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THE CRIMSON ALIBI





THE CRIMSON ALIBI
BY
OCTAVUS ROY COHEN
Author of “Six Seconds of Darkness,” etc.
NEW YORK
DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY

1919


**
CoPYRIGHT, 1918, 1919
BY DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY, INC.


*


CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I CARROLL ENTERTAINS A VISITOR . . . . 1
II FANSHAw EXPLAINS . . . . . . . . 13
III A CALL FROM HEADQUARTERS . . . . . 27
IV AN UNExPECTED DEVELOPMENT . . . . 38
V A QUARREL AND A LovE AFFAIR . . . . 49
VI. A TRAGEDY OF YOUTH . . . . . . . 63
VII JUDITH DARRELL . . . . . . . . . 76
VIII A BOMB ExPLODEs . . . . . . . . 88
IX MRS. BURRAGE KNows NOTHING . . . . 100
X THE SILVER-HANDLED KNIFE . . . . . 112
XI DORRINGTON . . . . . . . . . . 124
XII A SHADow IN THE GARDEN . . . . . . 137
XIII A STRANGER IN THE HOUSE . . . . . . 150
XIV THE TRAIL GROws WARM . . . . . . 162
XV A CONFESSION . . . . . . . . . 173
XVI THE PERFECT ALIBI . . . . . . . . 187
XVII CARROLL CONSULTS A LAWYER . . . . . 202
XVIII LEFTY LEWIS AND THE THIRD DEGREE . . . 215
XIX A CALL FROM SULLIVAN . . . . . . . 228
XX HALFACRE . . . . . . . . . . . 240
XXI MARRIED . . . . . . . . . . . 252
XXII CARROLL MAKES AN ARREST . . . . . 264
XXIII CLEAR SKIEs . . . . . . . . . . 273





THE CRIMSON ALIBI


THE CRIMSON ALIBI
CHAPTER I
CARROLL ENTERTAINS A VISITOR
\ AVID CARROLL slid his chair back from
the breakfast table, lighted his matutinal
cigar and tapped the table gong. A buxom young
woman appeared in the doorway, and Carroll
nodded. “You may clear the table, Freda. Is
my newspaper in the library?”
The maid's eyes sparkled with excitement.
“Yes, indeed, sir, it is. . . .”
Carroll strolled idly to the window and stood
for a moment gazing down the tree-lined street
which stretched away to the base of a mountain
far in the distance. Freda glanced at him curi-
ously, then busied herself about her tasks, shak-
ing her head wonderingly.
Freda had never been able to quite understand
this boyish man for whom she worked. At times
she wanted to scold, at other times his icy cold-
ness awed. She had looked after his apartment
for two years now and knew his habits as few
other people did: knew the intensive working of
l


2 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
the brain which was masked by the boyish face,
the strength belied by the almost too slender
figure. She was familiar with his every sparing
gesture, with the eyes which were softly blue-
like a woman's — most of the time; but which, on
occasion, could assume the colour and hardness
of chilled Steel.
Freda caught herself wondering at times
whether her master was possessed of the more
human emotions, whether there might not be too
much of icy aloofness in his nature. Save for
the boring, steely glint of his eyes occasionally,
he had never shown – to her knowledge — the
sign of anger. He appeared to take life as it
came, cheerfully for the most part — somewhat
cynically for the balance. Freda shook her head
again. It was difficult to remember that this
boyish man by the window was known the coun-
try over as the greatest of private investigators:
a man whose very knowledge of human nature
and its motivating forces was an asset which had
never failed.
David Carroll did not read at meals. On the
library table his two morning papers stood
folded. He left the window of the dining room
— left it regretfully as though loath to tear his
soft blue eyes away from the quiet peacefulness
of the suburban street scene – and entered the


4 TEIE CRIMSON ALIBI
precinct were notified at a few minutes after mid-
night by Mrs. Elsie Burrage, housekeeper at the
Quincy home in that fashionable suburb, and they
immediately communicated with headquarters.
Chief Eric Leverage of the plainclothes force has
been placed in charge of the case with orders
to stick until the murderer is apprehended.
“Owing to the excitement following on the
heels of the tidings that Mr. Quincy had been
murdered in his own home, little definite in-
formation could be obtained at headquarters. So
far no motive for the crime has been uncovered,
and the police make no mention of any clue which
may have fallen into their hands.
“Mr. Quincy, who was sixty-one years of age,
motored home from his office in the Berkeley Na-
tional Bank building shortly before five o'clock
yesterday afternoon. He remained in his room
until dinner at 6:15 and dined, as usual, with his
nephew, Andrew Quincy, a well-known clubman
and leader of Berkeley City's younger social set;
and Mrs. Burrage. Later, Mr. Quincy and his
nephew went into Mr. Quincy's study adjoining
the handsome library, and at about eleven o’clock,
Andrew Quincy went into the city and put up
at the Stratford Hotel.
“At a little after eleven-thirty Mr. Quincy's
body was discovered slumped down in his big easy
chair in the private study, a steel dagger which
had been used as a paperknife, plunged into his
heart. The police state that this paperknife has
been in Mr. Quincy’s possession for years. It is
plain but handsome with a polished and undecor-
ated silver handle.


CARROLL ENTERTAINS A VISITOR 5
“The precinct police, first on the scene, placed
a guard over the room and the body, touching
nothing. Coroner Jansen was summoned and
arrived with a detail from police headquarters
in charge of Chief Eric Leverage of the plain-
clothes force. The inquest will be held either
this afternoon or tomorrow morning.
“Although the room was not in order and the
table was covered with papers, there was no sign
of a struggle. Mr. Quincy was evidently stabbed
as he sat in his chair. A small wall safe of an-
tique pattern stood open.
“Mr. Quincy had for forty years been one of
the leading citizens of Berkeley City. He was a
director and former president of the Berkeley
National Bank, a member of several fraternal
orders and charitable organizations, and princi-
pal owner in many of Berkeley City's largest mer-
cantile establishments, including the Farmer's
Real Estate & Insurance Company; Fairchild &
Company, wholesale dealers in notions and hard-
ware; Krayley's Department Store and others.
“Mr. Quincy was a bachelor and his sole sur-
viving relative is his nephew, Andrew Quincy,
who is also said to be his sole beneficiary under
his Will.
“Efforts to interview Andrew Quincy at the
Stratford Hotel at two o'clock this morning were
unavailing.
“Berkeley City grieves the loss of one of its
leading citizens. It doubly grieves the manner
of his demise.”
David Carroll lowered the newspaper slowly,


6 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
his eyes focussing on the corner of a mahogany
bookcase in the corner.
Joshua Quincy murdered ! The circum-
stances surrounding the murder intrigued Car-
roll's professional senses; the fact of the murder
itself interested him vitally as a citizen of the
municipality. -
Of course the Ledger had erred slightly in its
ultra-conservatism. Carroll knew, as did almost
every other man of affairs in Berkeley City, that
the murdered man, while undoubtedly one of the
leading citizens, was, equally without doubt, its
most unpopular.
Quincy's fortune was rated in the millions and
while Quincy's methods of acquiring that for-
tune had been safely within the letter of the law,
the dollars which had found their way to his
coffers had left behind them a trail of suffering
and bitterness which extended to every corner of
the city.
Carroll had known the man personally in the
briefest way. But there was little about the
man that he did not know: Quincy's notorious
irascibility, his merciless ways in financial af-
fairs, his almost unbearably insulting incisive-
ness of speech, his intransigent bitterness against
humanity in general. Truly a man hated by
many and beloved by few. Carroll doubted if a


CARROLL ENTERTAINS A VISITOR 7
single sincere tear would be shed in Berkeley
City at the news of his death.
There were many men in the world who would
have killed Quincy had the opportunity offered.
That much Carroll knew — and the thought sent
him questing through the newspaper in search of
another item. He found it in the form of a
“Special” to the Ledger from the State capitol:
Larry Conover of Berkeley City, who escaped
from the state penitentiary three days ago, after
having served four years of a ten year sentence
for burglary, has not yet been captured although
the police of the state are on the lookout for him
and photographs and descriptions have been sent
to the sheriffs of every county.
Conover, it will be remembered, was convicted
at the fall term of the Berkeley City Court of
General Sessions nearly five years ago on the
charge of stealing $700 from the safe of Fairchild
& Company of that city, by whom he was em-
ployed as packer in the shipping department.
His prosecution was conducted relentlessly by
special counsel who assisted the Solicitor, and
despite the fact that the evidence against Con-
over was largely circumstantial, he was convicted
and sentenced to ten years. His fight before the
Court of Appeals availed him nothing and he
started serving his sentence four years ago.
Penitentiary officials state that he has been a
model prisoner.


8 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
As Conover has been at liberty for three days,
it is feared that he has made good his escape and
is by now far out of the state.
David Carroll remembered vaguely the Con-
over trial. He remembered that the popular sen-
timent had been with the accused, and that the
convicting evidence had been purely circum-
stantial. And also that the prosecution had been
conducted with special counsel employed by
Fairchild & Company at the insistence of Joshua
Quincy, who was principal owner in that concern.
The man had been guilty, no doubt; but the very
fact that Quincy had been behind his prosecution
had swung public sentiment to his side. But
public sentiment avails little when there is no
refuting evidence to be had. And Larry Conover
had gone to the penitentiary.
Three days before he had escaped from the peni-
tentiary. Twelve hours before, Joshua Quincy,
the man who had sent him to prison, had been
stabbed to death in his private study. . . .
Carroll's eyes narrowed. The case interested
him greatly. At present it appeared fairly
simple, but there was something behind it all, a
psychic undercurrent, which promised the un-
usual. By all precedent the police faced an open-
and-shut task: find Conover and arrest him for


CARROLL ENTERTAINS A VISITOR 9
Joshua Quincy's murder. Carroll lighted an-
other cigar and puffed thoughtfully —
“Perhaps,” he mused, “perhaps. . . .”
The ringing of the front door bell broke in on
Carroll's train of thought. He heard the slam-
ming of the kitchen door as Freda went to answer
its imperative summons. He heard the sound of
a man's voice, footsteps — and then Freda stood
before him.
“What is it, Freda?”
“Gentleman to see you, sir.”
44 Who? 5%
“He didn’t give his name, sir. Said you
wouldn't know him anyway.”
Carroll smiled at the girl. “Show him in here,
Freda. Though the hour is early for visitors.”
In a half minute the girl was back and the
stranger entered the doorway. Freda returned
to her domestic haunts and Carroll surveyed the .
man before him as he rose with extended hand.
He saw a large man — a man of deep chest and
broad shoulders, expensively and flashily dressed,
a man Whom he knew he had seen more than Once
around the pool-rooms of Berkeley City. But the
eyes of the visitor were a bit too close set, his
jaw a trifle weak. Although a little blatant, his
garb was immaculate; almost too much so —
coat-sleeves and trousers creased to razor edge,
N.


CARROLL ENTERTAINS A VISITOR 11
tapped the morning papers with spatulate fin-
gers: “Been reading that?”
“What?”
“The Joshua Quincy story?”
* Yes.” -
“Interest you?”
“Extremely.”
Fanshaw smoked in silence for a few seconds.
Finally: “Old rotter!” he blurted at length.
Carroll was surprised at the man's manner.
Quite evidently business of a pressing nature had
brought him to the apartment, and yet he was
turning his visit into a social one: idly discussing
the Quincy case. Not unnatural, of course, that
a man should do so, and yet — -
“He wasn't very popular,” Carroll agreed
quietly.
“Rotter is right. I knew him. Believe me,
I knew him. He didn't have a friend on earth.”
“I’ve understood so.”
Fanshaw's eyes darted to Carroll's. The
drooping eyelid quivered nervously: “You very
often work with the police of the city, don't you,
Carroll?” He was apparently unconscious of
having dropped the “Mr.” in addressing his host.
“Sometimes.”
“If you don’t mind telling me — if it ain't but-


12 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
ting in too much on your private business: have
they asked you to work this Quincy case yet?”
The Quincy case! Fanshaw had interested
Carroll extremely. It was plain that he had
come for the purpose of discussing the Quincy
case. Carroll smiled a genial, disarming smile.
“I don't know that I care to answer that, Mr.
Fanshaw. May I ask why you wish to know?”
“You may,” came the blunt answer. “I ask
because I came to see you about that case.”
“You are interested in it?”
“Interested?” Fanshaw laughed shortly —
harshly. “I should rather guess yes.”
“How — may I ask?”
“This way —” Roger Fanshaw leaned forward
tensely, big hands gripping the arms of the chair,
eyes boring into Carroll’s. His words came
sharply, bitingly — -
“I’m interested in the Quincy case, Carroll,
because I expect to be arrested for Joshua
Quincy's murder!”


