although clad in dressing
gown and slippers, somehow managed not to fall far short
of Wiggar's example of propriety and waited a few paces
to the rear in rigid readiness for any service that might
be required of him. Knip remained near by, a large mass


SUDDEN DEATH
147
of blue-clothed helplessness.
Peter paused a second then carefully poured a little
more brandy between the now slightly parted lips. The
boy had flung himself down on his knees beside the couch.
The mass of his dark hair fell forward and shaded his
face like a half-folded wing. His orange-scarlet robe
with its thin binding-line of a queer rich purple, fell in
long folds about him. He held his sister's hand pressed
against his cheek.
Even in his hurry and concern Peter noted the beauty
of the picture and its pathos. The two profiles, so close
together, were very much alike, but there the resemblance
ended. The boy's coloring, from head to foot was vivid
and alive. The girl's hands and face as well as her robe
were the creamy white of southern magnolias. Only her
lips were just beginning to show a faint touch of coral.
"Emily!” The boy leaned closer. Her eyelids flut-
tered and she drew a faint, long, sighing breath. He
waited motionless, silent, expectant.
Suddenly her whole frame quivered. "Jim!” she cried.
“Jim! Don't! I'm "
Her brother leaned swiftly forward and clamped his
long thin hands on her shoulders.
"Emily," he cried in a panting whisper. “You're
dreaming. Wake up, dear. It's Val. Can't you under-
stand? Val!"
With a long shudder she opened her eyes. Peter
stepped quickly back so that no one but her brother was
within her range of vision.
“Where— Oh, Val, how did I come here? What hap-


148
SUDDEN DEATH
pened? I had such a horrible dream." She clung to
him and he folded her in his arms.
"You've been walking in your sleep again, dear," he
said soothingly. His voice had grown firm and he was
facing Clancy over her shoulder with a determined look.
"Something must have startled you and instead of waking
up, you fainted. Mr. Clancy found you."
She stirred then and following the direction of his gaze
became aware, apparently for the first time, that there
were others in the room. Instinctively she drew her white
silk negligee closer and sat up.
"I'm sorry—" Her glance took in the four silent
watchers with an expression tinged with alarm. "What
did I do? Where was I going?"
Before Peter could answer Gillespie stepped grimly a
pace forward. "You came down to the library, Madam.
And finding the door locked—"
"How do you know what Mrs. Hayden did, Gillespie?"
Valentine interrupted sharply. "What were you doing
down here at this time of night?"
The butler did not seem in the least affected by the
young man's angry tone. "I woke up a little while ago,
sir," he answered quietly, "and finding it impossible to
go to sleep again I thought I'd heat a little milk. It's
very soothing to the nerves."
Both Wiggar and Peter knew that there had been no
light in the pantry. Which meant—
"You'd just reached this floor when Mrs. Hayden cried
out?" Peter suggested. Whether true or not it was the
explanation Gillespie would be bound to make.


SUDDEN DEATH
149
"Quite so, sir. Very alarming it was, indeed, sir."
"Yes, yes. So it was." Peter seemed entirely satis-
fied. He turned to Mrs. Hayden with quiet sympathy.
"It's a dangerous thing to walk in one's sleep," he said.
"Do you do it often?"
"More often than any of us like," Valentine answered
for her. "If she's worried or has bad dreams . . ."
Emily Hayden raised her hands swiftly and covered
her face as if to shut out a vision of horror. Her brother
drew her closer and laid his fingers across hers. "Only
a dream, dear," he murmured, gently pulling down her
hands. "Nothing shall hurt you, any more. I'll take care
of you. You're safe now. Quite safe. Come. Let's go
upstairs. I'll sit by you. All night if you like. I'll tell
you fairy stories, the way you used to. Can you walk
or shall I carry you?"
Peter was surprised at the boy's strength, for he lifted
his sister bodily from the couch and with apparent ease.
She made him put her down, however, and with only the
support of his arm about her waist the two went slowly,
and without a backward glance, across the hall and up
the stairs.
As they disappeared Patrolman Knip seemed suddenly
to realize that he had a tongue that could be operated
instead of a wooden member in a wooden head.
"Beg yer pardon, Mr. Clancy," he said with a touch of
indecision, "but d'you mind telling me how you got down
here?"
"Without your seeing me?" Peter spoke sternly. "It
was simple enough. A small army could have come down


SUDDEN DEATH
those padded stairs without disturbing your peaceful
slumbers, Knip. What I report to Captain Kerrigan in
the morning will depend on how tired your eyes and feet
will get from now on." He glanced back at Gillespie
who had already opened the pantry door and was in the
act of retreating. "Hot milk isn't a bad idea, Wiggar,"
he said pleasantly. "Suppose you bring up a glass to
me when you come."
"Thank you, sir." Wiggar, knowing exactly what was
expected of him, vanished in Gillespie's wake.
Peter turned back to the policeman. "Knip," he said,
"you're to see that no one goes into that library for any
purpose until Captain Kerrigan or someone from the dis-
trict attorney's office comes in the morning. Understand?
The doors are locked, of course, but there may be du-
plicate keys. Better keep the lights on in here and the
hall door open and stroll around a bit. It'll be good for
your figure."
So saying, Peter went back up the stairs and along the
silent halls. Mrs. Hayden's door was closed, but behind
it was the murmur of low voices and a thin thread of
light lay along the sill. It was not surprising, therefore,
that Valentine's room was empty. Peter stepped inside
for a minute. At the head of the empty bed the perpetual
light burned serenely below the exquisite small image.
Beauty—Love—Truth. The boy thought he could wor-
ship Beauty for itself alone. The girl was bound—how
tightly?—in the toils of Love. And for Peter—there was
Truth. Truth. But could that not somehow—some day
—involve the others? he thought with an ache of long-


SUDDEN DEATH
ing. Must Truth, for him always have an element of
hate and ugliness and horror? Was he, perhaps, seeking
facts only? And was Truth something different—or
rather larger—more embracing?
At any rate, Peter thought as he unlocked his own door
with the key that Wiggar, unobserved a few minutes be-
fore, had slipped into his hand—at any rate and in any
event it would seem that Truth could not run counter
to facts—all the facts—and in their proper sequence and
relation. Ah, there was the rub. ... To place a just
value on the sequence of events and on the relation of
the persons involved. . . .
Peter thought of his own sister—long dead. She was
not beautiful as Emily Hayden was—but she had been so
gay and wise. A little older—but a pal. If she had lived
. . . there would have been between them the bond of
old memories—like the day when Mollie interfered with
the laying on of the parental slipper, by telling a lie so
loyal as to turn it shining white in retrospect. Then, too,
there would have been a thousand confidences given and
received—the spur of mutual hopes and ambitions. . . .
Fraternal affection. ... It was the smart pose now to
question. To infer psychological abnormalities. But
Peter, normal and straightforward, was sure that such a
relationship at its best was a fine, confident friendship—
with the added tie of blood. It could be this, and he be-
lieved now, with a sudden insight, that it was true of the
brother and sister, struggling side by side even now in
this mesh of terror and suspicion. Young Berkley was
effeminate, perhaps, certainly egocentric and ultra artis-


i52 SUDDEN DEATH
tic, but he was not a degenerate. There was a certain
determination and strength . . . combined with an over-
emphasized craving for the limelight . . . that would
carry him—to what lengths? In his sister's defence—to
free her from an intolerable situation—and with his own
ardent personal sense of injury fanned to blazing point
. . . was it on the cards, to put it plainly, that Valentine
Berkley could be suspected of murder? Would his em-
ployment of a well-known detective be open to the con-
struction of being just a clever blind? Peter felt no
confidence, in spite of Kerrigan's easy assurance, that
the boy's alibi would stand up under a severe test. Well,
then . . .
Wiggar found Mr. Peter walking aimlessly about the
room and from the expression of his master's face con-
cluded that the hot milk with the few biscuits he had
brought would not actually be amiss. He closed the door
softly, arranged the refreshments temptingly upon a
table, placed a chair, cleared his throat with just the
proper degree of insistence and waited.
Peter glanced up at the sound, cocked one eyebrow,
smiled and sat down in his place. "Find out anything?"
he asked, as Wiggar deftly unfolded a napkin and wafted
it across his knee.
"Nothing of importance, I'm afraid, sir. Whether it
was Gillespie's original intent I couldn't determine with
any degree of certitude, but he did prepare some milk and
drink it whilst I heated this for you."
"He had to since you were there to call his bluff."
"Quite so, sir. But be the matter of the milk as it may,


SUDDEN DEATH
153
it seemed to me that his words and manner indicated
that he saw Mrs. Hayden leave her room and that he had
quite possibly hurried down the back way intending to
watch-or perhaps to intercept her.”
"I thought that too,” said Peter. "Anything else?
Did he give any hint that he had seen us come out of the
library?”
"No, sir.”
“You think he didn't see us?”
"I'm practically certain that he did not. He had only
just reached the pantry, as you said, when Mrs. Hayden
screamed.”
“Good. I thought that also. Now one thing more.-
This milk, by the way, is pretty good for a night-cap,
but we mustn't get effeminate, Wiggar.”
"No, sir. You were about to say—"
"Oh, yes. What did Gillespie think of the sleep-walk-
ing idea? Was he skeptical at all?”
"He had never heard, he said, that Mrs. Hayden
walked in her sleep,” Wiggar answered gravely.
"Hum-m-m,” said Peter. “Well, it might be true, you
know-and the servants none the wiser. People are more
or less inclined to make a secret of an affliction of that
sort. It is a real affliction. ... Yes. . . . And a bad
dream might naturally be connected in her mind with
some necessity for reaching the library. . . . That would
be one explanation. ...".
“You think there could be another, sir?” Wiggar ven-
tured the question tentatively as he spread Peter's napkin
over the depleted tray and removed it.


154
SUDDEN DEATH
“There obviously could be another.” Peter looked
down into the other's impenetrable face while the valet
divested him of his robe.
“Would it,” Wiggar was shocked at his own temerity
but managed to go on- "Would it be a second attempt
-to get the will-Mr. Peter?”
The ensuing silence eventually forced the valet's eyes
up to meet the keen blue ones fixed upon him.
"We know nothing about that will, Wiggar," Peter ad-
monished with upraised forefinger. "Nor about anything
else in that safe. Remember that. I've decided. For
the present at least I'll say nothing, even to Kerrigan.
And—” he finished somberly, “we'll see how the cat
jumps—in the morning."


CHAPTER XVI
"I'm afraid it's my fault, sir,” said Wiggar anxiously.
"I should have brought a heavier dressing gown, but the
house seemed so warm.”
“A—chew!!” said Peter.
"Perhaps an aspirin, sir. I'll see if there are any in
the medicine closet in the bathroom.”
“There aren'd,” said Peter miserably. "I've looked.
Of all the idfernal, codfounded nuisances, to catch this
dambd cold just now "
Wiggar is probably the only person in the world who
still says "Tut, tut.” He said it now.
"You can say 'tud, tud,' all you like,” Peter rumbled
in his throat, "but if you'd pigged up a bug like this"
A loud cough finished the sentence.
"I say, Mr. Clancy—” Valentine knocked and then
thrust his head in the door. “You—you aren't going to
be ill, I hope. I heard you coughing—".
"It's nothig but a cold id the head.” Peter tried to be
reassuring. "I'm going to get right up.”
“Can I get you anything?"
“Yes, anythig," said Peter. “Gargle, dnose-spray, as-
pirid, cough drops, soda, hot water. Hurry up, Wiggar.
I can't afford to be ill to-day. Round 'em all up, Berk-
ley, if you'll be so good. I'll take anythig that will knock
this dambd cold out in a hurry."
155


SUDDEN DEATH
"You won't do anything reckless, will you, sir?" Wig-
gar asked some minutes later as Mr. Peter insisted on
relieving him of the tray he had brought.
"Don't you worry," said Peter, including Valentine
Berkley in a glance that passed on to the array of medica-
ments that he had supplied. "There's too much lagsative
id most of these cough syrups to make 'em possible for
me to-day. But I've just god to ged the best of this thig
id a hurry. I wand to be id decend shape for the hearing
this morning."
Peter nodded encouragingly, passed into the bathroom
and shut the door.
"Oh, do you think he's going to be ill?" Valentine
seemed very much alarmed.
"Mr. Clancy never lets anyone down, sir," Wiggar an-
swered. "He'll manage, somehow."
Peter poked his head out of the door just then to ask
for Mrs. Hayden. It seemed she was still sleeping. Peter
said that was good and withdrew into the bathroom where
they could hear much gurgling and swishing. Valentine
went to his own room then and did not see Clancy again
until they met at breakfast.
Gillespie stood like a graven image near the sideboard,
but the actual serving was done by a very pretty house-
maid who, Peter rightly guessed, was the Kitty Quinlan,
before mentioned by Kerrigan. Although he gave not the
slightest indication of doing so, Peter observed her closely.
If Valentine thought of her at all there was nothing to
show it, but her dewy-soft eyes betrayed her. Peter
thought, uncomfortably, that it was easy to see that she


SUDDEN DEATH
157
would lie for the handsome young master—or perhaps die
for him if need be.
They had hardly finished breakfast when Kerrigan was
announced. Peter's cold was better but it was still in
evidence, much to the police detective's disgust.
"I want you there to back me up, my bucko," he said,
"and not to cough me down. Where'd you pick up this
cold? You were all right when I left last night."
Peter's nose was no longer muted and he was able to
enunciate. "Must have been a draft in the bedroom,"
he said. "Or I kicked off the covers. Don't worry. I'll
be all right. Let's go into the library for a minute." He
had a short paroxysm of coughing while he waited for
Kerrigan to unlock the hall door, but was obviously, on
the whole, better than in the early morning.
"Mind if I make a suggestion, Jake," he said as soon
as the door was shut.
"Course not. Shoot."
Peter went quickly down the room to the other door
and tried the handle. He stooped, made a motion as if
pulling out the key, looked through the hole an instant
and then put the key in the lock. It would have taken a
quicker eye than Kerrigan's to note that the key in the
first place had been extracted from Peter's pocket.
"What's the idea?" asked Kerrigan as Peter came back
to him.
"I think Gillespie is rather a watchful old hawk-eye,"
said Peter in a low tone.
"Well, let's have it. What's on your mind?"
"I'd consider it a personal favor," said Peter slowly,


SUDDEN DEATH
"if you'd take all this stuff that was found on the body,
seal it up, and put it where it will be entirely safe."
"What d'you mean?" Kerrigan looked up from under
bent eyebrows.
"It's a temptation."
"Who to?"
"Maybe—to me."
"Aw, go on, Pete. Don't kid me. Dammit, there's
something doing. Can't you be frank with me, sweet-
heart?"
"When you appeal to my better nature—" Peter's
laugh brought on a coughing fit, but it did not last—"I
can't resist you, Jake. Something did happen last night
that I'd better put you wise to."
Crisply and with perfect accuracy Peter told him of
the sleep-walking incident including Gillespie's sudden
appearance, but so far as his own and Wiggar's parts
were concerned he allowed it to be inferred that they had
come on the scene immediately before, and that the rea-
son for their being downstairs was merely a general desire
to see that everything was in order and a watch being
kept.
"You think the sleep-walking was a fake?" Kerrigan
rubbed the side of his finger along the bridge of his nose,
a sign in him of some confusion.
"It was mighty well done if it was."
"Oh, shucks, I wish you'd talk plain, Pete. What could
Mrs. Hayden have wanted of any of these things?" He
waved his square hand above the articles on the table


i6o
SUDDEN DEATH
as soon as they were in the hall.
Peter had no time to reply for just then the front door
was opened to admit the assistant district attorney who
gave a sort of angry bleat when he saw Kerrigan stand-
ing solidly before him.
"Oh, there you are," Updegraff fumed. "I've been in
touch with your office and they couldn't tell me where
you'd gone. Seems to me— Eh? Oh, hello, Clancy. I
didn't see you. Are you working on this case?"
"Well, in a way, yes," said Peter, smiling cheerfully.
"Though it looks as if there was nothing to it." He low-
ered his voice. "Young Berkley got nervous and called
me in. I'm just standing by. You don't mind, Mr. Up-
degraff, I hope."
"You're working on the suicide angle, I take it." The
little man had to look up at Peter, though he would not
for the world have had it known that he also looked up
to him. "Well, there's nothing to it."
"No?" said Peter mildly.
"No!" Updegraff bit the word off between his sharp
prominent teeth which, set in too narrow a horseshoe for
his loose lips, made him look like a rabbit.
"Well, for your sake, I hope you're right," Peter com-
mented. The smile was gone from his face.
"Of course I'm right." Updegraff rocked arrogantly
on his thin straddling legs, and pushed forward the in-
congruously abrupt rondure just above them in an effort
to throw out the chest that appeared to have slipped be-
yond recall. "You'll see. I've got that rich young whelp,


SUDDEN DEATH
161
James Hayden, just like that!” He held up a pinched
thumb and forefinger.
“Well,” said Peter with a shrug, "even if he is cleared
maybe he won't make it hot for you. He seems a pretty
decent sort.”
"Huh! Decent! Well—let alone the murder, I don't
know how anybody could call it decent for a man to make
love to his father's own—"
"Look here, Mr. Updegraff," Peter broke in sharply,
"I just want to remind you that I have been retained in
this case. I intend to protect my client's interests in
every particular, and I give you warning that if there is
any unnecessary talk-any scandal—I shall know how to
advise him.”
"Humph, you will,” said Updegraff slowly. “Well, I'm
not afraid of you, Clancy, or an army of private investi-
gators. To say nothing of those on the force!" He
turned suddenly and fiercely on Kerrigan. "I get no
cooperation from your department, Kerrigan,” he blus-
tered. “They've had over forty-eight hours to find the
taxi driver that brought James Hayden over from New-
ark, and what have they done?”
"Found him," Kerrigan answered crisply.
“Why, when I called your office”
“They didn't know,” Kerrigan supplemented. “I only
got the word a few minutes ago. Fox brought it just as
I got to the corner here. Seems one of the regulars at
the air port, a driver called Checkopolus has a kind of a
feud with another one-name of Fitzpatrick. See? Well,


i6a
SUDDEN DEATH
this Checkopolus says it was Fitzpatrick that drove James
Hayden Sunday night. Took the fare right out from
under Checkopolus' nose. There were only a few pas-
sengers on the plane and besides this Checkopolus rec-
ognized Hayden from his photograph."
"Well, well, Kerrigan, come to the point." The assist-
ant district attorney snapped his fingers impatiently.
"You don't seem to realize as I do the importance of
this matter. We don't care for this other fellow's testi-
mony if it was Fitzpatrick that did the driving. It's him
we want. I should think you could see that. What has
the other driver to do with it?"
"Well, apparently it can't be proved that he had any-
thing, but just the same I have my own opinion. A Greek
and an Irishman—with a feud—"
"Fitzpatrick was hurt," Peter put in with quick con-
viction.
"Bright boy. You're right." Kerrigan grinned grimly.
"He's in the Post Graduate Hospital. And he's still un-
conscious."
"What? I don't believe it," snarled Updegraff. "It's
just a game. These capitalists'11 put over anything. I
know 'em! When did it happen?"
"Last night."
"After I arrested James Hayden! You see? Kerrigan,
you're a fool if you think it was an accident. Fitzpatrick
would have been an important witness."
"He may be still," the police detective remarked im-
perturbably. "They don't expect him to die. Though he
may, at that."


SUDDEN DEATH
Peter smartly dodged the blow that was aimed at his
head. "Forgive me, old man. What were we saying?
Oh, yes. About James Hayden. You said you'd seen
him this morning?"
"Yes."
"And he still won't talk to a lawyer?"
"He listens as sweet as you please but won't talk at
all, dammit. Shuts up like a wall bed and you can't
hardly tell where he's at. Wonder what he'll say—if
any—in court this morning. It's getting pretty near time
to start." Kerrigan glanced at the sturdy watch on his
wrist.
"Don't get nervous, Jake. Hayden won't have to say
much if you pull your stunt right—I hope."
"I hope so, too. Doggone it, Pete, yon's a nice lad,
no matter what he's done. I don't care how much money
a man has if he behaves himself, as they say."
"Might be a big 'if in this case," Peter mused. "We
can't afford to have likes and dislikes, Jake, or to be in-
fluenced by beauty and charm. When I picked Mrs.
Hayden up off the floor last night I thought I never saw
anything—anything—more lovely and appealing. Don't
seem as if she could have a thought that wasn't fair and
beautiful—and yet—"
"What did she come down, all dressed, to the library
for, Sunday night, when she was supposed to have gone to
bed?" Kerrigan asked, as much of himself as of his friend.
"And what was she after last night? People do walk in


CHAPTER XVII
The two went directly into the dining-room and Mrs.
Hayden seated herself at a small secretary in the corner.
Her brother remained by her side. There was a strange
cold aura of isolation about the pair, as if in their own
minds they had been suddenly set apart from the life
interests of their fellows. And yet the girl was carrying
on as if this day were to be like all the days that had
passed. The servants came in for orders as was obviously
the daily habit. Peter caught a glimpse of them through
the door as he followed Kerrigan out into the hall.
The assistant district attorney was just leaving. He
stopped for a few minutes to talk importantly to Ker-
rigan, and a little later pompously departed taking In-
verness with him.
In the meantime, Peter went swiftly and silently up
to his own room. Wiggar was there putting the finishing
touches to a bowl of narcissus and yellow freesia that he
had wangled from downstairs. The room looked extraor-
dinarily sunny and cheerful. Peter smiled his approba-
tion but wasted no words.
"Where's Gillespie, do you know?" he asked in a low
voice.
"He's overseeing the work below stairs, sir. A thor-
oughly efficient person and highly commendable—in his
own line, I can assure you, Mr. Peter."
166


SUDDEN DEATH
167
"Much above the average in intelligence, Wiggar?"
"Oh, quite, Mr. Peter."
"And capable?"
"Capable of—much. Yes, sir."
"Then," said Peter quietly, "I think I'll do myself the
honor of inspecting his quarters. Any of the servants up-
stairs?"
"No, sir. It's quite the best moment—"
"So I thought." Peter nodded. "You watch—and
warn me if you have time."
"I'll do my best, sir," said Wiggar dubiously. "But
the carpets are so thick it's difficult to hear anyone."
"We'll have to chance it." Peter was half way up the
stairs and the words were only a whisper. He held up a
warning finger and disappeared from Wiggar's sight.
He was gone but a few minutes, however. The valet
gazed at him curiously as he came down the stairs. Peter
answering the look shook his head.
"Not there, Wiggar," he said softly. "And I should
think never there. Of course there's a bare chance. . . .
But by every indication— Well," he broke off, "in any
case, we must look farther." He beckoned. "Be walk-
ing along the hall and sneeze if you hear anyone coming.
They'll think you've caught my cold. On your toes,
now."
Peter slipped swiftly into Valentine's room. Wiggar, on
the alert, practiced a soundless sneeze. Obviously Mr.
Peter was looking for some definite thing for he returned
almost immediately and signalled for Wiggar to follow
him down to the second floor.


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SUDDEN DEATH
One by one Peter entered all the bedrooms, not ex-
cepting that of the dead man, but he remained only a
few minutes in each. No one came and Wiggar had no
opportunity to test the efficiency of his new accomplish-
ment.
They were back in Peter's room and Wiggar was calmly
over-riding his master's objection to spats on so mild a
morning when Kerrigan found them.
"Wiggar always insists on formal morning dress even
for a Homicide Court and no matter in what capacity
I'm attending." Peter's voice was plaintive. "I'll be
nothing but a super in the case this morning, Wiggar.
Captain Kerrigan is booked for the star part. I'll prom-
ise to keep my feet under a bench."
"These are linen. Quite cool and seasonable, sir."
Wiggar picked up one of Peter's feet as if it were price-
less bric-a-brac and decorated it imperturbably.
"He's the worst hen-pecker this side the English Chan-
nel." Clancy's voice was almost tearful. "Would you
stand for it, Jake?"
"Not me. But then I'm only common clay," Kerrigan
replied. "I say, Pete, Mr. Evarest's downstairs. Says
Mrs. Hayden wants him to go to the hearing with her."
"Well, why not? She'll need all the backing she can
get, poor girl. Why don't you want Evarest?"
"You don't think he'll make a scene? Try to pull
anything wild, like yesterday?"
"If we don't slip up on our own onions you'll have no
trouble with Evarest, Jake. I'm sure of that. You made
him see he'd pulled a boner all right. He's not likely to


SUDDEN DEATH 169
make a second try—unless—"
"Unless what?"
"Oh, not unless anything. Don't let's borrow trouble.
It's time we were on our way. May Wiggar go, too?"
"Sure, if he wants to."
"Oh, Mr. Peter!"
"Ain't I the forgiving?" Peter asked airily. "See you
remember it." And so saying he led the way downstairs.
Kerrigan went at once to give soma instructions to
Murphy who was again on guard. Peter found Douglas
Evarest alone in the drawing-room.
"Mrs. Hayden will be down in a minute," said Evarest,
after a courteous greeting. "I hope you don't mind my
going with her. I am a very old friend of the family and
I think Jim Hayden would wish it."
"Oh, it's quite all right with me." Peter picked up the
morning paper as he spoke and glanced at it with, eager
interest. "The good old Meteor. Safe and sane. This is
pretty interesting. Have you seen it?"
The paper was folded up and down instead of across.
Peter held it out but Evarest reached short and it fell to
the rug between them.
"Oh, I beg your pardon," said Peter as the other picked
it up. "My fault."
"Not at all," Evarest murmured absently. "Oh, I say.
I didn't know Lauren was ready to have it go into print."
"Lauren? Do you mean Dr. Lauren? What's he got
to do with—"
"Marvellous discovery." Evarest was engrossed in a
scientific account that appeared on the other side of the