CHAPTER II
FANSHAW EXPLAINS
ARROLL’S teeth clamped quite suddenly
C on the end of his cigar. His eyes widened.
Beyond that he gave no sign of the astonishment
he felt at the other's statement. He sat quietly,
staring at Fanshaw. Fanshaw lighted another
cigarette with the glowing end of the one he had
just finished and smoked furiously. There was,
in his manner, more than a hint of belligerency;
and, at the same time an obvious letting down of
the nervous system, as though a load had been re-
moved from his chest.
The Old fashioned Grandfather's clock in the
corner ticked away, sending its beats loudly
through the surcharged silence of the room.
Outside a green grocer raucously called attention
to his wares, a housewife hailed him. Two blocks
distant the gong of a city-bound trolley sounded
stridently.
Carroll was fighting to control himself against
betrayal of the astonishment he felt. The silence
got on Fanshaw's nerves: he spoke and for a brief
moment rattled on With a touch of hysteria.
13


14 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
“That's it — Carroll. That's why I came to
see you. I expect to be arrested for Quincy's
murder. They'll get me for it. That's why I
came to you. I — I — that's why I came to you
this morning. You see I —” Quite as suddenly
as he began, he paused. Still Carroll did not
speak. The silence became oppressive. “Why
don’t you say something?” rasped Fanshaw.
Carroll spoke quietly, his voice well under con-
trol, his nuance merely conversational. “Why
do you expect to be arrested for this crime?”
“Because I had every reason for committing
it. More reason, perhaps, than any other man
in the World.”
“For instance?”
“There are a thousand reasons, Carroll. For
one thing Joshua Quincy has in his safe a check
which I forged. Oh! don't look at me that way:
I forged it. I plead guilty to that charge. He's
been holding it for several weeks. Day before
yesterday I went to him — went to beg him for
it. Offered to pay him: money’s always been his
God — him that’s fairly crawling with it. And
he laughed at me: ‘You’re a dirty crook, Fan-
shaw, he said, ‘and I’ve got you where I want
you. I'm going to squeeze you. I'm going to
send you to the penitentiary!’”
“You admit that you were guilty of forgery?” .


FANSHAW EXPLAINS 15
“Of forgery – yes. And I was violent in his
office. I reckon I’ve always been pretty much of
a rotter myself; that's how I came to get mixed
up with Quincy in the first place: doing the dirty
Work that he wouldn’t do. But he took the bene-
fits and kept his skirts clean while he froze me
out. Then he dropped me when he got good and
ready and dared me to say anything. He was
the real crook, but he was safe. I'd been the goat
in all our little deals. I had every reason for
killing him.”
“How long since you forged this check?”
“Three or four weeks ago.”
“What amount?”
“Twelve hundred dollars.”
“And it got through the bank all right?”
“Yes — worse luck. His own bank — the
Berkeley City National. It was what he wanted
— that check. He knew that he could make me
dance to his bidding then. And it wasn’t steal-
ing on my part. The twelve hundred dollars was
mine: he owed it to me. But he wouldn't pay.
it, and I was mad. When I get mad, Carroll, I'm
a damned fool – else I’d never have pulled any-
thing so crude as that. I did it in the heat of
passion and knew he had the goods on me im-
mediately afterwards. I gave my hand away by
trying to get ’em to give the check back to me at


16 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
the bank — but Josh Quincy had gotten wise by
then and there wasn’t a thing stirring. It was
Worth more than twelve hundred to him. He
talked it over with me — and he rubbed it in.
If you've ever talked with that man you know
he can make you crawl when he has the goods on
you. And I crawled. It was all I could do to
keep my hands off him. That was when I de-
cided that if he didn't give me the check I was
going to kill him !”
Carroll leaned forward: “You determined to
murder Joshua Quincy?”
“Yes,” bluntly. “I planned to murder him :
To murder him . . .” Fanshaw seemed to gloat
Over the sinister Sound of the Word.
“And —”
“I laid my plans. You’ve heard of these so-
called perfect crimes, haven't you?”
44 Yes.”
“Well, mine was going to be a perfect crime.
You can look at me now and Wonder how I’d
plan such a thing. I wonder at it myself. But
I was mad, I tell you: seeing red clear through.
The idea of killing Quincy didn’t any more bother
me than the thought of scotching a rotten, craw-
ling snake. He had it coming to him – but I
made up my mind I wasn’t going to get caught.
Do you follow me?”


FANSEHAW EXPLAINS 17
* GO ahead.”
“As I’ve told you, I’ve had a lot of dealings
with him in the past and I had the layout of his
house at my fingertips: it’s that big, rambling
brownstone place out at the corner of Highland
Road and Elm street in Belleview. I checked up
all my dope — and this is what I found:”
Fanshaw enumerated on his fingers —
“Old Quincy lived there with his nephew, An-
drew Quincy: and what that old man ain’t, An-
drew is. He's a hellion right: man-about-town,
chicken-chaser, boozer, a money-spender from
your heart — and just about as fond of his uncle
as everybody else in this town ain’t. They scrap
all the time and Andrew spends about as much
of his time downtown as he does at home. So I
figured I’d first-off have to pick a night when
Andrew was downtown on a little spree.
“It didn't take a whole lot of inquiry to dis-
cover that Andrew had gotten sweet on a girl
over on Fifteenth street — Judith Darrell, her
name is; and that he was spending most of his
evenings there. She's a stenographer or some-
thing, and dead set on reforming Andrew. So I
figured most any night would do for that . . .
that is, so far as his butting in was concerned.
“The rest of the house I knew. There's the
cook, Mary O'Brien. Thursday night's her night


18 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
out — which eliminated her. Then there was a
nice old lady who runs the joint — housekeeper:
rich man's luxury. Her name is Burrage —
widow: Mrs. Burrage. She's scared to death of
the old crab and usually went upstairs right after
dinner. Her rooms are on the second floor way
in the rear right where the old building joins a
new wing that was put on about seven years ago.
“That wing was intended to be servants’
quarters. There are four double rooms and two
baths. Three of the rooms are occupied: Mary
O’Brien in one, Dorrington in another and Ellen
Garrison in the third.” Fanshaw paused.
“Got another cigar?”
Carroll quietly extended his humidor and Fan-
shaw chewed viciously on the end before lighting
it or resuming his narrative. And then —
“Dorrington is Quincy's man-of-all-work.
He's a husky chap and I guess a pretty good sort.
He acts as Valet and butler and chauffeur for
Quincy’s car. But I remembered one night a
long time ago when Quincy was framing a deal
with me and was raising that penetrating little
voice of his, I warned him he'd better be more
quiet and he said: ‘Dorrington? He sleeps like
a log. I don’t believe a pistol shot'd wake him.”
I never forgot that, Carroll. Especially about
that pistol shot part.


FANSEHAW EXPLAINS 19
“Ellen Garrison, the maid, has a room right
down the corridor from Dorrington's. And
while I guess her hearing is pretty good, I'm not
scared of women. It was Dorrington that wor-
ried me. But, as I said, I knew that house pretty
well, and she was built right: great, big, thick
oak doors that are almost soundproof — sound-
proof enough to make a person think what he
heard might be a noise a block away. So I
figured I was pretty safe there — provided I made
sure that they'd all had time to go to sleep. And
that Andrew was out. I had to be sure that An.
drew was out because he sleeps right over the
library and he could have heard anything that
went on. Yes — I had to be very sure that An-
drew had gone out.
“Next thing was to get the weapon for the
killing.” Fanshaw reached into his pocket and
produced a .32-calibre revolver. He held it in
his hand and his eyes narrowed: “I got that!”
“You were pretty confident of your aim?” in-
terjected the detective.
“I’m a crack shot. And I didn’t want a can-
non. A .38 makes as much noise as a shotgun.
I’ve got a .38 at home but I didn’t want to use
my own gun. There might have been some way
of checking up on that. So I bought this the
other day over in Haleyville – intending to


20 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
throw it away after I'd used it for what it was
bought. Just had one round of five cartridges.
“As to Quincy - I knew that he was a night-
owl. He had a sort of insomnia that kept him
awake until about midnight, and every night for
years he'd gone into a little private den of his — a
tiny box of a room that adjoins the library. IIe
stayed there until about midnight planning how
to put the hooks to some other poor sucker who
ain’t got a chance against his money. And being
miserly, he used to burn the light in that den and
put out all the others on the first floor — even
the hall light.
“My plan was to watch out until I was sure
the coast was clear, then pussyfoot into the
grounds — they're full of trees and cover the en-
tire square block — no danger of bothering the
neighbours — and go into the library window
from the porch, easy-like, and then into the study
through the door. There are only two doors to
the den, one leading to the library and the other
to the hall. And only one window – opening
on the veranda and facing in the Highland Road
direction.” The man paused and mopped his
forehead. Carroll waited patiently for the con-
tinuation of his story; marvelling at the repres-
sion of the man who thus clearly rehearsed the
details of a murder he had planned —


FANSEIAW EXPLAINS - 21
“I was going to give that old curmudgeon
about three seconds of real terror — and then
pot him: once, right in the heart. It was a
twenty-to-one bet that his little safe would be
open and I knew that in that safe I’d most likely
find the check I'd forged, which was the only
written evidence he had against me. He could
have convicted me on a dozen charges by word
of mouth — but once he was dead the only thing
in the world against me would have been that
check . . . and the notes he'd attached to it —
told me he had — which would play the devil
With me.
“Sounds cold-blooded, doesn't it? Well, I'm
not saying it was not cold-blooded. But I also
ain't saying that I didn’t have good cause: me
with my hands tied against him — having the
screws on me and him turning 'em whenever he
wanted to just to see me squirm. There ain’t
but one way to describe what I felt, Carroll —
it was hell on earth . . . and I can’t describe how
I felt toward him. Like you'd feel to a snake.
Understand — a little bit?” He paused in al-
most pleading expectancy.
“Yes,” said Carroll slowly, “I understand—
a little bit.”
“Next thing to do was to plan my alibi.
Sooner or later they were certain to investigate


22 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
me because old Thaddeus Standish of Standish
& Standish, Quincy's lawyers, knew more about
me than I liked – knew probably that I wouldn’t
mind putting it to Joshua Quincy if I had the
chance. Not that they were going to really think
I did it — but they were sure to investigate as
to what I was doing that night.
“So I went to dinner in my boarding house —
I board with Mrs. Leila Burton at 127 Eighth
street — at six o'clock. I walked kind of weak
and told 'em I had a ripping headache and was a
bit stirred up. I made an effort to eat some din-
ner and in about five minutes had every boarder
trying to do something for me. I didn’t eat any-
thing much – said I felt too rotten, and after
awhile I got up from the table and went to my
room: it's on the first floor at the rear, and said
I was going to turn in.
“I undressed and at 6:30 went to Mrs. Burton
— and I stand ace-high with her, too —” there
was more than a hint of pride in his voice at
the statement, “and asked her to telephone Dr.
Weller — her doctor. He came about quarter to
seven, he lives right down the block, and I fooled
him into believing that I had a bad attack of
indigestion. He sent a prescription up from the
corner drug store – got to the house about 7:15
just when it was beginning to get dark. Mrs.


FANSEHAW EXPLAINS 23
Burton fixed a dose for me and saw me take it.
Then she left the room and I laid down on the
bed in my bathrobe.
“I stayed there until about ten minutes to
nine o'clock - tossing around and groaning so
that she could hear me: she has the room next
to mine. At that time I knocked on her door
and asked her to fix me a hot lemonade, said I
felt terribly sick. She fixed it right away and
I drank it, although it almost killed me. Then
I said I thought I’d be able to sleep through the
night and asked her to see to it that I wasn't dis-
turbed. She promised and left the room, all wor-
ried up about me.
“The minute that door closed, I locked it and
dressed. At about 9:15 I slipped out of my win-
dow onto the shed over the kitchen vestibule and
dropped from the shed to the ground. From
there I made my way back to the alley which bi-
sects the block, and walked all the way to Belle-
view, getting there about ten o'clock. There is
a big hedge all around the place and I slipped
inside the hedge and hid in the shadows.
“Sure enough, there was the light in old
Quincy's study, streaming through that window,
and all the other lights in the house out except
the hall light. And after awhile I saw that
Quincy wasn't alone — once I saw Andrew pass


24 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
the window, but as the window is on the left of
the room from the way I was looking, I couldn't
see where they were sitting or what they were do-
1ng.
“I don’t reckon I Waited there for more than
an hour — but it seemed a terribly long time.
Then I saw Andrew pass the window and go
through the library. He seemed in a big hurry.
I saw him grab his hat and cane in the hall and
come half running out of the house. He came
down the main walk and turned into Highland
Road. I don’t know — but I had an idea that he
was a bit drunk.
“I watched him walk down Highland Road
to the corner of Whitehill street where he took
the car for town. Then I made a circuit of the
grounds to make sure everything was quiet up-
stairs. Everything was dark there except that
I thought I saw a light in the room that might
have been that of Ellen Garrison, the maid. I
wasn't sure, but anyway I wasn’t scared of her,
and I figured that she might have dropped off
to sleep reading and left the light burning.
“Well, the time had come for me to get busy,
and I wasn't much nervous about it. I’m more
scared and nervous looking back over it now
than I was then while I was doing it. It was


FANSEHAW EXPLAINS 25
like I’d steeled myself to the point where I didn't
give a damn about anything.
“Everything worked fine. I had the revolver
ready. Tiptoed up to the veranda, keeping un-
der the shadows of the trees and bushes. Worked
it slow. Careful not to leave any footprints:
of course there'll be marks there, but it would
take a genius to trace 'em to me.
“Quincy was still there, I could tell that by
the light. I crept up on the veranda and got a
sidelong peep in through the window. Sure-
enough the safe was open. And I saw old Quincy
sitting in a big leather chair on the far side of
the room — the side away from the window. I
couldn’t see any of him except his feet . . . but
where he was sitting just suited me, because I
knew I’d be able to slip in on him without his
knowing I was there, which I might not have
done if he’d been facing the other way — toward
the library door, that is. *
“I found the library window half open and
opened it the rest of the way. It seemed like it
took me for ever. I was as quiet as I am now —
more calm, in fact. Then I got into the room
and saw Quincy’s feet under the chair. They
hadn't moved.
“I got ready for business. This is a hammer


26 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
revolver and I cocked it so's there wouldn't be
any danger of its not going true. Sometimes the
pulling back of the trigger to cock a gun diverts
your aim — but you know that as well as I do.
“I stood there in the doorway. I said
* Quincy!” He never moved. I took just one
step into the room — just one step. I called him
again. He didn't move. And then I saw !”
Fanshaw's voice broke. His eyes were blaz-
ing . . . he leaned forward in his chair and
fairly spewed out the words:
“Somebody had beat me to it, Carroll! Some-
body had been there first! Because when I saw
Joshua Quincy he was slumped down in his chair
with a dagger sticking into him! He was dead!
Somebody had murdered him before I got
there /*


CEIAPTER III
A CALL FROM HEADQUARTERS
S' fell again upon the room, silence
which was broken in a nervous, jerky way
by Fanshaw. “Well — what do you think of
it? How does it strike you?”
Carroll answered quietly, his voice giving no
hint of his real feelings.
“You have interested me —”
“Interested you? Only that?”
“It is the strangest, the most bizarre, condi-
tion I have ever run across. You lay your plans
to kill a man — and find him already killed when
you arrive on the scene. Odd — very.”
Fanshaw laughed harshly: his eyes glittered
evilly for a moment and then returned to their
natural rather attractive colour. “I thought it'd
get you.”
Carroll stared at a spot on the carpet. He
raised his gaze suddenly to Fanshaw's face and
fired a question point-blank. “And with all
of your work done so well, why did you come to
me?”
27


28 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
Fanshaw's answer was prompt and unequiv-
ocal. “I'm afraid they’ve got more than a
suspicion of me.”
“A-ah! HOW 2 ”
“Several reasons. In the first place, Carroll
— there's a situation which has arisen here —”
He broke off suddenly. “Ever read psy-
chology?”
“Yes,” came the surprised answer. “Have
you?”
“A little. I’m not an educated man — far
from it. But I’ve read some along those lines.
Got interested: see? Well, it's psychology which
got my goat in the first place. Think of me
planning like I did - going up there according
to schedule — and finding that some one had beat
me to it? If I'd gone through with the thing
I’d have been as cold as a block of ice. I had
everything figured in advance — and if they'd
gotten me eventually and I’d swung for it, there'd
always have been the peculiar satisfaction that
I was getting only what was coming to me.
See?”
* I See.”
“Now everything has changed. They’re just
as liable to get me now as they would if I’d really
killed Quincy. Whatever evidence they might


A CALL FROM HEADQUARTERS 29
have had against me in the first place they’ve got
against me now. I had the motive for killing the
man, I framed an alibi — which perhaps worked
– but I was actually there and I know enough
about crime to realize that no matter how care-
ful a man might be he's bound to leave some clue.
Ain’t that your experience?”
44 YeS.”
“So they’re bound to connect me with the
crime sooner or later. So much for that. If I’d
really killed Quincy I’d be willing to take my
chances: I’ve counted on it; been ready for it.
But by George! I’m just eternally damned if I
want to swing for a murder some one else has
committed. Maybe that seems funny to you —
but it's normal when you analyse it. I'm a
blamed sight more afraid of swinging for a crime
I was willing to do and didn’t than for the same
crime if I’d carried it through. You can moralize
until you're green in the face with the usual stuff
about not having murder on my soul. I ain’t got
such a lot of soul, Carroll, and I don’t know
the meaning of religion. The idea of killing
Quincy never feazed me — except with fear of
being caught. And it is fear which has driven
me to you now.”
* FOr What?”


30 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
“Because,” said Fanshaw earnestly, “ of all
men in the world who most want to see the real
murderer caught — well, I'm it!”
“You mean – ?”
“That so long as the man who really killed
Joshua Quincy remains at large I'm in danger
of swinging for his crime.”
“I see. I see. And you are afraid that some-
thing may have slipped?”
“I’m sure of it. I think I was seen.”
“By whom?”
“I don’t know. I'd guess it was the butler.”
“Tell me about it. Suppose you tell me every-
thing that occurred from where you left off —
from the point where you saw Quincy in his
chair — dead.”
Fanshaw drew a long breath — he told his
story clearly, with a precise attention to detail:
“When I say him lying there and realized that
some one had beaten me to it — I got cold all
over: like a man who goes to sit on a chair and
finds that there isn't any chair there — or a chap
who determines on suicide and pulls the trigger
on an empty chamber. It knocked me all of a
heap. For a moment I just stood there and
gasped ! And then, Carroll — then I got
Scared!
“Never before in my life have I understood


A CALL FROM HEADQUARTERS 31
what panic meant. I got it then all right, all
right. I don’t know why I should have been
more scared at that than if I’d really killed the
man — some more of your psychology, I reckon.
But I was frightened — weak at the knees and
sweating like a horse.
“As I told you – I had looked in through the
Window and seen that the little wall safe was
open. I plumb forgot it — I forgot that one of
the principal objects in my coming had been to
get that evidence against me. I beat it!”
“You left the forged check in Quincy’s safe?”
“It's still there, Carroll. They've got me for
forgery any time they want. Oh! I know I acted
the coward after all the supply of nerve I had to
start with. There probably ain’t any reason why
I shouldn’t have Walked across to that safe and
taken what I wanted. But I was plumb par-
alysed. I couldn’t. If I’d been killed for it,
I couldn't have done that. And besides — when
I saw Quincy lying there dead — my nerve went
— flooey!”
“And so,” repeated Carroll, “you came away
from the scene of the crime leaving behind you
written proof of a motive which would inevitably
link your name with the crime?”
“You’ve said it. That's item number one why
they’d nab me first crack. So, as I was saying,


32 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
I stood there for a few seconds looking and then
the idea struck me that my man was murdered
already and it was dollars to doughnuts that the
alarm was already turned in — that the beans
were completely spilled.
“I vamped. Back into the library and out
through the window I'd used to get in —”
“You didn't go into the study where the body
Was?”
“No. Just that one step – and then I saw
he was dead and backed through the library and
out the window. And believe me, if I’d been
careful before I was ten times as careful now.
I was jumpy as a grasshopper — scared of my
own shadow. It took me ten minutes, I reckon,
to back through that yard toward the gate —
and then some one spotted me!”
“HOW 2 ”
“I was going it easy — like I told you: you
see, I was afraid that maybe the cops were on
their way there and that perhaps the grounds
were being watched. How'd I know how long
Quincy'd been dead? How'd I know whether
the alarm had been turned in or not?
“I was lying there behind a clump of shrub
bushes and I saw some one move on the other
side of the yard — at first I thought that the
*


A CALL FROM HEADQUARTERS 33
guy, whoever he was, had been hiding. Then he
stepped out into the moonlight — there was a
good moon last night—and stared right at
where I was lying.
“At first I thought I'd make a run for it, but
decided that wouldn't be safe. Perhaps I was
wrong — perhaps he hadn’t seen me. But on
the other hand was the idea that perhaps he'd
been watching me all the time I was sneaking
out of the grounds. So I got this little popgun
ready for business — and waited. I'd have
killed him in a minute — because to be caught
there like I was — well, there wouldn’t have been
a chance in a million for me.
“And the man who was walking toward me
had seen me all right. There wasn't a doubt of
that. He looked all around and once looked
right at me. But he didn’t see me — then. Just
how long he stood there I don't know. It seemed
for ever. And then he looked up and down High-
land Road: he gave me the idea that he was either
looking for some one or was afraid some one was
looking for him!
“He walked back into the house, very slow
and uncertain-like. He stood on the porch a long
time. Then he fumbled with the front door and
walked in. I saw a light flash on in the hall —


34 TEIE CRIMSON ALIBI
saw it through the transom over the door that
leads from the library to the hall. And then I
beat it!
“I hiked down Highland Road as fast as I
could walk: cold one minute and hot the next.
Scared stiff. I turned corners and kept a-go-
ing. And finally I got home, nearly one o'clock
in the morning.
“I made it through the back alley and climbed
over the kitchen shed and into my window. The
boarding house was still — almost too still. I
undressed – afraid that maybe something had
slipped. Afraid that maybe Mrs. Burton, the
landlady, had come to my door to see how I was
and had discovered I'd gone out.
“I lay on the bed and groaned for a few
minutes. Then I slipped my bathrobe over my
pajamas and went out in the hall and rapped on
her door. I couldn't have stood the suspense
any longer. I just had to know whether she'd
gotten wise to my being out all that time.
“I rapped on her door and didn’t get any an-
swer. Then I knocked again. Still no answer.
Finally, the third rap she answered. Right away
I saw that she was not wise to me. So I put my
hand up to my forehead and told her I had a
terrible headache. I asked her for some sleeping
powders.


A CALL FROM HEADQUARTERS 35
“She was solicitous as she could be. Was
afraid I had grippe. She gave me sleeping
powders which she has — something a doctor had
given her a long time before. And I took one:
took it because I wanted to sleep and because I
was afraid I couldn’t. They did the work. I
slept. And then I came to you. . . .”
Fanshaw paused, waiting for Carroll to speak.
And as Carroll started the table 'phone jangled
insistently. Carroll lifted the receiver to his
ear —“Hello!”
“Hello – that you, Carroll?”
44 YeS.” -
“Seen the morning papers?”
Careful of the man opposite him, Carroll an-
SWered with a mere “Yes.”
“The Joshua Quincy murder?”
“Of course,” answered Carroll.
“We're up a tree about it. How about trot-
ting down here to headquarters? This is Cle-
ment Hall talking, you know.”
“Yes — I know.” Carroll had long since
recognized the voice of the Police Commissioner.
“We want you in on the case, Carroll. Lever-
age says he'd like to have you take charge. He
says he's a dub on a case like this.”
“I don’t know —”
“You’ve got to help us out, old man. It isn't


36 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
such a difficult case at that. We have a pretty
good idea of who did it. Can't give names over
the 'phone, of course —”
“I understand.”
“— But the man was so prominent that we’ve
got to come across in good style. Can’t we count
on you?”
“Wel-l-l . . . suppose I run down there and
see you in about a half hour?”
“YOU!"]] take it?”
“I’ll let you know then. And say — you'll be
careful that things remain as they were?”
“In the Quincy house?”
44 Yes.”
“Leverage has seen to that. There's been a
detail there ever since the body was discovered.
Nothing has been touched — even the dagger
hasn't been removed from the body. No one has
been in the room except Leverage and he says
that he didn't put his hands on a thing — just
looked. Says this is your kind of a case, not
his. Says he's just a flatfoot. Good man, Lev-
erage.”
“A dandy. He's too modest.”
“And you'll be here in a half hour?”
“Yes. Good-bye.”
“Good-bye.”
Carroll turned from the telephone to find Fan-
s


A CALL FROM HEADQUARTERS 37
shaw's eyes fixed on him steadily. “Not but-
ting into your affairs, Carroll – I'm betting that
was headquarters.”
“It Was.”
“And that they wanted you to take the Quincy
case.”
“Right again. I didn't give a definite an-
SWer.”
“You camouflaged your end of it well. I just
guessed — that's all.”
“The reason I didn't give them a definite an-
swer, Fanshaw, was that in listening to your
story I’ve sort of pledged myself to you. I'd
like to take charge of the case for the city. What
do you say?”
Fanshaw smiled tensely. “I say ‘Yes! Go
to it, Carroll, and luck to you. I want the mur-
derer caught. It's my only chance. And you’re
the man who can do it!”