170
SUDDEN DEATH
sheet. "It has yet to be completely demonstrated, though
the experiments on animals, while not conclusive, would
lead one to believe . . . Immunity. A serum for lep-
rosy. Think of it! What an attainment! Yes. Yes.
It's all here. The discovery of the age. Oh—er—I—I
beg pardon, Mr. Clancy. You'll excuse me. Scientific
interest. It wasn't this article you called to my atten-
tion? The other side? Oh, yes, yes. How stupid of
me."
Recalled to the concern of the moment, the amateur
of science focussed his mind on the article dealing with
the sudden death of Marvin Hayden. The Meteor still
inclined to the opinion that it would be found to be a case
of suicide. Evarest read the account to the end. Then
he looked up gravely into Peter's clear intelligent eyes.
"Mr. Clancy," he said earnestly, "I would give a good
deal to have you tell me exactly what you think about
this dreadfully unfortunate matter."
"Would my opinion have weight with you, Mr. Evar-
est?" Peter asked with becoming diffidence.
"It would indeed." There was no doubting the sin-
cerity of the tone.
"Then," said Peter carefully, "I can only say that at
the present time I believe your own opinion and mine
would coincide to a hair."
He knew that Evarest caught his breath at that, but if
he intended to reply he found no opportunity, for Ker-
rigan came in at that moment and the arrangements for
.going down to the court had to be made in some haste.
Mrs. Hayden's car was already parked in front of the


SUDDEN DEATH
173
gar will take us to the least conspicuous entrance," Peter
added. "He knows the way."
Inconspicuous, yes. Sordid, too, and darkly smeared
with sorrow, crime and dirt. The building had only a
number, like happier places. There(was little to show its
purpose from without. Only in the upper part of the high
narrow entrance Valentine shuddered to see the ugly close
bars like a raised portcullis.
Clancy led them quietly up the wide dark iron stairs.
This was not the principal entrance and so far no one
appeared to take the least interest in them. The uni-
formed policemen strolling about had seen too much, and
the other huddled figures that they passed were engrossed
in their own troubles. Above the arched doorway at the
top of the first flight, in great black block letters the word
"Silence" explained the almost uncanny stillness of the
place.
Along the bare hall Peter guided them and up another
flight of iron stairs. Evarest was on one side of Mrs.
Hayden and Valentine on the other but it was evident
that she needed no physical support for she walked be-
tween them, her lovely head held high, without faltering.
In the passage above there was the sound of a commo-
tion swiftly quieted and, as they reached the level, the
harsh noise of a closing door.
A cluster of men stood in the half dark end of the open
hall. From them Kerrigan at once detached himself and
whispered a few words to Peter. Raising her eyes, Emily
Hayden saw that the obscured glass of several doors was
heavily criss-crossed with a stern iron mesh. On one of


174
SUDDEN DEATH
them were the words "Detention Room," in black capi-
tals, and she wondered, with a shrinking of her whole
inner being, if Jim were already there.
At the left was a plain door marked "Homicide and
Traffic Court." It was this door that Kerrigan now
quietly opened.


CHAPTER XVIII
Business was going on as usual in the Homicide Court
that April morning. The judge sat at an ordinary desk
on a raised platform before which was a railing that might
easily have been that of an ordinary office except for
the row of seats like cheap theatre stalls that were backed
against it. Between them and the dais was a long table,
a few chairs, and a little desk at which an absorbed sten-
ographer worked steadily; never raising his eyes from
the spot of light thrown down upon his note book and
his flying pencil.
Across the window back of the "bench" the Stars and
Stripes were nailed up quite casually and a little crooked.
There was just one thing that gave distinction to the
place; the white head of the judge, shining above his
black silk robe and boldly silhouetted against the flag
that was his symbol of authority.
In the brief pause occasioned by the stir of their en-
trance, the judge nodded slightly to Kerrigan and, with
a faint twinkle of the eye, to Peter. Though the latter
avoided the limelight as much as possible, they two had
met before.
"If order is not maintained in this court—" the judge's
voice was raised a little though he spoke without heat,
"—the public will be excluded." He looked severely at
several newspaper men who had surged forward and they
175


SUDDEN DEATH
177
the camera men prepared their machines. The door to
the detention room swung open, there was a blinding
flash of light and the sound of grinding film-reels. Ac-
companied by an officer James Hayden came quickly into
the room and was guided to his place at the low table
facing the judge.
There had been only an instant of time when the wit-
nesses and the accused man had faced each other as he
was hurried through the gate in the heavy railing, but
the eyes of Emily Hayden had conveyed their message
of passionate devotion. Evarest had managed to keep
between her and the newspaper men while they moved
to places inside the rail and Valentine Berkley had ably
seconded his efforts. Peter, seeing everything, felt for
the boy an odd mixture of sympathy and understanding
slightly touched with amused contempt. If the papers
wished, they would be able to show some good pictures of
Valentine's handsome profile.
In a few seconds they were all seated. An expectant
quiet had fallen on the room. Emily Hayden looked
about fearfully for Updegraff, the assistant district at-
torney, who had caused so much anguish of soul on the
morning following her husband's death, but he was no-
where to be seen. She could not understand this and
there was no opportunity to ask what his absence might
betoken.
Inverness was there and the butler, Gillespie, with some
police officers in the row of seats against the railing on
the other side of the gate. The man from the district
attorney's office who had represented the People in the


178
SUDDEN DEATH
preceding case was already presenting this one to the
judge. He referred occasionally to papers in his hand
but seemed remarkably familiar with the various aspects
of the case which he enumerated clearly but in so low a
tone as to render his words indistinguishable to those
persons outside the railing.
The judge listened, leaning sidewise, his clear bright
little blue eyes fixed on a point in space. There was in-
telligence in his high forehead and benignity as well as
strength in his firm lips and chin. "A bit of luck having
Judge Carstairs on the bench," Peter whispered to Ker-
rigan. "At least he knows his business." "And his
mind," growled Kerrigan. "Independent as a kid on
roller skates. But thorough. . . . Wylie, from the pros-
ecutor's office, is a good egg, too. You watch. Here
we go." "'**
"Defendant refuses counsel. Pleads not guilty and
ready, your honor."
Peter knew from Valentine Berkley that young Hayden
had been forced by his father to study law, but even so
he was surprised at the man's apparently firm grasp of the
situation. He sat there alone, facing the judge with a
confidence that gave no hint of bravado. The judge, him-
self a gentleman, could hardly fail to be impressed, Peter
thought, with the other's attitude.
The routine went rapidly forward. Hayden agreed to
the stipulations as to a possible subsequent trial, and the
acceptance of the medical officer's testimony that Marvin
Hayden, deceased, had died from the effects of a bullet
wound in the head. The arresting officer was sworn,


SUDDEN DEATH
179
made his brief report and removed his magnificent blue-
clothed frame from the witness box.
The prosecuting attorney leaned across, said something
quietly to the judge then stepped off the platform and
spoke to Inverness. Everything was done with a queer
lack of formality that somehow only served to increase
the dread in the breast of Emily Hayden as she realized
that she was now being called to the witness stand. The
flash of camera bulbs added horribly to her confusion and
she had to call up every ounce of courage she possessed
in order to keep from fainting as she seated herself facing
those cruel moving "eyes of the world."
With a stern glance at the men of the Press over whom
his power was necessarily limited, Judge Carstairs turned
courteously to this girl of his own class, who might have
been a friend of his daughter and who was obviously near
the limit of endurance.
"Please don't be frightened, Mrs. Hayden," he said in
a drawling voice that hinted of a youth spent under sun-
nier skies. "We only want to find out what actually hap-
pened. There is no animus of any kind tolerated in this
court."
He looked straight at the prosecutor as he said this.
Wylie smiled inwardly. Judge Carstairs cramped some
people's style, but not his. He felt he could get facts out
of witnesses without bashing them over the head. Time
enough for that later—if the case went to the Grand
Jury—which seemed on the face of it—probable.
Somewhat surprised but not a little calmed and
strengthened by the judge's manner, Emily Hayden felt


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SUDDEN DEATH
her courage surging upward. She took the simple oath
in a sweet, firm voice and at the Court's request told her
story clearly and with apparent sincerity. To Peter,
closely listening, it seemed as if he were again witnessing,
from a darkened room, the tragic event as pictured on
Kerrigan's film. There was not a slip on a single detail.
When she had finished the prosecutor asked several
questions without bringing out anything that Peter did
not already know. The beauty of the quiet figure in the
witness box and the quality of her exquisite voice made
a strong appeal. Wylie's tone was quite sympathetic and
friendly as he asked: "Now, Mrs. Hayden, if you had
heard nothing to alarm you and if you thought your hus-
band had retired for the night, will you please explain to
the Court why you went down to the library at that late
hour?"
"I could not sleep," she said, turning her great eyes
upon the judge's thoughtful face. "A new Reader's
Digest had come. You know it has short articles. I had
meant to take it up with me. It was in the library. . . .
I opened the door—" She stopped and her lids closed as
if to shut out an unbearable recollection.
Judge Carstairs said quietly: "You were surprised
when you saw the defendant?"
Her look flashed full on James Hayden whose upturned
gaze had never left her face. She clasped her hands in
a tragic gesture hard against her breast. "Beyond
words," she cried, "but there was never a doubt—never
a doubt of him in my mind. I ask you to believe—"
"I object, your honor," said Wylie in an even tone


SUDDEN DEATH
181
strangely in contrast with the girl's vehement protest.
"Irrelevant. Immaterial. . . ."
"Objection sustained." Carstairs spoke absently. He
was looking at the witness. "You were surprised at see-
ing the defendant, Mrs. Hayden. May I ask if you know
now the cause of his unexpected return?"
"Yes. He told me. It was business."
"With his father?"
Her eyes still rested on James Hayden and her hesita-
tion was scarcely perceptible. "It was an important de-
cision," she said.
"In which his father was involved?"
This time she answered promptly and clearly. "Yes."
The prosecution asked a few more questions that elic-
ited no new facts. The defense in the person of the
accused, refused to trouble the witness further and Mrs.
Hayden was excused. James Hayden rose and remained
standing until she had reached her former place, but
there was, of course, no opportunity for them to exchange
so much as a word.
Immediately afterwards, Gillespie was called. He had
the leashed readiness of an unsprung dead-fall and did
not falter in his testimony, throughout which his bitter
enmity toward his late master's wife and son was strik-
ingly apparent, though Judge Carstairs sternly suppressed
any effort of the prosecution to further develop the serv-
ant's scarcely veiled innuendoes.
"We are not interested in opinions. Only in facts."
The judge looked hard at the prosecuting attorney.
"That's true, your honor. But I understood the wit-


SUDDEN DEATH 183
conscious of the difference. She did not see that Clancy-
was whispering to Captain Kerrigan, nor that the police
detective had stepped over to consult with the prosecut-
ing attorney. She saw nothing but the strong, alert figure
of Jim Hayden—so near, so near. Two steps and she
could have thrown her arms about him and shielded him
against her pounding heart.
She did not even hear the prosecutor when, turning
back to the witness, he said: "How about the weapon.
Did you or did you not positively identify the one de-
fendant says he found beside the body?"
Scotch granite though he appeared, Gillespie's face for
the first time showed signs of strain, but he answered the
question firmly. "I did so identify."
"As belonging to deceased?"
"Yes, sir."
"Where is the pistol?" the judge interposed quietly.
"In the office of the property clerk, your honor."
"Very well. Proceed."
"Er—" Wylie glanced aside at Kerrigan as if for in-
spiration, gave a little jerk of the head and asked:
"Where was this pistol kept?"
"In the right hand drawer of the writing table."
"When was the last time you saw it there?"
"Last Sunday night at a little after eleven o'clock."
"Tell his honor just what occurred at that time."
Gillespie repeated almost word for word what he had
told Peter Clancy about taking the bicarbonate of soda
into the library, and continued: "That drawer was open
then, your honor. I saw the pistol along with Mr. Hay-


SUDDEN DEATH
defendant's hat and coat in the hall?"
"Yes, sir."
"And his gloves?"
"There was a small bag." Gillespie's fingers were
pinching his lips. "But I— No. I didn't see any
gloves." He sat for an instant silent, his mouth half open.
Then suddenly all the force of his nature rent the bonds of
decorum asunder. "But what of it?" he cried, half rising
in his place. "I saw her rub the handle of the gun! To
get Mr. James' prints off! What for else? Who knew
where that pistol was better than he did? When his
father discovered those two there together and denounced
them it would have taken James Hayden only a second
to pull open the drawer and shoot—shoot—"
"Silence," thundered Judge Carstairs. "Order in the
Court." He thrust his hand over the edge of the desk,
almost touching the shoulder of the stenographer.
"Leave in the witness's answer, 'I did not see any gloves,'
and strike out the rest." Sitting back, he straightened
the heavy folds of black silk that lay along his breast.
"Proceed, if you please, with the prosecution."
Wylie appeared to cogitate for a minute. He glanced
sidewise at Kerrigan, then turned to meet James Hay-
den's keen, narrowed eyes.
"Your witness," he said crisply.