CHAPTER IV
AN UNEXPECTED DEVELOPMENT
ARROLL stared briefly at the big man op-
C posite, then swung to the telephone again,
called a number, and —“Garage?”
44 YeS.”
“Mr Carroll talking — Diana Apartments.
Please send my car around immediately.”
Fanshaw broke in on the brief silence which
followed: “I know that you have taken the case
for the city, Carroll — but may I ask that you
also take it for me? That is, will you keep me
posted about developments? I'm so peculiarly
interested in results —”
“I’ll keep you posted, Fanshaw. Of course,
as you say, I'm with the city authorities now —
and if they should discover about that forgery
matter —”
Fanshaw shrugged: “That's a little thing in
comparison with murder. It's the big crime I'm
afraid of now. Good Lord! can you imagine
what a man in my position must feel like?”
“I think I can, Fanshaw. You have the
38


AN UNEXPECTED DEVELOPMENT 39
knowledge of innocence — and the thought that
perhaps after all you would not have committed
the murder.”
The other shook his head. “I’ll be honest:
I haven’t that feeling at all. It sounds brutal,
I know — but it is fair to say that I would have
killed Quincy. In cold blood. The fact remains,
however, that I did not! And I don't relish
swinging for what another man did.”
Carroll veered abruptly to another tack.
“About this man you think may have been the
butler. What do you know about the butler?”
“A pretty nice sort of a chap from what I’ve
seen of him in the past. I'd say a man above
his station. Quincy probably paid him well, be-
cause he was useful. Remember: I don’t know
that the man who was searching the grounds was
the butler —” *
“What time Was that?”
“I can’t say definitely except that it was be-
fore midnight.”
“You are sure of that much?’”
“Pretty well. I got home shortly after half
past twelve this morning and it's a sizeable walk.”
“You said one other thing that interests me .
you mentioned that when he looked up and down
Highland Road his appearance was as though
he was either looking for some one or as though


40 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
afraid some one was looking for him. What did
you mean by that?”
“Just about what I said. But you mustn't
put too much store by my conclusions, Carroll.
As you can understand: I wasn't in the mood for
clear, connected thinking. He did look around
mighty peculiarly. His manner was undoubt-
edly nervous. You may draw your own conclu-
sions from that. I've told you the facts.”
“I see. And when you saw Quincy?”
“He was slumped down in his chair so that his
head did not show over the top. Only his feet
could be seen — underneath.”
“And the knife?”
“Nothing but the handle showing.”
“A man of great strength did it, eh?”
“I’m not a detective,” answered Fanshaw
simply. “Just a poor sort of a crook.”
Carroll smiled in spite of himself. He did
not quite understand the anomalous visitor.
There were times when he liked Fanshaw – liked
him thoroughly and instinctively. At other
times he felt a sense of almost physical repul-
sion. Truly: a Jekyll and Hyde – a man, he
judged, with tremendous capacities for both good
and evil — great good and abysmal evil. A hard
man with a heart inclined to softness. Merciless
yet naive. A man who, once started on the right


AN UNEXPECTED DEVELOPMENT 41
road, might have gone far; but who, having
elected the paths of iniquity, had travelled to the
limit – or nearly so.
Fanshaw rose. “I'm much obliged, Carroll,
for your indulgence. I guess I bored you —”
“Anything but that.” -
“— But I was desperate. I had to get that
load off my chest. I feel better for my talk —
even if they get me eventually on the strength of
the evidence I must have left. You're one of
these moralizers, I reckon. In your eyes I’m as
bad as a murderer because I cold-bloodedly
planned to be one —” -
“I don’t judge others,” said Carroll quietly.
“Good! I'm not a saint. You can keep that
in mind. And —” a worried, hunted light
flashed in his eyes, “– keep me posted from time
to time, will you? Try to sympathize with the
position I'm in. If you should catch your man
I'd like to know it right away.”
“I’ll keep in touch with you.”
“Do. My address is 127 Eighth street. Mrs.
Leila Burton's boarding house. And for God's
sake, Carroll – get your man this time.”
“I’ll try,” answered the boyish man quietly.
“I’m no transcendent detective, Fanshaw. You
yourself have complicated what might have been
a simple case. I'll do my best.”


42 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
“And that'll be enough,” declared Fanshaw
heartily. “I know your record – and I know
you’ve batted a thousand thus far. There's a
small chance you'll fail on this.”
There came a light tap on the door and Freda
entered. “The garage has sent your car around,
Mr. Carroll.” -
“Good.” The detective rose and started for
the hall, preceded by Fanshaw. At the curb the
men shook hands.
“You’ve helped me wonderfully, Carroll,” said
Fanshaw. “Just by listening.”
Carroll smiled. “At any time I can be of
service in that way —”
“You mean it?”
“Certainly.”
“I may take advantage of your offer. Good-
bye.”
“Good-bye.” Carroll climbed in his car,
pressed the starter and held it down until the
rhythmic thrum of the six cylinders answered.
He turned and looked down the tree-lined street
after the broad figure of his strange visitor.
Then he nodded his head in a puzzled way:
“Strangest bird I've ever met,” he soliloquized
as he dropped his gears into low and let the
clutch back.
The powerful roadster quivered and rolled


AN UNEXPECTED DEVELOPMENT 43
ahead. He slipped into intermediate and thence
into high. There was scarcely any vibration to
disturb his thoughts as he rolled down the
asphalted road at some eighteen miles per hour.
The warm, gentle breeze of spring swept in
through the tilted windshield and brushed the
cobwebs from the keen brain. He breathed
deeply. He felt better for the freshness of the
outdoors, for the intoxicating aroma of early
flowers and green lawns; the cooling zephyrs
which rolled in from the distant mountains.
His way lay along one of the prettiest streets
of a beautiful city: a perfectly paved roadway
bounded on either side by deep, tree-studded
lawns behind which nestled cosy bungalows and
more pretentious — if not more beautiful —
houses. Here and there were white-capped
nurses tending their exceedingly juvenile charges
while the elder children groped with rules of
syntax and problems of simple interest in the
gaunt, yellow-brick school building on the Pine
Street Corner.
A world of peace. And yet Carroll was speed-
ing toward a greystone building which housed the
driftwood of turbulence, of civic menace. Police
headquarters! Even the immaculate policeman
on the corner – who recognized David Carroll
and saluted punctiliously — seemed out of place


44 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
here. That the one city could harbour such pas-
toral quiet and at the same time, the violence of
passion which makes for murder — seemed in-
comprehensible.
Carroll lashed his truant mind back to the
case in hand. It was a case which promised big
things. Certainly it had the spice of novelty.
And Fanshaw was an exotic character — a man
neither of the underworld nor of the better
stratum of society. A normal man in appear-
ance — save for the queer droop of the left eye-
lid. A man worth knowing — especially to one
in Carroll's profession.
Carroll swung his car around a corner. Be-
fore him the buildings gradually lost their homey-
ness of appearance and changed as he passed
corner after corner to the ancient dwellings
which do business in every city as boarding
houses for those unattached persons who wish to
be near the business section.
He passed block after block of them and then
slowed down as he reached the traffic maze of the
business district itself: a hustling, bustling spot
in the city with its own stridency of trolley gongs,
rattling motor trucks, impatient automobile
horns and shouting newsboys — the last doing
an excellent business this morning with extras


AN UNEXPECTED DEVELOPMENT 45
on the Quincy case which imparted — for two
cents apiece — the tidings that nothing new had
been discovered.
Berkeley City was agog with the newest sensa-
tion: its greatest in years. Groups of men stood
with heads together before the office buildings,
the bulletin board in the window of the Ledger
building was watched by a crowd of morbidly
curious men and women. Carroll swung into
Horsley street and came to a halt midway of the
block before a handsome three-story greystone
structure which was one of Berkeley City’s show-
points, - police headquarters.
Carroll crossed the sidewalk and swung briskly
into the building. The doorman, a grizzled vet-
eran too old for patrolling, rose and saluted.
The day sergeant waved the newcomer a cheery
greeting. Plain clothes men and harness
“bulls” eyed him with respect. He crossed the
assembly room and addressed the desk sergeant.
“Commissioner Hall arrived yet?”
“Yis sor:ye'll foind him in his office yonder.
He lift word that yez was to coom right in.”
Hall rose as Carroll entered and extended a
firmly-gripping hand. “Good! The right man
at the right time.”
Carroll grinned. “Thanks, Hall.” He seated


46 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
himself and Hall resumed his place in the swivel
chair before the mahogany desk. “And now —
What's What?”
“Tarnation's broken loose in Berkeley City,”
said Hall tersely. “I’ve never seen the town so
shaken by any single happening. The Hamilton
case wasn't a circumstance to this.”
“And SO — ?”
“I want you to take charge. It was really
Leverage's suggestion. A good man, Leverage:
a little afraid of making mistakes, in fact, but he
swears by you.”
“He discovered complications?”
“No. He says if he had, he’d have worked
the case alone. The apparent simplicity of it has
him puzzled. And because of Quincy’s promin-
ence — notoriety, I might say if I cared to speak
the truth about the dead — We don't dare fall
down on the job.”
“Quincy was rather a lemon, wasn’t he?”
“A holy terror. I don’t believe he had a real
friend in the city unless it was Mrs. Burrage, his
housekeeper. And her friendship is more or less
gratitude for the fact that he has provided her
With a home.”
“And his enemies — ?”
“Can be numbered by his acquaintances. Nar-


48 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
“Any new developments?”
Hall opened his mouth with surprise.
“Haven't you bought an extra?”
“NO. What's it about?” .
“Leverage made an arrest this morning.”
“For the Quincy murder?”
4 & Yes.”
“Who?”
“He arrested Andrew Quincy, the ne'er-do-
well nephew of the dead man!”


A QUARREL AND A LOVE AFFAIR 51
naturally a brilliant student, but for the first
time in his life he was freed from the dominating,
domineering presence of his crabbed old uncle
and he cut loose from the Word ‘GO.” He Was
expelled in the middle of his junior year for a
prank that came close to having serious conse-
quences.
“Since his return to Berkeley City he's been
pretty much of a wastrel: living on his uncle and
evidently with an eye toward the fortune to which
he knew he was heir. Once in awhile he'd get
started and the fireworks would commence. He
wasn’t any piker — and Leverage tells me that he
has discovered that quarrels between uncle and
nephew were the rule rather than the exception
at 2168 Highland Road.”
Carroll tapped lightly on the arms of his chair.
“Where is this young man?”
“In a private cell here.”
“In this building or the county jail?”
“This building.”
The boyish detective rose. “Think I'll ramble
in and chat with him awhile.”
The turnkey admitted Carroll to a neat, white-
plastered room, the barred window of which was
the only evidence of its sinister use. Then, ac-
cording to orders, the turnkey withdrew and left
Carroll alone with the young man.


52 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
Andrew had not moved. He sat on the edge of
the cot in the far corner, head bowed on his hands,
the position accentuating the immense breadth
of his muscular shoulders.
“Mr. Quincy!” It was Carroll speaking and
the young man on the cot looked up suddenly.
Carroll saw that he was in evening dress, con-
siderably the worse for wear. The creases were
gone from coat and trousers, the shirt front was
not as immaculate as it had once been, the white
tie was spotted and awry.
The young man rose to his feet, and uncon-
sciously his face twitched with sudden pain and
his hand pressed a fevered forehead. Carroll
studied him closely. A striking face – yet one
which had been lightly furrowed by the first sign-
posts of dissipation. The mouth was weak, the
eyes were not as steady as they might have been
and this morning were heavily bloodshot. The
jaw was that of a prizefighter. The long black
hair was unkempt after his hours in the little
white cell. He brushed long fingers through it
as he stared belligerently at Carroll.
“Who the hell are you?” he asked hoarsely.
Carroll smiled disarmingly. “Feeling pretty
rotten after your spree last night?”
“My head —”


A QUARREL AND A LOVE AFFAIR 53
“I understand,” lied Carroll, “I’ve been there
myself.” -
Andrew's manner softened. “Your face is
familiar — but I don’t quite place you.”
“I’m DaVid Carroll.”
The young man's brow corrugated in thought
– evidently very painful thought: “David
Car — Oh! the detective?” t
&g YeS.”
Again that hint of antagonism crept into An-
drew's manner: “Come in to third-degree
me?”
Carroll spread his arms wide and laughed ring-
ingly: “On the level now, Mr. Quincy, do I
look like it?”
Andrew Quincy gazed from his own powerful
frame to the slender litheness of the other and
smiled in spite of himself: “No — o; not ex-
actly. But what do you want?”
“I’m in charge of this case. You under-
Stand —”
“My uncle's murder?”
“Yes. And I'm warning you in advance – as
per the usual custom – that anything incriminat-
ing you say to me will be used against you.”
“I realize that. But I have no objection to
talking.”


54 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
“Good I see that we shall get along fam-
ously. Sit down.”
Andrew lowered himself painfully to the cot.
Carroll perched on the top of the plain prison
table and sat there swinging his legs like any
small boy. He produced two cigars and handed
one to Andrew who waved it away. “It would
kill me — feeling as I do this morning.” Both
cigars went back whence they had come. It was
Andrew who spoke –
“You look human — not like a detective —”
“Thanks!” dryly.
“I mean it. I suppose you came in here to
quiz me. Go to it!”
“Well,”— Carroll hitched one leg over the
other and clasped his hands around the right
knee in a comradely manner, “I’ll start off with
the conventional question: “Did you, or did you
not, kill your uncle?’”
Andrew flushed beneath his sickly pallor of the
morning after but his bloodshot eyes did not
Waver from Carroll's blue ones as he answered:
“I did not ”
“So much for that,” checked the detective.
“And now — instead of a cross-examination, sup-
pose you tell me just what happened last night:
I'm warning you in advance that I’m in this case
to get the man who is guilty. If you're that man


A QUARREL AND A LOVE AFFAIR 55
I'm going to get you. If you're not, I’d like
nothing better than to clear you. But one thing
I insist on — and that is the whole truth.”
Andrew hesitated: “Even if it is damning?”
“You’re to judge. You don't have to say any-
thing. And as a matter of course I shall do my
best to verify any statement you make. But if,
as you plead, you are not guilty, the true story
will simplify my work and probably help you.”
“I rather like you, Carroll,” said Andrew sud-
denly. “I’ll spill all the beans at one throw.”
“That's up to you.”
“In the first place regarding my uncle: he was
an old crab and we never got along together.
You knew that, didn’t you?”
* Yes.”
“He couldn’t understand me. If I’ve been a
bit wild — and I’m afraid I have — it was be-
cause he kept such a tight checkrein on me for
so long a time. When I had a chance to kick
out of the traces I didn't know where to stop.
Do you understand that much?”
“I do. It's a not uncommon fault of parents
and guardians.”
“My college record is a long way from saw-
oury. You see,” with disarming naiveté —“I’m
just telling you things that you can verify with-
out me.”


56 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
“Go ahead.”
“As I say: there's been little that I've stopped
at. There has been much wine, considerable
gambling and many women in my life. I knew
that I was heir to a fortune – although during
every quarrel Uncle Joshua would threaten to
disinherit me. I knew he wouldn’t. He'd rather
burn eternally than die with the thought that his
fortune would go somewhere where it would do
any real good — charity, for instance. He was
a miser from your heart: although unlike most
of the breed, he lived well at home and spent
money for creature comforts. But he was
spending for number one all the time. It was
a case of outsiders be damned.”
Andrew paused and Carroll nodded him on.
The young man resumed his story: “I’ve a
beastly headache, Carroll; but I’ll try to stick to
a straight line in my yarn.
“As I said before, Uncle Joshua and I quar-
relled constantly. There was never an end to
it —”
“May I ask,” interjected Carroll, “what at-
titude you usually assumed during these quar-
rels?” -
“I'm afraid I was sullen. And he – Good
Heavens! never having known the man you can’t
understand how he'd goad one on until it was


A QUARREL AND A LOVE AFFAIR 57
*
almost a physical impossibility to keep one's
hands off him. Time and time again in the midst
of a row I've flung out of the room just to keep
from hitting him. He was the kind of man who'd
make you forget that he was over sixty years of
age: the kind that you’d want to silence with a
blow. And —” The young man flushed. “I’m
afraid I'm talking too much.”
“You’ll have to use your own judgment,” an-
swered Carroll quietly. “I'm here to listen.”
Andrew shrugged: “I might as well play her
straight across the board.”
“Not a bad idea.”
“I’m afraid it is. You see,” with a sudden
Wistfulness in his maner: “There's a new element
in this case.”
“A new element?”
“A girl.”
44 Oh! ??
A silence fell between them. Andrew rose and
walked across the cell to the barred window where
he stood for a few minutes staring across the
sombre courtyard. When he spoke it was with-
out turning his head. “Never been a rounder,
have you, Carroll?”
44 NO.”
“Ever been in love?”
Carroll's answer came softly: “Once”


58 TEIE CRIMSON ALIBI
“That's good — it'll help you to understand.”
An automobile patrol jangled into the yard
and discharged two musically intoxicated pris-
oners. Then it clanged into its shed to await
a next call. Carroll waited for the young man
to speak. The words did not surprise him.
“I’m in love, Carroll.”
The detective said nothing. He knew it was
not his cue. He understood the psychology of
sympathy which shows itself in understanding
silence.
“It’s been a recent thing. It's taught me a
lot — and it rather knocked the props out from
under me.”
* Yes. . . .”
“For the first time in my life I’ve become
ashamed of what my past has been. She was the
first person in the world who made me see that
there was something worthwhile in being decent
just because it was — being decent! I'm not
boring you?”
“No, indeed.”
“I’m ashamed to tell you how I met her —
ashamed and a little proud, too. I saw her:
“Pretty chicken, I said — that’s the way a
rounder classifies girls. They’re either good-
looking chickens or they’re impossible frumps.
And I chased her — because she was a pretty


A QUARREL AND A LOVE AFFAIR 59
chicken. I had in mind a few bubble parties —
you know?”
44 YeS.”
“I was introduced to her formally: I’d
found out that was the only way. And it took
me just about one consecutive minute to see that
I was on the wrong trail. She just wasn't that
kind — and, do you know — I was brought up
all of a heap with the realization that I was glad
she wasn't!”
He turned suddenly and faced the detective,
his eyes ablaze with a light that Carroll instinc-
tively liked. He spread his hands wide with an
extenuating gesture. “A man just has to talk
about these things once in awhile . . . and you’re
— well, you're the kind of man that one likes to
talk 'em to. You look like you can be trusted.
About five minutes after you leave this damned
cell I’ll be kicking myself for having spouted so
much —”
“No,” came the quiet answer, “I don't believe
you will.”
“I hope not. But whether I do or not, I’ve
started and I'm going to finish.
“I met the girl — you’ll find out her name
pretty quick so I might as well tell it myself.
She's Judith Darrell and she lives with her
widowed mother at 719 Fifteenth street. The


A QUARREL AND A LOVE AFFAIR 61
“And she didn’t cotton to me so much at first.
Her mother had heard quite a little of me that
wasn't exactly to my credit and at first she was
afraid and afterwards disapproving. The fact
that I was heir to a fortune didn't cut any ice
with either of them: that's a fact, improbable as
it sounds.
“And then after awhile — she fell in love with
me —” he choked and turned away and spoke
with his back turned. “I was a pretty happy
man, Mr. Carroll. I wanted to get married right
away. And she —
“She refused ! And we talked it over. Said
she'd seen too much of the sordid side of life and
she wasn't going to marry me to reform me: said
if she couldn’t reform me before We were married
there'd be no use to try later. And she was right.
I knew it — and I agreed with her.
“I pulled up short. Oh! It wasn’t easy. It
was the hardest thing I ever did — but I enjoyed
the fact that it was hard, because I was doing it
for her. And I'd begun to make good, I think;
I’d begun to make good — and then —” he swung
around and his face went livid –
“And then that damned uncle of mine stepped
in and queered things!”
Carroll's legs stopped swinging. He con-
trolled the muscles of his face – but he knew


62 TEIE CRIMSON ALIBI
that he was about to be made the recipient of a
Vital disclosure. “Yes. . . .”
“Yesterday morning Uncle Joshua succeeded
in ruining me: he made Judith break off our en-
gagement!”


64 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
their discovery and cataloguing was a mere mat-
ter of deductive mechanics. It was the emotional
states of his dramatis personae at the time of
the commission of the crime under investigation
that he sought to learn — and to understand.
He was not transcendent. He was human – and
fallible. And being both human and fallible he
understood that those involved in the temporary
cosmic upheavals were in a like position.
Motives, he sought for — motives; always mo-
tives. Mental conditions. Then he sought for
clues of substance. It was by balancing the two
that he arrived at his conclusions, always using
the clues themselves to substantiate his already-
drawn conclusions. Many times his conclusions
had been set at naught by the trail left by the
culprit. But at least Carroll went into his actual
investigation with a thorough knewledge of the
persons involved: of their strength and of their
weaknesses. His method was psychological
rather than psychic, and he had been blessed with
that rare type of personality which demands con-
fidences. It was seldom that a man disliked
David Carroll — and still more rare when that
dislike remained.
Andrew Quincy had liked the detective from
their first clash of Words. He felt subcon-
sciously throughout his recital that he was mak-


A TRAGEDY OF YOUTH 65
ing a mistake in talking thus freely. And yet
he talked on and on — feeling a vague trust for
the boyish man who sat on the table with soft,
sympathetic, blue eyes fixed upon him with the
camaraderie of masculine brotherhood. One
could not remain long with Carroll and remember
that his profession led along ways which are
dark.
“Suppose,” suggested Carroll, “that you tell
me the rest. I don't quite understand.”
Andrew Quincy doubled a big fist and sent it
smashing into the palm of the other hand.
“He queered me with her. Went to see her
and insulted her —”
“InSulted her?”
“Yes – damn him! He is no respecter of per-
son. And,” bitterly, “he seemed to presume that
because I had become interested in her — that
she must be an adventuress. It was along those
lines that he approached her. Judith — mind
you: the sweetest, purest girl —”
“And then?” prompted the detective.
Andrew’s tongue dripped vitriol. “Goodness
alone knows how he discovered that Judith and
I were engaged. But he has always had a way
of – discovering things. Anyway, he got wise
and he determined to break things up.
“Twice he has spoken to me about her. He


66 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
has threatened to disinherit me if I persisted —
chattered about the family name and such tommy-
rot and piffle as that! Thinking to influence
me! We quarrelled – Oh ! yes . . . we quar-
relled a good deal of late. I told him — told
him —” he paused.
“What?”
“That he could go to the devil!”
“When did you tell him that?”
“Wednesday night.”
“And the next day —”
“I didn't know what houndish trick he was
planning. I'm at work now, you know. It isn’t
much — pays me only $25 a week, but it's a start:
city salesman with Horner & Son. Old man
Horner has always professed to like me and he
said if I was willing to learn the stock and selling
ends of the game from the ground up — there'd
be a dandy, worthwhile executive position for me
eventually.
“At any rate the first thing I knew was when
I got into the office at four-thirty yesterday af.
ternoon there was a telephone call for me from
Judith. She said she wanted to see me right
away. I went to her home as fast as I could
get there — on the trolley. You see, we’d agreed
that I had to grow above such extravagances and


A TRAGEDY OF YOUTEI 67
indulgences as taking taxicabs for every few
blocks I wished to travel.
“I found her red-eyed and miserable. “Your
uncle has been to see me, she opened.
“I knew then that there was real trouble in
the air. I had a premonition of disaster. And
then she told me — She told me that Uncle
Joshua had come to see her: that he had treated
her as an adventuress and her mother as an ac-
complice. He had cut beneath their skins with
that nasty, rotten, thin voice of his. I could
just picture them writhing under his verbal lash.
“He — he – he asked her how much she'd
take to release me! Think of that – Carroll;
tried to buy her off, as though she were a harpy
— a wanton' I saw red. . . .
“I wish you had known my uncle. You'd
better understand. But you didn’t know him —
Anyway, Mrs. Darrell frozé right up. Judith,
I'm afraid, cried. I'm sorry that she was so
weak before him. He likes to see the effects of
his darts. When we used to quarrel he'd sit
back and gloat when I’d lose my temper. But
that's drifting aside . . . .
“It seems that he had been to see Old Thad
Standish, his lawyer . . . firm of Standish &
Standish in the Berkeley National Bank Build-


68 TEIE CRIMSON ALIBI
ing, you know . . . that afternoon and he had
with him a new will which utterly disinherited
me. The Will had not then been executed and
he told her that if she did not break off her en-
gagement with me immediately and thereafter
refuse to see me under any circumstances, he
would have the will executed and I would be
penniless.
“Get the deviltry of his scheme? He was
putting it up to the woman who loves me either
to give me up or deprive me of a fortune which
runs well Over two million dollars. Of course
his attitude — his attitude —” Andrew choked,
“was that she was after my money, and that she'd
throw me down when she discovered that I was
to have nothing. As though she cared about
dollars. .
“She didn’t care about them for herself,- but
when I was the one involved — when I was the
one to lose what seemed to her the wealth of
Croesus . . . well, do you wonder that I —” He
broke off sharply. Carroll’s eyes narrowed
swiftly —
“What?”
“Got – got — angry?” finished Andrew
lamely. He pulled himself together again. “At
any rate she promised him that she would break


A TRAGEDY OF YOUTH 69
off her engagement to me that very evening.
That she would never see me again or have any-
thing to do with me. She said that she loved me,
and when I offered to marry her then and there
she refused pointblank — for two reasons:
“First, she said that she would never feel right
about it, and that after the first flush of married
life had worn away and I had my nose to the
grindstone, I’d begin to rebel, that I'd always
have in mind the fact that I had sacrificed mil-
lions for her . . . and - and —” with a charm-
ing lapse into sheer boyishness, “she actually
seemed to think I’d believe she wasn’t worth it.
“And her other reason was that, come what
might, she would not estrange me from the last
relative I have on earth. As though I'd care
about Uncle Joshua! I argued with her — I
begged and pleaded. From her standpoint she
was satisfied: from mine — and from the position
she had taken — she could not be budged. I
might as well have argued with the Sphinx. And
Mrs. Darrell backed her up.
“It was that damned money. Mercenary —
everything in the world seems mercenary. She
didn't want it, but she wouldn't deprive me of it.
Money — money insinuating itself into every-
thing in this world. At last I’d discovered a


70 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
passion which I considered above the sordidness
of the dollar . . . and the thing was wrecked
because of it.
“Well,” his voice dropped, and grew tensely
bitter. “I left her. I took two drinks on the
way home: the first I had taken in weeks. I
didn’t care any more, you see. I’ll admit that
I was in a nasty mood. A fighting mood. And
I found that sneering old leper waiting for me
with a smile on those thin lips of his which said,
plain as words: ‘I’ve fixed you this time, my
young bucko!’
“I went up to my room without speaking to
him then. I had another drink up there — a
stiff one. I went back downstairs — about 6:15.
I sit at the foot of the table and he sits at the
head. Mrs. Burrage — she's the housekeeper –
sits on the side.
“There was no one else in the room but Dor-
rington, the butler. We started with the usual
cocktails — it's all that Uncle Joshua ever drank.
But I'd had three before that — and the air of
that room was surcharged !
“If I’d been cold Sober I Wouldn’t have said
a word. But I'm afraid temper had fanned the
liquor I had taken and that I was dangerously
close to being drunk. I didn’t want to have it
out with him until after dinner — when I knew