CHAPTER XIX
As Wylie stepped back, Gillespie, with a sudden fierce
effort of concentration, shifted his wary glance to meet
that of his dead master's son. But it seemed to the dis-
appointment of the reporters that James Hayden had no
questions to ask him. The butler was therefore dismissed
and the defendant required to take the stand.
There was an increase of solemnity in the tone of Judge
Carstairs as he administered the oath. He had known
the first Mrs. Hayden in the days of her lovely youth and
it was with the keenest interest that he looked now into
the handsome bold eyes of her son. Straightly they re-
turned his regard. No faltering or weakness there.
Recklessness, perhaps, but no lack of determination.
"The story in your own words. . . ."
For the third time the Court listened to the tale of the
horrible discovery of Marvin Hayden's body.
Peter was interested to note that the accused man's
testimony, although couched in personally characteristic
language, did not vary from the first two as to matters
of fact except that this account antedated the others by
a few minutes.
"The clock in the Metropolitan tower was striking
twelve as I went up the steps."
That gave him ten minutes, Peter thought swiftly, if
Gillespie was right in his estimate of the time. To un-
186


SUDDEN DEATH
187
lock two doors. . . . Take off his hat and coat. . . .
Vividly the scene unfolded itself in Hayden's short
staccato sentences. The darkness. The unknown object
underfoot. The groping hands. The horror of the thing
they touched.
Surely no one could question the truth of the man's
stern accents of dread and horror. Evarest looked down
at the girl beside him. No doubt there now if it had
ever existed. Valentine's lips were bitten hard, his ex-
pression difficult to read. Clancy was looking at the
judge, and the judge had eyes only for the accused.
"It was a terrible situation, sir," Hayden concluded.
"The shock to Gillespie when he came suddenly out of
the dark into the lighted library must have been stag-
gering. It is quite understandable that he misinterpreted
what he saw. He was a faithful servant to my father
always, and I earnestly believe that he is more to be pitied
than blamed for his mistaken beliefs."
A little stir like the wind in sodden leaves went through
the dingy court room. The bold young face had acquired
a certain dignity. The quality of the man was more and
more apparent. Judge Carstairs was blessed with an
aristocracy of spirit that rendered him particularly open
to a recognition of like values in others. But at that he
was careful to keep his judicial mind open and on an
even keel.
The representative of the People gave no indication of
being in the least impressed. He referred to some papers
and began his inquiry in an all-in-the-day's-work voice.
Having established the fact that James Hayden was sup-


i88
SUDDEN DEATH
posed to be on his way to South America, he asked sev-
eral pointed questions. Had he left the ship at Balti-
more? Yes. Unexpectedly? Quite so. What then had
caused defendant to alter his plans?
Peter leaned forward. It was a thing he very much
wanted to know. And up to this point Hayden had been
obdurate. Would give Kerrigan no explanation. If he
continued to refuse . . . Peter drew in his breath
sharply. The accused had begun to speak, frankly and
with apparent ease.
"It was a matter of business, sir." His manner as he
addressed the judge showed a subtle recognition of their
social equality as well as his own respect for the other's
age and position. "A quite new and unexpected develop-
ment. I had never met Senor Juan Velasquez before.
The San Salvador is a freighter, you understand, and
does not carry passengers, but Senor Velasquez is an old
patron and the Marvin Line was glad to accommodate
him. We struck up an immediate friendship and before
we reached Baltimore he was good enough to offer me a
permanent position as manager of one of his large plan-
tations. I did not like to make so drastic a decision
alone and when I realized how easy it would be to discuss
it by word of mouth and get it settled once and for all,
I left the ship as soon as we reached the harbor and flew
back to New York hoping to join Senor Velasquez again
in the morning, or if I was delayed, I would still have
been able to pick up the San Salvador in New Orleans
where she will put in to-day."
Peter's swift sidelong glance told him that Emily Hay-


SUDDEN DEATH
189
den was listening with breathless attention. He saw
Evarest covertly touch her arm and though she did not
look at him her tense pose immediately relaxed and she
returned to the carefully guarded reserve of her previous
manner. Kerrigan breathed an audible sigh of relief.
Here was a perfectly good and satisfactory explanation of
young Hayden's sudden return. The few enigmatic cir-
cumstances not touched upon were probably of equal nor-
mality and it was hardly worth while to clog the short
inquiry with unnecessary detail. Things seemed to be
going very well. Judge Carstairs was not the sort to order
a complaint to be drawn without good strong and suffi-
cient reasons. Men—decent men—don't shoot their own
fathers except under frightfully abnormal circumstances.
. . . And didn't Jim Hayden's return to consult his father
about the opportunity offered him prove that their quar-
rel could not have been sufficient reason to . . .
The prosecutor was asking for more details of the
alleged position in South America. Hayden answered
with apparent frankness. "Senor Velasquez will be glad
to corroborate this if you wish it, you know," he sug-
gested coolly and Wylie took another tack.
"Do you think the deceased would have approved of
your making a permanent home away from New York?"
"Surely, your honor," Hayden addressed the Court,
"my opinion, unsupported by facts is irrelevant, im—"
"Strike out that question." The judge leaned a little
forward and glanced down again at the stenographer's
rapid pencil.
"I'll return to facts, your honor," said the prosecutor


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glibly. "It is a fact, Mr. Hayden, isn't it, that you and
the deceased had a serious quarrel and high words as late
as last Tuesday, the fifth of April?"
"Yes." The muscles along the man's determined jaw
tightened.
"What was the trouble about?"
"It had nothing whatever to do with the case, sir."
Hayden turned his head and looked straight at Judge
Carstairs. "It was a private matter. I will say no more
than that."
"If your honor please," Wylie put in quickly, "I merely
want to prove that this was a very unusual and serious
disagreement. So much so that the deceased threatened
to cut defendant out of his will."
"Is that much true, Mr. Hayden?" the judge asked
somberly. "Did your father threaten to disinherit you?"
"He did in effect, sir," Hayden answered very quietly.
"He showed me a new will just after it was executed
last Thursday. You will find in the copy you hold that
I will receive just five thousand dollars."
"Would you object to making a statement in regard
to any income derived from your father's estate up to the
time of his death?" the Court proposed with studied
courtesy. "An allowance or salary perhaps?"
The dark face flushed slightly. "It was called a sal-
ary," Hayden said in rather a hard tone, "but I did very
little to earn it. My father gave me to understand that
as long as he lived I would receive an income of four
thousand a month."
"Have you any idea what your father's estate is now


SUDDEN DEATH
191
worth?" The judge looked curiously at the younger man.
"His last tax return made it between thirty and forty
million. I can't give you the exact figures."
Again the listeners outside the rail stirred with a whis-
pering sound as if the very thought of so much money
moved them beyond the point of silence. Wylie pursed
his full lips and glanced aside at Kerrigan with question-
ing eyebrows. The police detective merely nodded.
"That's all, your honor," said the prosecuting attorney.
"Is there anything you would like to add in your own
defense?" asked the judge.
Hayden looked earnestly into the face that confronted
him. "I am thoroughly convinced, sir, that my unfor-
tunate father, quite possibly by accident, killed himself.
As you have just heard, he always kept a loaded pistol
in the same drawer of his writing table. It is one of my
earliest recollections. He would never let me touch it
but he often showed it to me. I have seen him handle it
many times, often to assure himself that it was properly
loaded. Isn't it possible that an accident—a sudden
seizure—"
"Nothing in the medical testimony to indicate it, your
honor," the prosecuting attorney broke in confidently.
"The medical examiners agree that this is a case of sui-
cide—or murder."
Hayden's hands were grasped hard and square across
his knees. "Whatever the cause of my father's death,
sir—" he said in a strong steady voice, "I give you my
word that there was no provocation in God's world great
enough to have made me think for an instant of commit-


SUDDEN DEATH
193
concurrence. He made as much as possible, however, of
the adverse elements in Gillespie's testimony, and the
seasoned reporters who still remained felt that the weight
of evidence had been made to tell heavily against the
accused. . . . Red handed. The old butler thought he
had caught James Hayden almost in the act of murder.
The wife had stood up for him. But then . . .
Frank Donovan of the Meteor had received a tip that
morning from his friend Peter Clancy, to whom he was
indebted for many a scoop. Watching the proceedings
from their inception with acute interest, he was sure at
this point that the drama was not yet wholly played out.
Suddenly his interest was focussed for Peter glanced at
him sharply as Captain of Detectives Kerrigan was called
as witness and almost immediately he was aware that
some new elements were to be introduced. Kerrigan was
speaking: "I took moving pictures of it, your honor;
what the defendant and two of the witnesses acted out at
Mr. Updegraff's request, showing how they discovered
the body. I can produce the pictures whenever required."
"Good idea," the judge nodded, "but impractical and
not necessary for the purpose of this inquiry. Were there
any discrepancies that you noticed between your record
and the testimony just given?"
"None, your honor."
"How soon did you arrive after the butler gave the
alarm?" The prosecutor took up the inquiry where the
judge dropped it.
"In less than a half hour, being at that time not quite
1 A.M."


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SUDDEN DEATH
"The defendant allowed himself to be searched?"
"He did."
"You found blood on his handkerchief?" Wylie's tone
was shrewd and cutting.
"Yes. You heard him explain how that happened,
your honor. He said it was dark when he touched the
body, and naturally he wanted to wipe that off his hands."
The judge's face was noncommittal. He glanced at the
prosecutor and said, "Proceed," in an almost inaudible
voice.
"When you searched the defendant did you find any
weapons on him?"
"Nothing that could be considered as such. A small
pen knife, closed, the kind anyone might carry, and just
the usual things in his pockets. There were no gloves."
Kerrigan had been sitting square in the little dark brown
pen. Now he turned sidewise to face Judge Carstairs.
"I'll ask your honor please to notice that fact. We found
no gloves on the accused, nor in his overcoat in the hall,
nor yet in his small bag which he had dropped there be-
side his other things."
"No gloves?"
Wiggar, who had been acutely interested throughout,
thought it very shocking that a gentleman should allow
himself to appear without gloves, but was a little sur-
prised that a man like Captain Kerrigan thought it a mat-
ter of importance. That he did so was more than ever
obvious in the next words.
"You will remember, your honor, that the witness, Gil-
lespie, testified to this same effect."


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SUDDEN DEATH
Which would put the theory of suicide entirely out of the
question except for some such explanation of the circum-
stances as has just been given. Maybe it all sounds
pretty improbable, but it sure is possible all right, and so
far as I can see the only theory that would explain the
evidence which I would now like to put before your
honor."
There was a sharp shifting of positions as Kerrigan
placed several unmounted photographs on the desk be-
fore Judge Carstairs. The reporter from the Meteor
leaned across the rail and whispered excitedly in the ear
of Peter Clancy. James Hayden half rose in his place,
then, realizing the impossibility of catching even a
glimpse of the face of the photographs, sat down again.
"These, your honor"—Kerrigan stretched out a point-
ing finger—"are the finger-prints of the deceased, taken
from the body. They are very much enlarged as you
see. Now, if you'll cast your eye over that picture of the
library. The body lay just on the other side of this long
writing table, the right hand drawer of which was found
open like you see it there. None of us touched it. It's
where the deceased always kept his pistol, as you have
just heard from Mr. Hayden as well as from the butler,
Gillespie. It was always kept there, and since it was used
as we know it was, it must have been taken out of that
drawer by someone."
Kerrigan paused for a dramatic instant. Judge Car-
stairs, who had put on a pair of reading glasses and was
studying the evidence before him, looked frowningly up
into the other's face.


SUDDEN DEATH
197
"Whoever opened that drawer," Kerrigan went on with
forceful grimness, "must have left the prints of his fin-
gers on it somewhere unless he wore gloves. That's plain
to be seen, isn't it, your honor?"
Judge Carstairs bent his head. "Yes," he said aloud,
and added after an instant, "unless they were wiped off
as they were on the pistol."
"But they weren't, Judge. That's just the point," Ker-
rigan explained eagerly. "Look at this. And this. And
this. Plenty of finger-prints, you see, on the drawer. On
the handle and just inside the front of it as well as on
the edge. Now I put it to you, sir. Gillespie says the
weapon used was in this drawer when he left deceased
alone in the library. We know the defendant had no
gloves with him. He couldn't have got at the pistol, then,
without leaving marks to show it. There are the prints
we found, your honor. I leave it to you."