A TRAGEDY OF YOUTEI 71
he'd go into his little study – just off the library.
“But he sat there staring at me in that sneer-
ing way he had — sneering with his eyes and
with the curl of his damned thin lips. I broke
loose. I guess I was violent. I told him he
could take his money and go to hell with it. Mrs.
Burrage seemed to be frightened and left the
table abruptly. And Uncle Joshua said nothing
— he just looked at me. But I could see that
he was flaming inside: Oh! he had the temper
of Satan himself. I know — I’ve lived with it.
“I couldn't seat — every mouthful seemed to
choke me. I went to the buffet and got some
more liquor – whiskey. I drank more than was
good for me. Dorrington remonstrated with me.
My uncle stopped him: ‘Let the young fool
alone, Dorrington. To a servant, mind you:
that's the way I was treated in that house. I
drank more — bravado! Certainly it was. And
wanting to forget for I knew that Judith would
never change her mind.
“I went into the den – Uncle Joshua's den. I
heard Dorrington beg Uncle Joshua not to quar-
rel with me, and then heard my uncle light into
Dorrington, as he'd like to have lighted into me
— Dorrington, who had been with him for years,
who had nursed him through sicknesses and stuck
by him when any other man in the world would


A TRAGEDY OF YOUTH 73
drink. He talked to me for about three hours.
But he couldn't keep equable long. Along about
eleven o'clock he began to get nasty again and
I had been drinking some more and I got nasty,
too. I flung back at him. I was a little bombas-
tic perhaps. And then we quarrelled again —
“But this time it was different. There was
an intense bitterness on his part and he wound
up by telling me to go — to go back to — to —
I can’t repeat what he called Judith. I —
“Mr. Carroll, I don’t know how I got out of
that house.
“But I did get out: walked out just as I was.
Went out into Highland Road trembling all over.
Went to the car line and took the trolley for the
city. When I got there I went to a saloon and
then another saloon. I met some friends. I was
grouchy, they said — I drank heavily. In plain
English, I got beastly drunk. . . . This morning
they arrested me in the Stratford Hotel where
I'd been sleeping it off. . . . They told me that
my uncle had been murdered and that I was ac-
cused of the crime.
“And if you want truth, Carroll, I'll tell it to
you. My first thought when I heard that Uncle
Joshua was dead, was one of complete happiness.
I was glad – glad all through ! Glad that some
one had killed him ! And -


7'4 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
“I’m still glad!”
He paused as suddenly as he started. His face
was deadly white, the dark eyes shining un-
naturally in their deep sockets. He radiated
hatred — hatred to the utmost. Carroll Stared
at him quietly — speaking not a word.
A light tap sounded on the door and it swung
back to admit the turnkey's head “Mr. Car-
TO]1?”
44 Yes.”
“Two ladies to see the prisoner.”
“TWO ladies –?”
Andrew whirled, his face lighted. “Judith
and her mother!” He voiced Carroll's thought.
“May I see them?”
Carroll nodded to the turnkey. “Mrs. and
Miss Darrell, I presume?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You may show them in.”
The detective turned back to the now radiant
prisoner. “You’ve impressed me very much,
Mr. Quincy. And now, will you answer one
question as honestly as you have told your
story?”
44 Yes.”
Carroll framed his question carefully: “Have
you ever — in your dissipation of the past —
been drunk to the point of insensibility? Have


A TRAGEDY OF YOUTH 75
you ever been so drunk that you did not know
what you were doing? So drunk that on the
morning after you learned of actions of yours of
which you had not been conscious at the time?” .
And the answer of Andrew Quincy came quietly
and with convincing honesty —
“Very often!” he said simply.


CHAPTER VII
JUDITH DARRELL
ARROLL was frankly puzzled. Andrew's
story had been so thoroughly straightfor-
ward that he was loath to disbelieve any of it
- and yet there were parts which he could not
accept at face value.
A great deal of it bore out scraps of information
already in the detective's possession: the hour,
the room — He fired a question at Andrew:
“Where was your uncle sitting when you left
the room?”
“In a big Spanish leather chair facing the lit.
tle writing desk.”
“His back to the door?”
“Which door? There are two, you know.
Although the chair was facing away from both
for that matter.”
“And the Window of the den?”
“Is near the door leading from the library.”
Carroll asked no more questions and the young
man did not appear interested in those he had
answered. His eyes were large and bright, and
his manner restless. He watched the cell door
76


JUDITH DARRELL 77
closely – a-tremble with desire for sight of the
girl who had come to visit him in his hour of
trouble. *
His attitude of perfect frankness was disarm-
ing, to say the least. And yet he himself had
told sufficient to send him to the electric chair.
He had supplied a motive and a state of intoxica-
tion which might palliate the crime morally —
however unchanged its legal aspect might remain.
He admitted hatred of his deceased uncle —
wherein he admitted to a very general feeling
— and his own story of his departure from the
house tallied to a nicety with the tale told by
Roger Fanshaw. Fanshaw, Carroll recalled, had
told of waiting near the hedge, of seeing Andrew
Quincy leave the lighted den and thence the man-
sion — walking swiftly and unsteadily down the
walk and then along Highland Road to the car
line. Andrew Quincy's very frankness worried
Carroll more than he cared to admit. He did
not wish to believe the young man guilty; yet at
this stage of the game the circumstances strongly
indicated that he – A key grated in the lock
and the door swung back. Judith Darrell and
her mother entered the cell.
Carroll's eyes flashed to the trim figure of the
girl. Nor did he blame the sudden light which
flamed in Andrew’s eyes at sight of her.


78 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
She was of medium height and slender figure;
her complexion a soft cream with a rose-petal
flush on the cheeks. Long brown eyelashes
shaded eyes of unusual size and lustre and a high
forehead spread beneath a glorious crown of
light brown hair — soft and silky like that of a
little child.
She was dressed in a chic little serge suit of
navy blue with simple trimmings of white satin.
And as her eyes rested on Andrew's incongru-
ously dressed and rather dishevelled figure, the
mother-light flamed into them and she started
forward —“Andrew'”
“Judith !”
He strained her to him and kissed her upon
the lips. And then, conscious that there were
others in the room, he held her at an arm’s length:
“I’m so glad you came, dear. . . .”
“We read the papers this morning, Andrew,
and a little while ago there were extras — you
had been arrested —”
“And you came to me?”
“Yes,” wistfully, “I came to you, dear. Of
course — of course —” she spoke with passionate
pleading, a bit fearfully, Carroll fancied: “You
didn't do it?”
“No, dear — I didn't.”
She gave a choky little cry as she turned to


JUDITEI DARRELL 79
her mother: “There, Mother, I told you he
didn't: I told you.”
Mrs. Darrell extended her hand toward the
young man. “I’m glad to hear you say that,
Andrew. Not that I thought you did— but —
but —” she turned suddenly and glanced in-
quiringly at Carroll. Andrew introduced them.
“This is Mr. David Carroll, Judith — Mrs.
Darrell. You’ve heard of him — the famous de-
tective?”
Mrs. Darrell’s eyes opened wide. A trim little
woman herself and youthful in appearance, she
appeared old enough to be the mother of the man
of whom she had heard so much... “This . . .”
Carroll laughed as he bowed. “I’m not as
young as I look, Mrs. Darrell — really.”
“He’s been cross-examining me,” went on An-
drew.
“You’ve consulted a lawyer?” interjected
Judith swiftly.
4% NO —”
“You must — immediately.” *
“You mean I’m inclined to talk too much?’”
“It isn’t that, dear — but even when one tells
the plain, unvarnished truth there are times when
it is best not to tell all of it. Isn't that so, Mr.
Carroll?” She turned to the detective. She,
too, had fallen under the spell of his winning per-


80 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
sonality. Already she and her mother had as:
sumed an attitude toward him as of allies, seem-
ing oblivious to the stark fact that he was there
as an enemy . . . an enemy provided Andrew
Quincy was guilty. A friend should he prove
innocent.
“I never presume to advise the persons most
Vitally concerned in a case I'm working,” he an-
swered frankly. “I prefer them to talk — and
I’m a good listener.”
“But you will clear Andrew'?”
“I hope so.”
“You don’t think he did it – you don't —
really?”
“I can’t say, Miss Darrell. I’ve been inter-
ested in this case less than two hours. I haven't
formed any opinions yet.”
“He didn't do it,” she declared passionately,
“I know he didn't. And if you knew him better
you'd know it, too. He couldn’t do a thing like
that. It was too — too — horrible.”
“I hope you are right, Miss Darrell,” said the
detective gravely. “I do hope that you are
right.”
“You’ve told him everything, Andrew?” she
asked.
The prisoner nodded. “Everything.”
“About — us?”


JUDITEI DARRELL 81
His cheeks flushed. “About us.”
“And that our engagement was — was —
broken?”
“Y-e-S. . . .”
“Mr. Carroll,” said the girl proudly, “if a
girl had any idea that a man had done what Mr.
Quincy is accused of doing, she would avoid pub-
licly linking her name with his, wouldn’t she?”
Carroll nodded —“Yes.” He felt an odd,
tingling sensation in the presence of this glorious
young Woman. -
“Well,” Judith turned imperiously to Andrew.
“I suppose you have that ring in your pocket?”
“Yes —” there was a fond, adoring, boyish
light in his eyes. He fumbled in the vest pocket
of his evening clothes —
“Give it to me,” she demanded, and extended
her left hand.
Slowly — with the awe of one performing a
holy rite, he slipped the solitaire on the fourth
finger of her left hand. Then he choked suddenly
and a dry sob burst from him. He turned on
his heel and strode across the cell to the barred
window where he stood gazing unseeingly across
the gaunt courtyard — that none might see the
tears which all knew were there.
She followed him swiftly and slipped her hand
into his. Carroll felt a lump in his throat as he


82 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
saw the man's powerful fingers contract about
the small hand of the girl until she winced —
and snuggled closer. As from a great distance
he heard her voice: maternal, crooning —“There,
there, sweetheart: it will all come right in the
end. . . . It will all come right in the end. . . .”
Mrs. Darrell was frankly crying: she addressed
the detective.
“When she said she wished to come down here,
Mr. Carroll, I opposed the idea. Now, I'm glad
I said yes.”
“So am I, Mrs. Darrell — things such as this
are all too rare.”
The mother's eyes – beautiful as the girl's
were beautiful although a bit more tired by the
toil of many hard years — held his pleadingly:
“You will try to clear him, Mr. Carroll? You
will — for her sake, as well as for his. He's been
wild, I know; he was always honest with us.
But he'd never have done a thing like — like —
that ”
“I’ll do my best, Mrs. Darrell. I'm employed
by the city and I'm as anxious to clear the inno-
cent as I am to convict the guilty.”
“And your personal opinions — your personal
likes and dislikes do not sway you?”
“More than I care to admit,” he answered
frankly. “I’m intensely human. But, Mrs.


JUDITEI DARRELL 83
Darrell, I try to be intensely honest. Do you
understand?”
“You mean that there may be — may be a
possibility — that — that — Andrew . . .” she
paused uncertainly.
“A possibility: yes.”
“He didn't do it. The man that my daughter
loves couldn’t do a thing like that. And she'd
have seen it the moment she looked into his eyes,
Mr. Carroll. She would have known But of
course you detectives don't believe in any such
human equation as that!”
“I do,” he said quietly.
“And you believe —”
“Everything and nothing. When I have all
the facts before me, I try to sort them intelli-
gently: that’s all. All I can say about Andrew
Quincy is that I hope he did not do it.”
“Which is little enough. . . .”
“Would you mind answering a few questions
of mine, Mrs. Darrell?”
“No — but I'd better ask Andrew.” She
called to the young man, and when he turned:
“Mr. Carroll wishes to question me: will that
be all right?”
“Certainly. Tell him the plain, unvarnished
truth. I did—even to my bitterness and
threats against my uncle.”