CHAPTER XX
For a minute the court room was so still that it might
have been inhabited only by disembodied spirits. Judge
Carstairs bent above the spread out photographs and
compared them one by one. Kerrigan had half risen and
was leaning over the rail of the witness box. Presently
the judge raised his fine white head.
"No finger-prints—whatever—except those of the de-
ceased," he pronounced slowly in a tone that could be
heard by all. "That's your conclusion also, Captain Ker-
rigan?"
"Yes, your honor. That drawer could have been han-
dled by no one but the deceased—unless that person
wore gloves. There's no getting back of those returns.
The defendant had no chance to secrete anything so we
know he had no gloves with him. Is it reasonable to think
Marvin Hayden handed his gun to his son and asked him
to shoot?" Kerrigan's voice rose excitedly. "Isn't there
far more reason to believe the deceased was unhappy and
took his own life? With medical testimony to support
that theory?"
"Rather sounds as if you were summing up for the de-
fense, Kerrigan," warned the judge with a lift of his ex-
pressive eyebrows. "And at that it seems to me you
have failed to point out another matter of considerable
weight." He paused, looked slowly along the line of tense
198


200
SUDDEN DEATH
“Beyond the farthest purple rim the happy princess fol-
lowed him."
Peter saw them drive away together in Mrs. Hayden's
car that, a little later, had followed them down to the
courthouse. He wanted a talk with Kerrigan but was
unable to manage more than a few sentences for Val-
entine Berkley was almost beside himself with excitement
and kept pounding him on the back with unexpected
vigor. “You did it all, Clancy. I could see that! Wasn't
it the best thing in the world that I put you on? Wasn't
it right to do it? What would have happened without
us, Captain Kerrigan? It was Clancy that put you up to
that line about the finger-prints, and Jim not having any
gloves with him. My word, but it was great. And when
the old cock on the bench said, 'Defendant moves that the
case - Is that the way they always do it? What a swell
line! Motion granted! Dis— What's the matter,
Clancy?"
"Get into my car. You too, Mr. Evarest. I just have
a fancy to see "
As, somewhat bewildered, the two men complied, Peter
thrust his head in the front window where Wiggar was
already at the wheel and said something to him in a low
voice. He turned to exchange a sharp look with Captain
Kerrigan who was standing near by and himself entered
the car as it started smoothly forward.
“You'll come up and have lunch, Mr. Clancy?" Val-
entine was eagerly insistent. "Emily'll want to thank
us—and Jim will, too. Won't they just? It'll be all right
now. To hell with the money. What do we care? We


SUDDEN DEATH
205
will happen now?"
"The district attorney's office will take what time they
need to prepare the case for the Grand Jury. It may be
a few hours—it may be a few days. But if I size up the
situation correctly, Updegraff won't make any more trou-
ble until he thinks he has evidence—and to spare.
They've probably been digging at it all this morning.
And they have a mine in Gillespie, or I miss my guess.
He went away with Inverness, talking sixteen to the
dozen. Did you notice?"
"No," said Evarest. "I was—thinking of other things.
What would Gillespie know—that he hadn't told them
already?"
"Marvin Hayden's new will was news to Gillespie. I
think that was pretty plain. And he'll be in a sweat to
know whether or not there was a change in his bequest.
So I think he'll lead Updegraff right to it."
"It's in the house then?"
"Yes. In the library. It's almost inconceivable that
the butler, after so many years of service, wouldn't know
where the safe is—as well as James Hayden does."
Evarest was entirely oblivious of the fact that they
were being held up by traffic. With his keen, scientific
mind he was following every word and drawing quick
conclusions. "You found the safe—and the will?" Peter
nodded. "Then there can be no contention that Jim came
back to destroy it."
"Unless—he was interrupted," said Peter. "It will do
us no good to blink facts, Evarest. We have no disin-


206
SUDDEN DEATH
terested witness to prove that Gillespie is not right in
thinking that Marvin Hayden surprised his wife and his
son—together—in the library—with fatal consequences to
himself—and that the butler's sudden appearance pre-
vented the theft of the will."
"Horrible. Impossible. Fantastic," muttered Douglas
Evarest, white to the lips.
"Granted," Peter replied as the red light winked out
and the car rolled forward once more. "But more fan-
tastic situations than this have existed, and less probable
things have been found impossible to disprove. I have
my own ideas of what happened before Gillespie came
upon the scene Sunday night, but if the butler recognized
that he himself is in some danger, it will only strengthen
him as a witness. And we have to face it, Evarest, that
as things are they can be made to look pretty black."
"Oh, why in God's name did Jim ever come back from
the ship?" groaned Evarest, clenching his thin long hands.
"You hadn't the least notion that he thought of re-
turning?"
"No. Of course not. How could I?"
Peter, racked by another fit of coughing, let that pass.
Wiggar drew over to the curb, came around to his mas-
ter's side, opened the car door and deliberately rolled up
the window.
Peter smiled slightly. "Stop at a drug store, Wiggar,"
he said. "I want to get something that will clear up this
tickling in my throat. Is there one near here?" He
turned to Evarest for they were now in his section of the


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SUDDEN DEATH
thing. There's nothing I'd stop at. I'll go to Kerrigan
again, but this time I must make it convincing—I can
see now that it's necessary to prove—to prove—and how
can I do that?" Evarest buried his face in his hands.
Peter reached out and laid a firm hand on the other's
knee. "We'll find a way out, Evarest," he said. "I'm
certain there's a way. But you'll do no good going to
Kerrigan foolishly, as you did yesterday. Wait. We
are both working for the same ends. Let me handle the
situation, will you?"
Evarest hesitated. Wiggar had slowed down and was
pulling in toward the curb. "It's the chemist's I think,
sir," he said. "Will you tell me what to get, Mr. Peter?"
"Is this your chemist, Mr. Evarest?" Peter asked. It
took a second to turn the current of his companion's at-
tention.
"Pincho Hart's. Yes. You'll find he has anything you
may need." Evarest glanced about as if only just aware
of his surroundings and added, hurriedly, "If you don't
mind, I won't wait, Clancy. It's only a block. I'll walk."
"No, no. Stay where you are. Wiggar will run you
there in a second and come back for me." Peter stepped
out on the curb but turned and leaned in the car door.
"I know I can count on your help, Mr. Evarest, and I can
call on you?"
"For anything and at any hour, day or night."
The two men looked straight into each other's eyes and
parted—but not without Peter's realizing the fact that the
other had given no guarantee that he would not act, if he


SUDDEN DEATH
211
"Quite so, sir." The man's face was perfectly blank
as he retouched with the hand of an artist the set of Mr.
Peter's hat and presented him with stick and gloves.
Following his plan, Peter spent some time in con-
ference with his partners, O'Malley and Cranston at his
own office, where his appearance, owing to its infrequency,
usually caused a general ripple of excitement. This was no
exception to the rule for he had communicated with them
by telephone at the time of his first contact with the case,
and afterward as need arose. He found that the interest
aroused was more than satisfactory and that the various
lines of inquiry he had suggested were being or had been
followed through and he left the office wiser on several
possibly important points.
He then hastened down to Kerrigan's office and was
fortunate enough to find that able and conscientious per-
son at his desk. After some obvious remarks had passed
between them Kerrigan said:
"No, I'm not surprised either. Why should I be, know-
ing Updegraff. After all, Pete, the little shrimp has to
try to make up for his size somehow, and make sure of his
place in the sun—or rather the front page. Besides
which, between you and me and Judge Carstairs, do you
think there weren't any holes in the defense we put up?"
Peter sighed. "Maybe a barn door or two, but I flatter
myself we kept 'em pretty well shut. The judge was
justified on the evidence presented, and in view of the
way James Hayden showed up, in letting him go free.
Carstairs evidently believes Hayden isn't guilty and acted
with the courage of his convictions."


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"Yes, and if the D.A. thinks the judge wrong, the
DA. is the one that has to worry. I admire Carstairs
more than any other judge on the bench. But, just the
same, I'm afraid we haven't accomplished much. Un-
less—" Kerrigan twisted in his swivel chair. "Say,
Pete, what makes you so sure those two dicks from the
D.A.'s office were watching James Hayden?"
"Did I say I was sure?"
"Oh."
"In fact, did I mention—anyone?"
"You let me infer— Oh, dammit, Pete. What have
you got up your sleeve?"
"A pair of loving arms, sweetheart." Peter imitated
Kerrigan's drawl to a nicety. "And nothing more at the
present moment of writing."
Kerrigan grinned and then sat frowning. After a few
minutes he said: "They weren't after Gillespie. That's
plain, because Inverness had him in tow already. Upde-
graff has pulled in his horns and isn't giving out any more
facts than he can help, not even to me, but I understand
Gillespie has been spilling beans all over the sapworks,
and that they've found the will, properly executed and
intact."
"Did they find any other papers with it?" Peter sat
quickly forward. "Anything of importance?"
"Now what do you know about that?" Kerrigan looked
nettled. "What is it they are hinting at? I thought
maybe they were just trying to get my goat. Do you
know what's on their mind?"
"Well, I can make a guess," said Peter. "If you won't
t


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The two friends parted soon after. Peter took the sub-
way as the afternoon was waning and he was conscious of
an urge to get back to Gramercy Park. The reason for
this he hated to admit even to himself, though his old
habit of conversing with his inner man was strong upon
him as he walked rapidly along Twenty-third Street and
turned down the short remaining bit of Lexington Avenue.
Just because you like people, Pete, he went on with his
silent argument, is no reason for trying to stand between
them and what's coming . . . what must come if . . .
His thoughts took a sudden turn to more definite con-
siderations for, as he stepped off the curb at Twenty-
second Street, he saw James Hayden coming quickly out
of the side door of his house, near the corner of the next
block. The young man glanced swiftly about, then
crossed the street at a round pace and went off along the
north side of Gramercy Park.
Peter had been in plain sight, but whether he had been
recognized or not he had no means of telling. He quick-
ened his pace to a run and was in time to see Hayden
walking quietly westward and, sure enough, there was the
man in the black derby, following on with a technique
that was, compared to Peter's, as the work of a smart
mongrel to that of a dog of the "Seeing Eye."
Hayden did not look back. Neither did the plain-
clothesman. Peter kept an eye lifting and discovered
that the man with the tilted fedora had hopped a taxi and
was following slowly in the wake of the short procession.
They mean to take no chance of Hayden's giving them
the slip in another taxi, Peter thought to himself. Stupid


2l6
SUDDEN DEATH
the Fifth Avenue side of the tall old Flatiron. The
black, derby shifted his position uneasily. Peter had by
this time made up his mind.
Looking neither to right nor left he passed the tall en-
trance to the building and without hesitation entered the
cigar store that occupied the prow or point of the Flat-
iron.
"An unexpected pleasure, Mr. Clancy?"
Peter looked down into the daring, laughing eyes that
were turned up to his. "Not exactly unexpected on my
part, Mr. Hayden. I rather thought this shop had an
entrance from the main hall of the building."
"You were following me, too?" The eyes narrowed
though the smile did not entirely leave them. "May I
ask why?"
"I had to determine something."
"Exactly. So had I." Hayden nodded. "Well, that
being now accomplished to our mutual satisfaction, shall
we be trotting home again?"
Peter followed the glance that Hayden cast across the
street, where an indecisive figure crowned with a black
derby still lingered. "But answer came there none,"
Peter finished his bit of "Alice." "At least to them as
long as you remain in hiding."
"Oh, pardon me. Not hiding. I came for some ciga-
rettes, Ihis being my usual place for accumulating them.
Pall Mall, king size as usual, Ben. May I offer you one,
Mr. Clancy?"
Nothing could have exceeded James Hayden's coolness
and courtesy as he held the door and insisted on Peter's


SUDDEN DEATH
217
preceding him. "Just to give them a little treat in case
they are aware of the dignified position you hold in your
own chosen profession, Mr. Clancy," he said, taking
Peter's arm as the traffic light at the curb turned in their
favor. When they had hurried to the other side he urged
Peter a little way up the block. "An interesting window
display you ought not to miss," he went on as they passed
within earshot of the black derby. "A new game called
Hare and Hounds. Run by electricity. Very clever.
But I believe it's always best to bet on the hounds, don't
you?"
The discomfited derby gave them a long lead but un-
doubtedly did trail them back to Gramercy Park. It was
difficult to tell whether Hayden was putting on a bold face
or was really in a cheerful frame of mind. He spoke
highly of Kerrigan, who, it seemed, had given him no
hint as to what the line of defense might be at that morn-
ing's hearing but had encouraged him to hope that the
weight of the testimony would be in his favor. "I didn't
know we had men like Judge Carstairs on the New York
bench," he said in conclusion. "Almost makes me want
to take up law in a serious way."
"It was your father's wish?" Peter watched the bold,
clever profile just below the level of his shrewd, sidelong
glance.
"Yes. . . . It's—it's hard, now, to think in how many
ways I must have disappointed my father." The son
drew a sharp sigh, which seemed genuine enough. "We—
we didn't get along. For years. I honestly tried to keep
out of his way. ... I don't know why I'm telling you


SUDDEN DEATH
219
"Well that, of course."
"You would do well to be frank with me, Mr. Hayden.
Those important papers being in the safe in the library
—where your father—died—is a fact open to certain
constructions. Didn't you have that point in mind when
you were so—ah—reticent with Captain Kerrigan last
night?"
The younger man looked up at Peter with a queer ex-
pression in which curiosity and surprise mingled. "And
yet you and Captain Kerrigan both did your best to get
me off this morning," he said. They were passing along
the upper edge of the little park. Suddenly Hayden put
his hand on Peter's arm and slackened his pace. The
debonair mask he had assumed fell from him.
"I'm in a tight spot, Clancy," he said. "And I really
do believe you mean to help me if you can. But what
am I to do?" His face was troubled and deadly earnest.
"'Now that I know for certain that the district attorney
is still hot on the trail, how can I face my—the family—
and not let them guess how matters stand? Emily's so
relieved. So confident. And Valentine, too. Poor boy.
He's desperately proud of his part in my acquittal. It's
all so entirely outside their experience they haven't the
faintest notion that it's merely one stage of the game
played out. Just the first and lowest hurdle. Oh, God!
When she knows! ... If we can stave it off till morn-
ing . . . What do you think? If there's a chance they
won't get the evidence ready for the Grand Jury before
to-morrow—"
"That's Kerrigan's idea." Peter found himself re-


220
SUDDEN DEATH
sponding to the younger man's distress. "He thinks you'll
have until to-morrow. It might be better for you to get in
touch with your lawyer to-night, though. That would be
Kerrigan's advice."
"He's been a damn good friend," exclaimed Hayden.
"I know that, Clancy, but I won't do anything to-night.
Time enough after the Grand Jury hands down an indict-
ment. If they do, we can't spare her. But until then—
why, I'll make believe I'm as happy as they are," he said
with impulsive determination. "Come on in and help me
put it over. Valentine will do most of the talking and you
can help play the game. Will you?" All the bright bold-
ness was gone from the young face. His cry was the
S Q S of a ship in desperate straits.
"Yes," said Peter definitely. "I'll try to do what I
can."