84 THE CRIMSON ALIEI
“I’ll answer,” she said, and Carroll bowed.
“Did you see the will which Mr. Quincy had
with him when he visited you yesterday?”
* Yes.”
“Had it been executed?”
“You mean had he signed it, and had it been
signed by witnesses?”
44 Yes.”
“It had not — and I remember it pretty dis-
tinctly. He said that he was sick and tired of
his nephew’s escapades and that he considered
this the worst of all. The bitterest pill was the
fact that he treated my daughter as though —
as though she were a – common woman: an ad-
venturess trying to marry him for his money.
He said he had been to see his lawyer and had
had the will drawn up and that the minute he
heard again of Andrew coming to see Judith he
would have the will executed.”
“His manner Was —?”
The girl's mother shuddered: “You could
never understand unless you had come in per-
sonal contact with the man himself.”
“He doesn't seem to have left many friends,”
commented Carroll dryly.
“He was repellent. But he advanced the one
argument that could have altered my daughter's
course. She was doing something worthwhile


JUDITEH DARRELL 85
for that young man. He was working at useful
work for the first time in his pampered life. He
was deeply in love with her —”
“And is yet – beautifully so.”
“— And they were happy as children. She
was passionately desirous of anything which
tended to his betterment . . . and ordinarily
would have denied Joshua Quincy his request.
But when the old man made her understand that
if she accepted Andrew's sacrifice of his fortune,
that in later years when they were in the grip of
straitened circumstances — he would always
feel, however subconscious that feeling might be
– that she had been the cause of it. It was un-
answerable logic, Mr. Carroll; diabolically con-
ceived.”
“And when Andrew reached your house —
What Was his attitude toward his uncle?”
“Very bitter.”
“Did he say anything – make any threats?”
“He – You shouldn’t ask me such questions,
Mr. Carr'O]].” -
“You needn’t answer.”
“I’d prefer not to. He was in a rage, of
course; and probably said a great many things
which he did not mean — just as any person, man
or woman, might do in the heat of passion.”
“And when he left there he said he was going


86 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
to see his uncle to straighten matters out?”
* Ye-e-S.”
“And your daughter had told him that she
would never see him again so long as Joshua
Quincy’s ultimatum stood?”
“About that.”
“She broke the engagement absolutely?”
44 YeS.”
“Did he exhibit any bitterness toward her?”
“Oh! no. It was all toward his uncle – I'm
afraid I’ve said too much.”
“If the young man is innocent, Mrs. Darrell
— the whole truth is not too much.”
“I am sure he is innocent — I’m sure of it.”
Carroll held her gaze: “Perhaps because you
Wish him to be — isn’t that it?”
“Perhaps . . . it might be.”
“You see, Mrs. Darrell — I’d like to count on
you as a friend and an ally. Because if it should
be that he is guilty you’d not want your daugh-
ter to marry him.”
She dropped back in horror: “No! No! I
wouldn’t . . . but I’m sure, Mr. Carroll; I'm
sure that he is innocent. Can’t you look at him
and see it; listen to him and feel it? Don't you
know that Judith would know?”
Judith and Andrew joined them. The girl put
out a hand to the detective. “I feel that you’re


JUDITEI DARRELL 87
working for us,” she said. “For Andrew and
myself. Andrew is not guilty — and we all wish
to help you.”
“Thank you, Miss Darrell. I’ll do my level
best. And I hope that we shall clear your fi-
ancé.”
He gave his arm to Mrs. Darrell and they left
the cell. Andrew took Judith in his arms and
gazed long into her sweet, upturned face. “You
believe in me, dear?” -
“I believe in you.”
He drew her to him gently — firmly. Their
lips clung . . . then he released her, their hands
lingering. . . . With a little sob the girl turned
and joined her mother and the detective in the
grim corridor. She stumbled blindly on .
“At any time you wish to see him, Miss Dar-
rell, get in touch with me,” said Carroll gently,
“and I will arrange it.”
Impulsively she pressed his hand: “Thank
you, Mr. Carroll. Somehow, I feel that you are
a friend. . . .”


CHAPTER VIII
A BOMB EXPLODES
ARROLL escorted Judith and her mother
through the headquarters assembly room,
now crowded with a fresh detail of patrolmen
about to be dispatched on their beats. His keen
eye caught a glimpse of a squat, broad, square-
toed man in the far corner: a crinkly-eyed, hu-
morous-mouthed chap with a shock of black
curly hair. This was Eric Leverage, chief of the
city plain clothes force — a man doubly compe-
tent because aware of his limitations, and a
staunch friend and ally to Carroll. The men
nodded to one another as the boyish detective
guided the two ladies to the granite portals of
the imposing building and saw them bound down
the street toward the trolley line.
He gazed after them for a few minutes, and
the tragedy of the situation gripped him anew.
He entertained hopes that Andrew Quincy was
innocent but he knew — from the Wealth of ex-
perience — how damning were the circumstances
in which he had involved himself by his own ad-
missions.
He sympathized with Andrew: could almost
88


A BOMB EXPLODES 89
excuse him the crime on moral grounds, even
though his guilt should eventually be established.
The seemingly irreparable injury to Andrew’s
chance for happiness with the girl he loved; the
Sequel of a quarrelsome evening — a violent
evening — the eruption of temper which he could
so easily visualize; the cold, keen, grating, sar-
castic voice of Joshua Quincy — the immediate
proximity of the silver-handled dagger, the flash
of temper in a mind inflamed by too much liquor
after a period of abstemiousness: the fact that
the crime gave all evidence of having been com-
mitted while in the grip of red passion's heat.
If Andrew was guilty, Andrew would pay the
price: not of his life, perhaps, for the dead man
had been too heartily disliked in Berkeley City
for a jury to fail to search eagerly for mitigating
circumstances that they might exercise all the
clemency allowed by the statutes . . . but a big
price, surely: and it was the tragedy in store for
the sweet-faced girl should that condition arise,
which gripped at the big heart of the detective
and caused him to hope that he would not be the
means of wrecking their young lives.
Of course, if he could prove Andrew guilty:
prove it he must, no matter what aftermath there
might be. That much was his duty and Carroll
did not shirk duty. But the girl's appealing


90 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
wistfulness, her abiding faith, had completed
the work which Andrew Quincy’s apparently un-
reserved honesty had started. It sent Carroll
deeper into his investigation possessed of per-
sonal interest in clearing Andrew. He gripped
himself hard – striving to remember that he
must be impartial: then grew afraid that in an
excess of honesty he might err in magnifying too
greatly the evidence against Andrew — discrim-
inate against him, as a Judge often does against
his lawyer friend pleading a case before him;
fearful of helping him and doing the injustice of
too zealous antagonism. A famous lawyer once
remarked: “I would rather plead a cause be-
fore my worst enemy sitting as Judge then before
my own father.” David Carroll steeled himself
to the determination that personal likes and dis-
likes must not sway him in the budding investi-
gation.
Footsteps sounded on the lobby tiling and a
broad figure bulked at his side, a heavy hand
clapped him heartily on the shoulder and a cheery
voice boomed greetings into his ear. He turned
and gripped the hand of Plainclothes Chief Eric
Leverage.
“Not that it's any of my business,” rumbled
Leverage heartily, “but do those ladies happen
to be the Darrells?”


A BOMB EXPLODES 91
*
“Yes. What do you know about them?”
“Nothing much. People of quality — real
classy article once before the old guy croaked
and left 'em flat. Good stuff yet, if you ain’t
inclined to set too much store on the “In God
We Trust’ metal. Old lady's proud as Loosey-
fer and the girl's a queen from your heart.
Straight as a dollar. Been trotting around with
young Quincy for a time and still keeps that rep
— which is the best that can be said of any
Woman.” *
“Andrew Quincy's reputation was that un-
savoury?”
“Plus. He's the only and original hellion from
helltown. He started in on wine, women and
song — and gave up singing. More time for the
two others. Then he met this little peach from
Fifteenth street and away went the bright lights
and the bubble water. He got a job — city sales-
man — with some big wholesale firm: Horner &
Sons, you know ’em?”
44 YeS.”
“Old man Horner says he's a wonder: been
working like a poor clerk with a big family.
First on the job and last off. Evenings with this
Judith dame — movies and ice cream and walks
in the park. Simple life stuff. His old friends
are thinking of having him examined by an alien-


92 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
ist: nutty, they swear. He fell for her all right
— in a heap. Just like that.”
“You know a good deal about him?”
“Yes. Since last night, of course, I’ve been
checking up —”
“IBut before that?”
“I was pretty wise to him then. There wasn’t
a joy-riding scandal that he wasn't mixed up in
somewhere. And once or twice a roadhouse’d
be scrapped up and he'd always loom in the back-
ground as the chief scrappee. Never caught him
with the goods but I knew he was the main
squeeze.”
“A fighter, eh?”
“With a wallop like Bob Fitzsimmons in his
palmy days. Regular mule-kick.”
“Hot-headed?”
“As an Irishman.”
“Suppose he found himself facing a man who
had robbed him of the thing on earth which meant
most to him — more than anything else had ever
meant: and suppose he'd been drinking pretty
heavily and this man rubbed it in a good bit —
taunted him: what do you think the Andrew
Quincy you know would do?”
“That ain't just a fair question, is it, Chief?”
“Yes — it's fair.”
“He’d grab the first thing he could lay his


A BOMB EXPLODES 93
hands on and let fly — an’ to hell with conse-
quences!” -
“You’re pretty confident?”
“I’d bet my badge and nightshirt.”
Carroll's brow corrugated in deep thought.
“He’d grab the first thing he could lay his hands
on and let fly” . . . the dagger with the
polished silver handle: liquor: the wrecking of
his planned happiness with Judith. Carroll mo-
tioned to Leverage and seated himself on the
marble steps of headquarters.
“Sit down, Eric. If we're working this thing
together I'll spread the layout before you.”
The plainclothes chief seated himself beside
Carroll, tamped the bowl of his pipe full of to-
bacco, lighted it and then: “Shoot!” he said.
“I’m all ears—like any other jackass.”
With meticulous attention to detail, Carroll
sketched the stories he had heard from Andrew
Quincy, Judith Darrell and Judith's mother.
Leverage listened absorbedly — allowing his
pipe to go out in the process. When the story
was finished a long silence ensued which was
broken by Carroll: “Well, what do you think
of it, Eric?” -
“I don’t think, Chief. It looks too open-and-
shut. I’d say Andrew Quincy straight across
the board. Wouldn’t you?”


94 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
“On the face of what I now know – yes. But
there may be a good deal that we don't know.”
“The only thing,” said Leverage judicially,
“that would make me think maybe this Andrew
bird didn’t put the hooks to his uncle is the fact
that he's told so much that would play the devil
with him before a jury. And he's no man's darn
fool. On the other paw, it strikes me that maybe
he might be clever enough to have told what he
did just so's he'd create the impression you and
I have both got.”
“You’ve voiced my idea, Eric. And now let's
drop Andrew Quincy for awhile. What's the
condition out at the house?”
“Just as it was when I got there at three
o'clock this morning with Rafferty, Collins and
Ferguson on the job to see that it stays so.”
“You disturbed nothing?”
“Not a thing unless I might have happened
to walk on a few footprints. I left the body ex-
actly where it was, knowing that you’d probably
take the case. And believe me, I’m glad you
have.”
“So am I — it’s interesting.”
“And scary. If Old Quincy hadn’t had so
much money I wouldn't mind. But when the
department falls down on a case like this—
there's an awful howl raised and it's curtains for


A BOMB EXPLODES 95
the guy that's responsible. And I’m dad-blamed
if I’d railroad Andrew Quincy through just be-
cause I happened to have enough dope to do it.”
“Yet you think he's guilty?”
“Looks that way – but your Uncle Dudley has
to be sure of it before he sends a guy to the chair.
And now, Chief —” Eric rose. “Whither?”
“To 2168 Highland Road to take a look around.
I'm going in to telephone Jim Sullivan to meet
us there — you know Jim, don’t you?”
“Your right bower? Sure I do.”
“While I'm telephoning him and getting a lit-
tle water put in my radiator . . . get a few sand-
wiches put up and we'll eat them on the way out
to Belleview. I'm humanly hungry.”
Sullivan was at his office and he listened with
keen impatience to his chief's instructions:
“Right away,” he snapped back into the trans.
mitter, “at Quincy's home as fast as my flivver
will travel. I'll wait for you inside the grounds.”
Ten minutes later Carroll and Leverage were
speeding in the former's car toward Belleview,
each munching a ham sandwich with relish.
They spoke little, giving themselves over to
the enjoyment of their lunch and the more es-
thetic pleasure of the spring morning and the
quiet beauties of the streets through which they
were passing en route to the beautiful suburb


96 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
on the outskirts of Berkeley City. In a half
hour they reached their destination — stopping
at the curb where the presence of a battered
roadster of a popular make gave mute testimony
that Jim Sullivan had arrived there first.
They found him loafing inside the gates, a tall,
slender young man with hair prematurely grey
and eyes not unlike Carroll's; an agile, wiry
man with an iron grip and an infectious fund of
good nature. Their greetings over, Carroll sur-
veyed the house. He walked across to the spot
where he imagined Fanshaw had been hidden
the night before. He felt that he had done Lev-
erage a slight injustice in having failed to tell
him of Fanshaw, yet the manner of his receipt of
the information had sealed his lips. After all —
he figured — it might merely puzzle the man in
his search for the criminal.
He gazed toward the massive and austere pile
of masonry which had been the home of Joshua
Quincy and the young man who waited in a cell
at headquarters under a charge of murder. It
was a grim place of greystone and stucco; severe
in its lines — severe in its frame of geometrical
landscape gardening. It gave one the impres-
sion of harshness rather than homeyness.
The house itself stood in the middle of the
tree-studded ground which covered the immense


A BOMB EXPLODES 97
suburban square block. The grounds were
framed on four sides by privet hedges and the
paths of the garden were bounded with smaller
hedges. Shrubbery was profusely scattered over
the well-kept lawn: big oaks, willows and tall,
stately poplars were everywhere. An excellent
hiding place for one who wished to hide.
A veranda spanned the width of the front
which faced toward the fashionable Highland
Road. Across the veranda and opposite the head
of a flight of stone steps was a double door, and
to the right and left a row of windows. Carroll
addressed Leverage.
“Which is the window of the room in which
Quincy was killed?”
Leverage designated a small window on the
extreme left of the house — the right of the men
as they were standing. “And next to it on this
side?” pursued Carroll.
“Three big windows leading into the library.
The Window between that and the front door
and the one on the other side of the front door,
lead into the big reception hall — a regular palace
of a place.”
“Good.” Carroll visualized Fanshaw's story:
the waiting near the hedge — the sneaking jour-
ney to the veranda with the light streaming from
the hall doors and the window of Quincy's study
— the entrance through the open library window.