CHAPTER XXII
Peter wondered how Gillespie could come back and serve
the dinner that night, and nothing said. The old butler
went about his task in the great dining-room as if noth-
ing had occurred to disturb its peace. There was an un-
mistakable significance, however, in the fact that in the
master's place at the head of the table, he had arranged a
magnificent bouquet of white flowers in a huge silver urn
flanked by candles. The rest of the table was laid out in
conventional elegance and a very good dinner was very
well served.
It was scarcely to be wondered at, however, that Valen-
tine and Peter were the only ones who did justice to the
repast and it was on them that the burden of conversation
fell. James Hayden kept up his end well, all things con-
sidered, but Mrs. Hayden had been visibly staggered by
the appearance of the table when she entered, and had
found sufficient courage only to ignore it. The son of the
house had turned first white and then red, but after a
glance at the lovely woman on his arm had refrained
from comment. Valentine thought aloud that it was very
artistic and no doubt appropriate but not cheerful some-
how, and he liked flowers that weren't so tall and put in
the middle where they belonged.
"There will be a change to-morrow, sir." Gillespie
bowed his white head in acquiescence and spoke in a per-
221


224
SUDDEN DEATH
chair. "I'll thank you, Clancy, to leave—"
"Can't be done and you must face it," Peter put in
shrewdly. "Of the many points that were passed over in
the short hearing this morning, this is the most important
and will be made much of to the Grand Jury and later in
General Sessions—for I'm sure Judge Carstairs himself
had little doubt that the district attorney would see to it
that you came to trial, though he did all that lay in his
power to avert it."
"He thinks I'm innocent." The strong young spine
straightened and the dark eyes sought Peter's.
"Yes," said Peter, "because he's that sort of man. But
his kind are few. When it comes to a public trial, Hay-
den, how are you going to explain, for instance, your
having told the captain of the San Salvador that you were
staying with friends in Baltimore? By that time the
prosecution will have called him as a witness, without
any doubt. How do you propose to account for the dis-
crepancy between your statement to him and the fact
that you flew immediately to New York?"
"It was a foolish break, that's all."
"And could have but one explanation," Peter insisted.
"Don't you see that it's clear to the meanest intelligence
that if you'd come back to New York actually to con-
sult your father you wouldn't have made that unfortunate
misstatement? You would have had no possible reason
for not mentioning it to whomever it might concern. No.
It was because you wanted to consult—your—stepmother.
Not your father."
"Clancy, how dare you—"


SUDDEN DEATH
229
in what he said and did. But no really sane man could
or would have acted as he sometimes did—and before
witnesses, too."
"Who, to be exact?" Peter's watchful glance did not
waver. "Valentine, perhaps?"
"Yes. Often."
"Any outsiders? Mr. Evarest?"
"Yes. Douglas, too. Why?"
"Witnesses—if your father went beyond the bounds of
sanity—would be—useful."
"You mean they may get me a light sentence." Hay-
den passed his hand over his forehead and shook his head.
"I don't believe even that would be any use. He was so
sane about the ordinary things of life, and to tell about a
thing is so different from seeing—and hearing. The
bitter voice. The innuendoes that, when you saw his face,
would leave no room for doubt—but if the words were re-
peated—supposing one could remember them exactly—
they could easily be interpreted in some innocent way."
"I can understand that." Peter spoke sympathetically
but his eyes were keen. "You never had a doctor look
him over I suppose."
"Never. He was in perfect physical health. There
wouldn't have been the slightest excuse. . . . And how
could I have this horrible thing brought out in court,
Clancy? After all he was my father. And I was the
cause of his great trouble and sorrow, even though I can't
feel altogether responsible. If I had been home when
he was married—but I didn't know anything about it.
It was quite sudden—I never saw Emily until it was—


230 SUDDEN DEATH
too—late. It was inevitable that we should care for each
other. I went away. We fought—God, Clancy—no one
will ever know. But it was no use. I was honest with
him. I admitted, when he faced me with it at last, that
I loved her. I agreed to go away again. . . . And then,
on the ship, when Velasquez made that offer—"
He paused. His face was white under its wholesome
tan. He looked ten years older. Peter did not speak and
in a minute the tense voice went on. "It seemed heaven
sent. I mean that, actually. I think I hardly realized
until we parted at the boat what it was going to mean to
Emily—to be left—alone—and, on top of the rest with
the menace of my father's madness blackening the sky.
She bore up like the fine soldier she is—until they went
ashore. But when the ship slid along the pier there was
a commotion on the dock. A deck hand said, 'Looks like
the lady's sick.' I saw Douglas lift her in his arms and
carry her—"
He stopped again. Still Peter said nothing. When
the silence became unbearable, Hayden continued fever-
ishly: "Do you wonder—could anyone be surprised that
I came back? My father would not divorce her—not—
not in any case. But wasn't it fair to let her choose—a
new life—in a new country? It wouldn't have been safe
to write and there was no time. I told her to meet me in
the library at twelve. To leave her light burning upstairs
so I could see it. My father always retired early. ... I
expected the library to be dark. . . ."
"And it was, actually, dark." Peter was careful to
put this in the form of a corroborative statement rather


SUDDEN DEATH
that's another matter. Suppose your father was-angry
with someone - An intruder, we'll say. He pulled out
the drawer and caught up the pistol. That much is cer-
tain. Then—what? Did he lay it down? And some-
one else pick it up? . . . It is possible. . . . In that case
-it might have been a man who used it or it might
have been a woman.”
“Clancy! For God's sake"
Peter did not pause. “On the whole I believe that it
was a man. I think there was a struggle-brief-in
which Hayden was not injured-but in which the auto-
matic changed hands. And the shot that was fired—"
“Might have been accidental,” Hayden broke in
hoarsely.
“Or it might have been intentional.” Peter's face was
somber. "In any case, there is no blinking the fact that
Marvin Hayden was shot straight through the head.
Murder? Perhaps. Manslaughter? That at least. The
thing is bound to come to trial.” He fixed the other with
his glance. “Are you willing, Hayden, that I should
stay here and try to find out whose hand fired that fatal
shot?"
Hayden started to his feet. “Yes," he said, his head
held high. “Stay! And do your—best!”


SUDDEN DEATH
235
told by that film of yours, and you'll be bound to show
it in court now—unless—"
"Unless what?" Kerrigan did not try to disguise his
eagerness. Peter only shook his head and the police de-
tective burst out: "Why did I say this was any man's
race? Dammit. Apparently the man that has all the tips
going is just a long, red-headed beggar named Clancy.
Can't surprise him with anything! Here I blow in all
steamed up to tell you that Fitzpatrick, the air port taxi
driver has come to, and what his statement to the police
was, and you say, 'Oh, yes, that's just what Jim Hay-
den told me!' Jim! Like you were buddies; and then
admitting all the damaging inferences of his having an
alibi that's worse than nothing at all and less than that!
You make me tired!"
"I should think you would be, Jake. Tired is a feeble
word. Little man, you've had a busy day! I'm not little,
but I, too, have not been idle. Suppose we quit and put
in our time-checks."
"I couldn't hint plainer than that myself." Kerrigan
thrust up his heavy lower lip. "All right, sweetheart.
I'll go. If your nasty disposition keeps you awake, and
you think of anything you want to get off your chest be-
fore morning, remember my phone isn't out of order and
I'm a light sleeper."
"What time will Inverness and Updegraff be ready to
go before the Grand Jury with this new evidence, do you
know, Jake?" Peter's arm was draped lightly about Ker-
rigan's broad shoulders as they went toward the door.
His responsive grin had been fleeting and the question


236
SUDDEN DEATH
was put with undisguised anxiety.
"Before noon, certainly. It can't fail to be a front
page case, and Updegraff won't waste any time in ringing
up the curtain."
"Don't let Wiggar hear you mix your metaphors."
Peter spoke lightly and in a fairly loud tone as Kerrigan
received his hat and allowed the perfectly expressionless
valet to help him with his light overcoat.
"If I ever knew what a metaphor was, I've forgotten,"
remarked Kerrigan, "and if it's liquor, you know, Pete, I
always take mine straight. Wiggar knows it anyway.
Good night, Wiggar."
"Good night, sir."
"Jake." Peter followed him outside the door. It was
a fresh, cool, spring night. Forced by the warmth of the
surrounding buildings the lilac bushes in the little enclosed
park opposite were showing tiny leaves like little green
hearts turned upside down. The tainted breath of earlier
passing motors had been blown away and the air was
light with a faint delicate something that was almost
fragrance—suggesting freshly turned and watered earth,
grass, and shy early flowers. Peter sniffed it eagerly.
A strange mood was upon him. "Jake," he said again.
"Well?" Kerrigan, one large foot poised above the
wide curve of the steps, turned curiously.
"Does your conscience ever bother you?"
"Well, not to say often. It's got pretty tough by this
time I'm a-thinking."
"No, but seriously. Do you always see your way
clear? Know what's right—and not so right?"


SUDDEN DEATH
237
"Pete, my lad—" Kerrigan looked up, and his face
was grave as only a humorous Irish face can contrive to
be when all the whimsy is drained away—"I think you'll
be after having put it in a nutshell. What's right—or
not so right, says you. There's white—and then again
there's such a helluf a lot of shades of gray before you
get to black, belike. Well, there's the truth. But a plain
man can know, if he uses the eye God gave him, whether
it's really white or black he's after, and which of the
shades presented is like to which. ... So there you are,
me lad. And Pete, old sock, don't think I've had a drop
too much if I say, God guide ye."
Peter stood at the top of the steps and watched the
heavy square figure until it disappeared, with a final wave
of the hand, around the corner. A blue-coated policeman
passed at that minute and saluted him. Peter recognized
Patrolman Knip with a pleasant word. The guard around
the house was not relaxed, he noted. Though Knip had
been withdrawn from the inside to the outside, his vigil-
ance was augmented by another uniformed officer who
was patrolling Lexington Avenue, as was made apparent
when the two met and exchanged a few words at the
corner. Aside from the shortness of their beat there was
nothing to suggest that the chaste environs of Gramercy
Park were not as they always had been. The same quiet.
The same lighted club windows. Not so many lights now
in the old homes and newer apartments, for it was grow-
ing late, but there were still a few dog-lovers, tagging
along on leash, and some of the more exclusive—dogs or
owners—Peter could not decide which—who preferred


23»
SUDDEN DEATH
the seclusion and vernal freshness to be had inside the
rails. A tall stiff but eminently respectable elderly lady
unlocked the gate as he looked, and he could not help
smiling at the bright streak of canine joy that bounded
inside.
"Beg pardon, Mr. Peter." Wiggar still waited, hold-
ing open the door. "Your cold is so much better, sir, but
I would suggest—"
"The night air. Quite right." Peter came inside at
once, though he felt a curious uncertainty and reluctance
in doing so. He looked at the valet as if for help. "What
is it I've forgotten, Wiggar?"
"I really couldn't say, sir. Your appearance (aside
from the regrettable tendency to disarrange the parting
of your hair, as I have had occasion to remark before, if
you'll recall, sir), leaves little to be desired."
"Good old Wiggar. I try to do you credit. It's a
shame when you take so much pains. But if something
is troubling me inside my head I naturally reach for
it. . . ."
Something was really troubling Mr. Peter, that was
plain and the considerate valet forebore or rather post-
poned further remonstrance. Some very important things
one must needs put aside for the time being when neces-
sary, and possess one's soul in patience. After all, some-
thing must be conceded in this case. The weight of
gloom and suspense in that house of tragedy could not
fail to leave its impress on even transient visitors. As
for the family—Wiggar was tiptoeing after his master
up the stairs and along the hall to the rooms that had


240
SUDDEN DEATH
went on in a normal voice, "nothing should happen to-
night. It's not on the schedule. No danger. To-night.
For anyone. As to to-morrow? Who knows? Oh, Wig-
gar, if I only knew—could prove what I do know—what
would I do? Answer me that. As long as there's a
chance— But is there?"
Wiggar somehow sensed that this was a rhetorical ques-
tion, but habit was strong. "I really couldn't say, sir,"
he responded in his cool, matter of fact manner.
That complete sobriety and calm always steadied Peter,
but to-night it had less than its usual effect. He prowled
erratically about the room, picking up and examining
various objects that he never really saw. Once he took
up the telephone that stood on a desk in the corner, then,
without touching the dial, put it down again. Some time
later, "Isn't it very close in here," he remarked half aloud,
and crossing to one of the windows, flung up the sash and
leaned far out.
The sky was dark except for thin scarves of mist that
caught the light from the bright watchful eyes of the city
streets far below. Down on the pavement Peter could
see Knip's burly figure foreshortened to vari-sized ron-
dures from which flapped ends of trouser-legs and faintly
echoing feet.
A force deep within him held Peter to the window.
The cool air eased but did not dispel the trouble in his
head. Half consciously he heard Wiggar's light step
going about the room, laying out things, making ready
for the night. Presently these ceased but Peter did not
notice the silence. Something in the little park across


SUDDEN DEATH
241
the way focussed his attention. Wiggar, ever watchful,
saw him swing his wrist up so that the light inside the
room would illumine the dial on it.
"Good Lord!" Peter's red head whirled inward miss-
ing the sash by the fraction of an inch. "That's what's
the matter with mel Fool not to think before. Never
mind, Wiggar, I don't need—"
He had crossed the room in a flash and pulled open the
door. It was a marvel that anyone could move so fast
and make so little sound. Wiggar, as if drawn by a mag-
net, followed, almost as silent but with far less speed. He
had only reached the top of the stairs when he heard a
horrible, soft thud and the muffled wrench and stifled
breathing that came from two struggling bodies in the
hall below. In two leaps he was down the stairs and had
pressed the light switch in the wall at the bottom.
"Mr. Clancy! May I ask without offense—" The
two figures parted and Gillespie stood revealed.
"Shush—" said Peter. "No use to wake the house."
He seemed in a frightful hurry. "Can't stop now. Wig-
gar!"
"Yes, sir."
"Take this and find out what Gillespie is doing here.
Don't make any noise."
"Thank you, sir." The whispered phrase was quite as
automatic as the pistol that Wiggar accepted with even
more than usual alacrity. "Perhaps we'll be more con-
venient downstairs, Mr. Gillespie. After you, if you
please." Though they hurried, the two servants had not
reached the lowest flight when Peter dashed out of the


242
SUDDEN DEATH
house.
On the pavement he nearly collided with Knip. "Look
here, old man," he said, grabbing the astonished police-
man by both arms. "I want you. Come along, quick I"
"But— Why, it's Mr. Clancy! What the—"
"Come on and vouch for me." Peter was dragging
him across the empty roadway. "I don't want to scare
the poor lady to death. You tell her— Here. Wait."
They were at the high iron gate by now. Peter raised
his voice, but it had become quite calm and graciously
courteous. "I beg your pardon, Madam. I hope you'll
excuse—"
"Oh, dear me," said a sharp little old voice inside the
railings. "The police. Good gracious l"
"May. I ask you to be so very kind as to unlock the
gate and give me a few minutes— I have an idea—"
Thus Peter in his best manner.
"The gentleman's name is Mr. Clancy." Knip tried
to live up to the general effect of "class." "He's well
known to the police—only in a nice way," he added hast-
ily. "You needn't be afraid of him, Madam. I don't
know what he's after, myself, but—"
An elderly lady in a handsome but unfashionable hat
was peering through the gate. There was a street lamp
just there and she could see Peter plainly. She hesitated
only a second. "Thank you, officer. I fancy it's all right.
Won't you come in?" The last was to Peter, and she held
the gate open as if it were the entrance to her home.
"O.K. Knip. I'm all right now. You'd better get
back," said Peter. "I don't think there'll be any trouble


SUDDEN DEATH
many women come out at this time of night. And rarely
anyone comes inside the park so late, with a dog."
"Do you—" Peter's voice was eager but very serious.
"You don't make an exception of the week-end— Sun-
day? To be exact—last Sunday night? I mean you
didn't send someone else out with Mae?"
"I'm not pretending that I don't see what you're driving
at, Mr. Clancy. Of course I read the papers and have
known since Monday about the tragedy over there."
Miss Derwent was silent for several paces. Then she said
rather quickly: "But I couldn't make up my mind to go
to the police. After all, what could I say? I don't think
I could possibly identify him."


CHAPTER XXIV
“HIM!” cried Peter. “Then you saw someone.”
Miss Felicity Derwent nodded emphatically. "I saw a
man go up the steps of the Hayden house Sunday night.”
“Alone?"
“Yes."
“At twelve o'clock?”
“No. It was earlier.”
"You're sure?” Peter's voice was heavy with sup-
pressed disappointment.
"Certain. I was in my room and had started to un-
dress when the chimes rang for midnight.”
"Oh!” Peter stopped and struck one clenched fist
against the other palm. "I hoped But surely it was
as late as twelve when I saw you out here last night.”
"Yes,” she admitted crisply, "last night it was. I con-
fess I was much disturbed—wondering what I should do
--if anything and not being able to make up my mind.
Ordinarily I don't stay more than a half hour or so. As
usual, Sunday night about eleven, we came out to-
gether—"
“We? Who?"
"Mae West and I.”
Peter did not even notice the absurdity of the conjunc-
tion, so intent was he on the problem that absorbed every
faculty. "Oh, the dog. Yes. I see. Well— Sunday
245


* 246
SUDDEN DEATH
night. At eleven. You let yourself in here as you did
to-night, I suppose. Don't let me confuse you, Miss Der-
went, but tell me what happened. In your own words.
Don't miss anything. So much hangs—depends—on find-
ing a witness. ... Wouldn't you rather sit on one of
those benches?”
"No. I'm too nervous to sit down, Mr. Clancy. I'm—
used to walking—miles—around here—with Mae. Ever
since I read the paper Monday night I've been troubled.
Though the Meteor has contended all along that Mr. Hay-
den probably took his own life. Tell me,” Peter felt
the clutch of thin fingers on his arm. “Do the police
know? Was it”.
“Murder? Yes.” Peter finished the question for her
and answered it with a firmness that left no room for
argument. "I'm afraid you'll have to testify, Miss Der-
went."
"If I must, I must.” She threw back her head so hard
that the loops of ribbon on her hat jumped. "I'm not
one to avoid responsibility if I'm sure it rightly is mine.
But I'd like to tell you the little I know, Mr. Clancy, and
then you can decide from your superior experience what
I ought to do. I declare it's a relief to my mind to tell
it to someone. Who in the world is that, and what does
he want?"
Miss Derwent broke off abruptly and pointed to a
shadowy figure that could be dimly seen outside the bars.
"Mr. Peter, sir, could I speak with you a minute?”
Peter leaped an incipient tulip bed and went close to
the railings. “Wiggar! What's up?"


SUDDEN DEATH
"Let him in. You couldn't see—"
"No. Whoever opened the door was inside of course
and too far away. My eyes aren't what they used to be."
"But your head is screwed on straighter than most."
Peter's tone was appreciative. "You stayed on here how
much longer after that do you think?"
"I believe it was half-past eleven when I left. I believe
that, Mr. Clancy, but I can't say absolutely. I think it
was Sunday night that the bell in the Metropolitan tower
was ringing the half hour when I locked the gate there
after me. But it might have been that it was on Saturday
night. Coming here is so much a matter of habit that
I can't be certain about details that are more or less alike
each night. But I am sure about the other things I've
told you. It was Sunday night that I saw the young man
on the steps—"
"Young? You didn't mention that before," Peter broke
in. "How do you know he was young? And how young?"
"He walked quickly—easily—and ran up the steps.
That's all that made me infer that he was not by any
means an old man."
"I see," said Peter thoughtfully. "And was that all?
Did you notice nothing more?"
"There was a light in those windows." Miss Derwent
pointed with a dark-gloved finger to two on the second
floor that Peter knew belonged to Mrs. Hayden's room.
"All the time those lights were on."
"And the ones in the library." Peter's voice was tense.
"When did those go out?"


SUDDEN DEATH 253
the last few minutes. This case is getting—desperate.
There's just one man that can help us now. Mr. Douglas
Evarest. He said he'd do—anything. Well, then, Wig-
gar, we'll give him the chance."


CHAPTER XXV
PETER's ring was answered almost instantly. It was the
old superior servant Parker that opened the door, but
he had only started to relieve the late guest of hat and
coat when Douglas Evarest came quickly out into the hall.
"I couldn't explain over the telephone.” Peter held out
his hand and Evarest took it without a word. "I wouldn't
have rung up but I thought it would be better not to wait
until morning. The time is short and there is much-
Ah, good evening, Mrs. Evarest."
The old lady had appeared suddenly in the door at the
back of the hall. Peter hastened toward her. She had
been leaning on a stick but as he came near she raised it
with a gesture strangely threatening.
"Mother!” Evarest was close behind. "Mother! I
beg of you—"
The stick fell clattering to the floor. Parker picked it
up and restored it with the calm of accepted custom.
Mrs. Evarest leaned on it again and faced Peter from just
inside the door.
“So,” She said with a smile that was subtly and
gravely insulting - "you are a chess player, Mr. Clancy.
And a friend of Valentine Berkley. A friend, indeed. I
wonder that you can face decent people. A private de-
tective forsooth and made up like a gentleman. How you
wormed yourself into that child's confidence”
254


SUDDEN DEATH 255
"Mother. Please!"
"Be still, Douglas. Be still, I tell you!"
"But, mother—"
"Silence. Do you think I'll allow you to make a fool
of yourself? For another woman? Good heavens! And
she—no better than she should be!"
"Mother!" The man's voice was stern and threaten-
ing.
"You shall consider me! ME! Do you hear? You
were always a quixotic idiot, Douglas. But I can prevent
your playing the fool now as I have before. You've never
thought it worth while to do as I wished, but I've circum-
vented you in less important matters. You've always
been made to see reason in the end. This time you're
mad. Mad! You'll realize it—later—when those two
friends of yours pay the penalty for—"
"Mother!" Evarest reached out to seize her by the
wrist, but she struck at him with her stick. In his recoil
he knocked over the little low table where the chessmen
stood ready placed for a quiet game.
"There! You see! Clumsy!" she cried, her attention
immediately diverted to the carved bits of ivory on the
floor. "Pick them up, Parker. Why don't you pick them
up? We have still time for one more game. As for you,
Douglas, we'll consider the matter settled. I will not lie
for you or anyone else. Understand that. Now you
may go."
There was something of the imperious great lady in the
way she now ignored Peter's very existence, and a certain
kind of strength in her voice and manner. Complete self-


SUDDEN DEATH
Evarest's lips relaxed into what in a happier moment
would have been a smile. "I gave you a vote of con-
fidence this morning, Clancy. You may ask me what you
will." He was, however, quite unprepared for the ques-
tion.
"Why have you never married?"
"I—well, you know—work—and—and—"
"Your mother had nothing to do with it?"
"Why—I don't know why you ask—but—perhaps—in
a way—she did. I was very young. The girl—died later.
It was a long time ago. Fifteen years or more. I'm
thirty-eight now. Yes, over fifteen years. It's over and
done with. Perhaps—better—so."
"Because of a feeling that has developed since?" Peter
put the question in a voice full of quiet sympathy, but he
felt Evarest's swift inner withdrawal.
"My feelings are beside the question," he said in a firm
tone. "I understood it was Jim Hayden's situation that
you came to discuss. You said there had been develop-
ments. I beg of you—you must realize how anxious I am.
We are closer than brothers. He could not have done
this thing, Clancy! You know it as well as I do. It is
utterly and completely impossible."
"And yet the case against him is black, Evarest, and
getting blacker every hour. The district attorney will
put his evidence before the Grand Jury in the morning,
and there is no possible chance that they will fail to hand
down an indictment."
"To-morrow morning!"
"Yes. You understand, Evarest, that it will be a pri-


SUDDEN DEATH
vate hearing, but the trial that will follow will be public.
This is the evidence they have already. Let me sum it up
for you."
Briefly and in deadly earnest, Peter went over the main
facts. Hayden's ambiguous statement to the captain of
the San Salvador. His telephone message to Mrs. Hayden.
The landing of the plane at 10:34. The story of his hav-
ing left the taxi at Union Square and having wasted fully
three-quarters of an hour, first with a defective engine
(which the driver might or might not be able to verify)
and then with a slow lingering stroll that brought him to
Gramercy Park at twelve o'clock. "And the only way
he can show that the delay was real and voluntary,"
Peter finished grimly, "is by admitting that he was to
meet Mrs. Hayden, secretly, in the library—with the
avowed intention of persuading her to follow him to South
America as soon as he was established there."
"I know," said Evarest huskily. "I guessed something
of the sort. But, good God, Clancy, that does not make
him a murderer."
"Not to you perhaps—but after the Hayden butler
testifies, what will be the verdict of a jury made up of
the common run of men and women? Gillespie has the
strength of what he honestly believes is righteous wrath.
There's only one interpretation he's capable of after what
he saw. Gillespie isn't guilty, you know, Evarest."
The other shook his head. He seemed deprived of
speech.
"Some sort of case could be made out against him, no
doubt, but it would fall through in face of stronger evi-


SUDDEN DEATH
259
dence. He'll never be indicted. Who would believe that
a man, for a comparatively small sum of money, would
kill a master to whom he had given years of devotion?
How much more likely that the stakes the murderer
played for were higher. Half a million in life insur-
ance—" Evarest groaned aloud, but Peter went on in-
exorably—"and the woman he loved. The natural infer-
ence will be that it was a plot between those two. It may
be contended that they meant to steal the will which
James Hayden at least had every reason to believe was
in the library safe. Gillespie thinks Marvin Hayden sur-
prised them there—and that one or the other shot him."
"Or the other?" gasped Evarest. "No one could im-
agine that Emily—"
"If she insisted on wiping off the fingerprints from the
pistol, do you think it won't occur to a sharp prosecutor
that they might have been her own? And even that
James Hayden allowed it—because he realized that her's
were there already? If by any chance Hayden gets clear,
it's almost certain that she will be suspected—"
"Oh, God! Clancy. Stop. It's too horrible. I can't
bear—"
"You'd better hear it all. There's a bad follow-up to
Hayden's attempted alibi. I must explain that, too. It's
what brought me up here to-night. I hoped for a very
different result from an inquiry I was—or so I thought—
inspired to make. Listen."
With merciful brevity he told of his recent interview
with Miss Felicity Derwent. "She is clear-headed and
reliable," he added. "There is no question but that a


260
SUDDEN DEATH
man—who, according to the taxi driver's story, and for
anything Miss Derwent knows to the contrary, could eas-
ily have been James Hayden—went up the steps of his
father's house earlier-considerably earlier than twelve
o'clock on Sunday night. ... I think, myself, that it was
about 11:15. No matter whether Gillespie's deductions
were correct or not, I believe his testimony true. I think
this man that Miss Derwent observed looking through
the little crack between the curtains, saw Gillespie in the
library, and saw him leave the room. Then, and not until
then, he must have tapped on the glass, attracted Marvin
Hayden's attention and was by him admitted to the
house. . . . Can you stand it? Shall I go on?”
Evarest had recovered to some degree his natural quiet
courage. “Yes," he said evenly. “Tell me all you know.”
“What follows is surmise mostly." Peter's face was
stiffened with grave responsibility. “But I'm sure it's
right in the main. The man must have been well known
to Marvin Hayden or the master of the house wouldn't
have gone to the door himself. After the two were in
the library, and all the doors closed so as not to disturb
the others, there must have been a discussion of some
length, for Miss Derwent had gone from the park before
the man left the house if he did leave it.
"The subject of the discussion isn't difficult to infer.
I imagine that he taxed Marvin Hayden with cruel un-
kindness toward his family—that he pleaded for the
freedom of the woman he loved. I think the man ad-
mitted his own passion and I am certain that Hayden was
driven into a sudden insane fury in which he tore open


CHAPTER XXVI
"But how can I prove it?" Evarest started up holding
both clenched hands against the sides of his neck. "I've
put it out of my power. God help me, Clancy. I should
have known. No man, ultimately, escapes the conse-
quences of his own acts— And to have Jim suspected—
and Emily—in danger—is worse, far worse than death.
From the minute I heard of Jim's return, I've literally
suffered the tortures of the damned. When they arrested
him—I began at once to make preparations to take over.
I knew that Jim, as soon as he understood, would forgive
me—for everything. And in addition to all the rest, even
for the few hours' necessary delay. You see, Clancy, I
had no idea, then, that anything would be required more
than a simple statement of my guilt."
"Yes. I know," said Peter. "I saw that. I suspected
at that time that you might possibly be telling the truth,
but I could not quite understand why you had delayed
matters for over twenty-four hours."
"There were things that I could not leave unfinished."
Evarest's face showed that he took Clancy's comprehen-
sion for granted and felt that an explanation was no more
than his due. "I had worked out a theory that I felt in
duty bound to put in understandable form for the Medi-
cal Research Society. If my ideas are correct the results
will be far reaching, and for the good of humanity. I
263


264 SUDDEN DEATH
thought it inadvisable to let purely personal considera-
tions stand in the way. I knew I could explain it to Jim
—and Emily. And no one else mattered. . . . Except
you, Clancy," he added hesitatingly. "I'd like you to
know that I would not have delayed except for a serious
reason. And my only trouble since has been dread of
what my mother's testimony would surely be—and the
impossibility of furnishing other proof. I have no wit-
nesses. Nothing!"
"Your alibi depends on your mother." Peter endeav-
ored by the careful quiet of his voice to steady the other
man's shaken nerves.
"And is due to my own criminal folly," Evarest replied
with a passionate gesture. "She refused to believe what
I told her, and she will never admit even to herself now
that I deceived her in the first instance. I know her.
Nothing on earth will induce her to question the evidence
of her own senses, as she puts it, and one has no right
to blame her."
"Sometimes we build not wisely but too well," said
Peter sadly. "From what I observed last night I should
imagine that there would be a second witness and that
Parker, too, will assert that it was only a little after
eleven when you reached home Sunday night?"
"Yes. 11:15. I chose that hour since I knew of my
own knowledge," Evarest responded, "that Gillespie was
in the library with Marvin Hayden at that time and
would have to testify to the effect that his master was
then alive and well. I saw them together, just as you
thought. The rest—was—just as you imagined it. I did


SUDDEN DEATH 267
petent charming side that she was able to show to be sure
that it would take much—very much to upset her testi-
mony. Well, then—
He squared his shoulders and put a strong hand on his
companion's arm. "Evarest," he said, "I want to tell
you something. I've been pretty sure for some time of
what actually happened—and God forgive me—I've been
trying my damnedest to clear the others without implicat-
ing you. I—you see—well— The old saying, 'To under-
stand all is to forgive all.' ... If it could have been
managed— But it can't. I know you don't require proof
of the fact, but I want to tell you."
He had guided Evarest to a chair by the small open
coal fire that burned low with faintly glowing embers.
The stricken man, after a swift clasp of the hand, held
himself steady. His gaze was fixed on Peter's face. He
spoke with eloquent eyes.
Peter looked up to the great window above his head,
as if for inspiration, but the sky was black. It was the
darkest hour. He drew an inaudible sigh, and began:
"In the first place we must realize that a case could
be made out against Valentine Berkley. His hatred of
his brother-in-law is patent to anyone who talks to him.
His alibi could be shot full of holes big enough to let
him through, if suspicion were started in his direction.
Gillespie, too, is vulnerable; witness the more than ques-
tionable effect of his testimony at the hearing this morn-
ing: his vindictiveness and the way he has been snooping
around the house ever since. Trying to find means of
bolstering up the truth as he sees it, of course. But it


268
SUDDEN DEATH
could be made to have an ugly look—for him. Both of
these men, Valentine and Gillespie, are innocent, as we
know. But worst of all is the circumstantial evidence
against James Hayden and Mrs. Hayden."
"And the time so short," groaned Evarest clenching
his hands. "It must not go to the Grand Jury, Clancy!
It must not! You'll go with me to Kerrigan as soon as
it's light in the morning. You'll help me to convince him.
You will?"
"Yes," said Peter somberly, "I will. I promise."
"God bless you, Clancyl Do you think you can make
him see—"
"I'm sure of it this time," said Peter heavily. "Come.
I want to show you something."
On the low table that stood between them, Peter laid
a paper close under the light. Evarest leaned swiftly
down. He held his breath while he read:
List of objects found on the body of Marvin Hayden,
April eleventh, 19—
Right breast pocket, one handkerchief, folded, clean.
Left breast pocket, slightly crumpled handkerchief.
Cigarette case.
Right vest pocket, bit of tissue paper.
Left vest pocket, flat match case and crumpled bridge
score.
Fallen from pockets and caught in folds of coat, two
gumdrops in waxed paper and small flat gold pencil.
Evarest was still studying the paper when Peter spoke.
"This is a copy of the list Kerrigan took when he made
his first examination." The finger of the detective


SUDDEN DEATH
269
touched the first two items. "Note what he says here.
'One handkerchief folded, clean.' The other—Wiggar
examined it, too, and will testify that it had not been used.
Had merely been shaken out and placed in the pocket in
the customary way. Does that suggest nothing to you?"
Evarest frowned and slowly shook his head.
"Don't you see?" Peter's voice was suddenly clear
and eager, "Isn't it plain that Marvin Hayden was not
suffering from a cold? He carried two handkerchiefs, as
one does in case of accidents, but he had not used either
one."
A queer look came into Evarest's eyes. He leaned far-
ther forward in his chair. "Go on," he urged, his startled
glance returning to the paper.
"He was well valeted, also," Peter continued swiftly.
"Only the bit of tissue paper, so small as to escape notice,
was held over from a previous wearing of that evening
suit. I am certain that everything else in his pockets had
been put there when he dressed Sunday evening."
Evarest agreed with a slight gesture but no sound came
from his half-parted lips.
"You noticed that I had a cold this morning?"
Again that quick motion of acquiescence.
"You didn't guess that it was put on?" Peter did not
wait for an answer. "I fooled them all. I commandeered
all the remedies in the house. Not satisfied with that, I
searched every bathroom medicine closet and bed-head
table. But found no trace, anywhere, of the thing I was
looking for."
Evarest half started to his feet. "I see! I've guessed


272 SUDDEN DEATH
in the morning and if that failed, to go on—never to
rest! Now, thanks to you, the way will be clear. I know.
I'm certain. There need be no scandal—for Jim—?
We'll be in time?"
"Yes," Peter answered sadly. "Yes. We'll be in
time."
They talked long then on ways and means. The ob-
vious fact that no other than the murderer could have
dropped the little paper of pastilles upon the body where
it was found, and the equally important consideration
that Evarest, and he only of all the possible suspects,
habitually used them, formed a fulcrum with which Peter
proposed to lift the burden of evidence and shift it to the
shoulders that were even now so strongly braced to re-
ceive it.
"If you would plead self-defence, Evarest," Peter urged
at length. "Surely, with a clear conscience, you could—"
"I'll take no chances, Clancy." There was complete
determination in the pale, quiet face. "The truth, the
whole truth and nothing but the truth. There shall be
no loop-hole, now. I will not quibble or extenuate. But
I would like you to understand. . . ."
After a minute he said, "Call me fatalist or what you
will, Clancy. I do believe in laws—wider and stronger
than we can comprehend. . . . The death of Marvin
Hayden will accomplish much. It will set Emily free—
and Jim. When I saw Marvin dead—it passed through
my mind that even he—at his best—when he was really
sane—would have been glad to have it over. I thought
that for that reason the deed was put in my hand to do at


SUDDEN DEATH
273
a time when my conscience was in accord with the doing
of it. . . .
"But at last I have seen that I was wrong. The terror
of a miscarriage of justice has shown it to me in letters
of fire. Things are not solved by going contrary to the
higher laws that a man must carry in that part of him
that knows—without thought or argument.
"These long black hours have given me time to realize
that my act of violence was an interference, not a co-
operation with those laws. There is no question as to
what my course must be. I have you to thank that this
time I can make my confession of guilt effective, but I
had determined on it already, and made my plans accord-
ingly."
A strange note had come into the quiet voice that went
calmly on and on. Peter had a feeling of exaltation in
witnessing such serene courage and swore within himself
that he would do his best for this splendid though guilty
soul.
"I believe now," said Douglas Evarest in the same
still voice, "that there is no such thing as righteous indig-
nation—no occasion when passion can be taken as a guide
to justice. For that mistake I have suffered—and must
suffer. But I am not willing to have that the end. I am
not convinced that my crime was so great that my death
—or whatever punishment will be meted out—must be
nothing but an expiation, and can serve no constructive
purpose."
He rose then, and half turned away, he said: "Do you
remember this morning, by what we call chance, I showed


274
SUDDEN DEATH
you a notice in the paper?”
Peter's heart contracted. Suddenly he knew-knew
what was coming. But he could say nothing.
"Dr. Lauren, it said," the calm voice went on, “needed
only one thing to make sure his serum was effective. It
was practically impossible to get human beings to take
the risk—of leprosy."
"Don't!” Peter put out his hand. “Don't_”.
"It is already done,” said Douglas Evarest tranquilly.
"I persuaded Dr. Lauren after I left you. I've had the
first inoculation. Now whatever happens, I am content.
I will die-sometime, in any case. If I live now-I live.
If I die—being guilty of death—I will have given my
body in an effort to overcome a death more hideous.
Strange. Strange how one law seems to supersede and
make use of lesser laws. If I had been innocent-I
would not have done this. Strange. Perhaps Marvin's
death was a necessary part of the sequence. Perhaps-
neither he—nor I—will have died in vain.”
He lifted his face. Peter beheld it transfigured.
Beauty. Love. Truth. He saw them all together at last.
Built up of sorrow, pain and sin, and triumphant over
them.
Raising his eyes he saw that the sky above their heads
was whitening to the dawn of a new day.

RED BADGE
DETECTIVE
DODD









REDBA