98 TEHE CRIMSON ALIBI
. . . Then the return and the hiding out — It
was very clear in his mind now.
They circled the house, and Carroll saw that
in the rear a wing had been constructed later
than the rest of the house. This wing, as Lever-
age explained, contained the servants' quarters,
and below one of the Windows on the southern
side was a ledge, the roof of a decorative veranda
some eight or nine feet in width.
They finished their tour of the grounds and
walked up on the veranda. Sergeant Rafferty,
in charge of the police detail on duty, came out
to greet them and Leverage explained to him that
David Carroll was in supreme charge. Rafferty
saluted. “Anny orders, sorr?”
“No. Same thing you’ve been doing. Any
one been here since Chief Leverage left this morn-
ing?”
“No wan, sor. Although Mrs. Burrage, th’
housekeeper, has been trottin' around here like a
chicken With its head cut off entire.”
As though in answer to his words the front
door swung back and a tiny, rather comely little
woman appeared on the veranda. She stared
with wide, frightened eyes at the newcomers, then
came forward and introduced herself nervously.
“We're not going to disturb you any more than
we can help, Mrs. Burrage,” said Carroll sooth-


A BOMB EXPLODES 99
ingly. “We realize that you have been under
an intense nervous strain and we'll make things
as easy for you as we can. Of course there are
some questions —”
“I don’t know anything about it, sir – really
I do not.”
“But you'll tell us what you do know?”
“Of course . . . but I don’t know any-
thing —” The little woman reminded the de-
tective for all the world of a frightened chicken.
“Not a thing do I know —”
“But when it first happened this morning?”
“You — you'll have to ask Dorrington about
all of that, sir; really, I don't know anything.”
Dorrington? What could Dorrington know
about it? According to Andrew Quincy's story
Dorrington had been discharged early in the
evening and had left the house. He questioned
Mrs. Burrage very softly —
“Why should we ask Dorrington, Mrs. Bur-
rage?, What does he know about it?”
“I thought you knew,” she answered with
frank surprise: “Dorrington was the one who
discovered the body!”


CEIAPTER IX
MRS. BURRAGE KNOWS NOTHING
ARROLL gazed curiously at the nervous
little old lady, whose quavery, rather high-
pitched voice had unconsciously given him a
severe shock. Eric Leverage started visibly and
glanced keenly at Carroll, then turned away that
Mrs. Burrage might not notice his sudden in-
terest. Sullivan, knowing little about the case
as yet, was not particularly impressed. Mrs.
Burrage broke in on the silence — querulously:
“You see, Mr. Carroll, I don’t know anything
about the case. Nothing at all. Dorrington can
tell you whatever you want to know —”
David Carroll smiled his most boyish smile and
won his way straight to the old lady's heart.
“Don’t you worry, Mrs. Burrage: we'll not
bother you. I realize you know nothing about
it — although sometimes one has to question
closely to discover that fact. Understand?”
“Yes, sir, I understand.” The old lady was
plainly bewildered but she liked the young man
before her and wanted to help. “If I knew any-
thing at all about the case I'd be glad to tell you;
100


MRS. BURRAGE ENOWS NOTHING 101
but I don't know anything about it — really.”
“I see,” pursued Carroll gently. “Dorring.
ton is the one who knows all about it, eh?”
44 YeS.”
“Because he was the man who discovered the
body?”
* That’s it.”
“Where was he when he discovered the
body?”
“In the den, of course — where the body was.”
“And you knew about it — when?”
The old lady had fallen beautifully into the
snare of Carroll's ready tact. “You see, I'd gone
upstairs and gone to bed. I was worried — and
I couldn't sleep very well. And I thought I
heard some one walk across the Veranda and then
come in the front door.” She paused: “Of
course I don’t know anything about the – the
crime itself, but if this is any help —”
“It is indeed, Mrs. Burrage. And what did
you do after you heard that noise on the veranda:
what sort of a noise was it?”
“A man walking,” she answered positively.
“What did you do then?”
“I sat up in bed and listened.”
“And after that?”
“I heard a door slam and then a sort of a call
and — Oh! it was terrible!” w


102 : THE CRIMSON ALIBI
Carroll touched her reassuringly on the
shoulder. “And after you heard this call —?”
“I was just simply too frightened to stay in
bed, because there had been terrible doings in
this house, and something inside of me seemed
to say that there was something wrong. So I got
up and put on my kimono and a pair of slippers
and turned on the light in the hall and started
downstairs.”
“What time Was that?”
“Nearly midnight. Of course all this was af-
terwards: I don't know anything about the case
itself.”
Carroll Smiled. “We understand that.” And
he smiled more broadly at the overt fidgeting of
Eric Leverage at the rambling, apparently in-y
consequential story told by the housekeeper.
“You started downstairs –?” he prompted
quietly. -
“And I heard a sort of a noise in the library
or den, I couldn’t tell which. I stood at the foot
of the stairway yonder — so I could look down
the hall and see the doors of both of those rooms.
Just then the door slammed back and Dorring-
ton dashed out into the hall and then stopped
short when he saw me.
“He looked terribly frightened, Mr. Carroll-
and then I knew that something was wrong.


MRS. BURRAGE RNOWS NOTELING 103
“‘What's the matter?' I gasped.
“‘The master, he said, kind of choky; ‘the
master | *
“‘What about him?”
“‘He's dead, ma'am — he's been killed !’
“Not being a woman, Mr. Carroll, you don’t
know What I felt like. I Wanted to faint and I
couldn't. I couldn't seem to get it that Mr.
Quincy was dead — that was what horrified me
at first — more than the fact that he had been
killed. You see, if one only could get to under-
stand him, he wasn't such a bad old fellow and
he's always been that nice to me, giving me a home
and everything. People say mighty harsh things
about Mr. Quincy, and I'm not saying that he
wasn't sort of gruff and short; but he was a
good man, Mr. Carroll — once you got to know
him.” -
The detective's eyes softened: of all the city
here was the one person with a kind word for
the deceased — a poor, little old woman whose
props had been knocked from under by the cata-
clysm in her domestic cosmos: a little old woman
eternally grateful for the crumbs which had been
thrown her way by the grudging hand of wealth.
“And after you saw Dorrington run into the
hall — and he'd stopped short and told you that
Mr. Quincy was dead: what then?”


104 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
“I — I — don’t know. I heard him say some-
thing about calling the police . . .”
“He suggested that?”
“Yes, sir – I never would have thought about
it.”
The detective softened his Voice as much as
possible: he asked his next question in the most
casual manner. “And weren't you surprised to
see Dorrington back in the house at that time of
night?”
“You mean after the master had discharged
him?”
44 Yes.”
“Why, yes – that was one of the first things
I thought about. I knew that he had been dis-
charged, although I wasn’t downstairs when it
happened of course. I'd gone up to my
room . . .”
“But you knew that he had been discharged?”
“Oh! yes, sir.”
44 HOW 2 9%
“He told me himself.”
“Dorrington?”
“Yes, sir.”
“When?”
“When he came upstairs to get his things.”
“He took a suitcase with him when he left?”


MRS. BURRAGE KNOWS NOTHING 105
“Yes, sir.”
“Did he bring it back with him?”
“Why, no, sir, I don't think so. Of course I
don’t know anything much about this case —”
“I realize that,” commented Carroll with a
dry humour which completely escaped her and
brought a broad smile to Jim Sullivan's lips.
“But even these little details are useful some-
times. You mentioned that you saw him when
he went upstairs to pack his things — what did
he say then: how did he look?”
The little lady flushed. “I — I — don’t know
that I ought to tell about that, sir.”
Carroll laughed. “It’s not so important; but
of course I’d like to know if you don’t mind.”
“Well — if you look at it that way —” Mrs.
Burrage was completely off her guard and se-
cretly rather pleased with the spot-light position
she was momentarily holding and with the de-
ference shown her by this boyish-looking and very
famous detective. “I'd say that he was very
angry indeed, sir.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Well, he looked it. And he said he was.”
“Angry with Mr. Quincy?”
“Yes, sir — angry with Mr. Quincy for dis-
charging him. I told him that he ought to be


106 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
ashamed of himself: he, who had been in service
here for so many years that he'd ought to under-
stand Mr. Quincy's eccentricities better.”
“But he didn't agree with you?”
“No, sir, which surprised me very much, be-
cause Dorrington has always been what you'd
call a placid man, sir. And last night he was
very angry indeed. He was swearing. I didn't
know that he was that kind of a man, sir.”
“I'm sorry to hear that Dorrington would
swear,” sympathized Carroll. “And against
Mr. Quincy, too.”
“Yes, sir – against the man for whom he had
worked for years. It seemed ungrateful, and I
told Dorrington so.
“‘But I'm not working for him now, he
grated, ‘and so help me, he said just like that,
“I’ll never work for him again the longest day
I live. I'll teach him I’m not a worm to be tread
on. I’ll show him he can't treat a real man that
way. He was terribly angry, Mr. Carroll.”
“He must have been: threatening Mr. Quincy
that way.”
Mrs. Burrage rallied swiftly to the defence of
the butler: “I can’t blame him entirely, sir,
because just like always I think poor, dear Mr.
Quincy was mostly in the wrong. But then it


MRS. BURRAGE KNOWS NOTHING 107
did seem to me that any one who had known him
as long as Dorrington had would realize that he
was always wrong and in a bad temper and would
have made allowances. I told Dorrington that,
but he only swore some more and something about
men like that shouldn't be allowed to live . . .
something very foolish like that.”
“It was foolish,” echoed Carroll, noticing the
sudden stiffening of Eric Leverage's back.
“Of course he didn't mean any of it.”
“Of course not. And after that —?”
“He packed up and then came to my door with
his suitcase packed. “I’m going now, Mrs. Bur-
rage, he said. “I want to say good-bye.”
“‘You’d better reconsider, Dorrington, I told
him.
“He looked at me with his eyes blazing sort of
funny like: “I’ll teach him to treat a decent
man that way, he said.
“And so I told him good-bye and he went,
vowing he'd never put his foot in the house again
as long as he lived.”
“But he did.”
“Yes, sir — and it seemed perfectly natural to
find him there when I went downstairs after —
after — you know.”
“Yes, I know. Tell me, Mrs. Burrage, had


MRS. BURRAGE KNOWS NOTEIING 109
*
“You can rest easy that no innocent man will
suffer for the crime if I can help it, Mrs. Burrage,
But to revert to last night: you were surprised to
see Dorrington back in the house, weren't you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What do you imagine he was doing there —
in that room?”
“Why – why, I don’t know, sir.”
“No – I guess not. Did he call you?”
“No, sir – I heard the noise downstairs and
got frightened and came down to see what the
trouble Was.” -
“The trouble? You were sure that something
was wrong?”
“I sort of felt that there was.”
“And you came down the stairway just as Dor-
rington rushed from the room and he stopped
short and told you that Mr. Quincy had been
killed?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And then he suggested telephoning for the
police?”
“That's it, sir.”
“Who did the actual telephoning?”
“He did, sir.”
“And when the police came —”
“This gentleman, here —” indicating Lever-
age—“was with the three officers who have been


110 TEIE CRIMSON ALIBI
here ever since. Dorrington didn’t have much to
say and I believe he asked Dorrington not to
leave the house.”
“That so, Leverage?”
The plainclothes chief nodded. “Yes.”
“You didn't place him under arrest?”
“No — merely surveillance. Told Rafferty to
keep his weather eye peeled to see that he didn’t
leave the premises.”
“Then you're sure he's here now?”
“Sure. I'll find out, though.” He stepped
into the reception hall and spoke quietly with
Rafferty for a few seconds, then returned to the
veranda. “Dorrington's here.”
“Good.” Carroll turned back to Mrs. Burrage
and smiled disarmingly. “You’ve been very nice
to us, Mrs. Burrage, and we'll try not to discom-
mode you any more than we can help. And don’t
you worry about Dorrington. Of course we're
holding him and we'll have to question him. And
I haven't a doubt,” he finished with perfect
truth, “that he has a very plausible story ready
to tell us.”
The little old lady seemed very much relieved.
“Thank you so very much, sir. I suppose you’ve
finished With me now?” -
“Yes — temporarily at any rate.”
“And I may go upstairs: I’ve been so excited


CHAPTER X
THE SILVER-HANDLED KNIFE
HEY gravely watched her mount the broad
stairway to the second floor, then their
faces broke into broad grins. Leverage slapped
his thigh: “She don't know a single thing about
this case!” he chortled. “Not a thing. Oh! no!”
“A very sweet old lady,” commented Carroll,
“and of more use to us than a thousand clues.
Her very naïveté lends colour to everything she
says.”
“Yes,” commented Sullivan briefly, “and it
has coloured the butler.”
“Plus,” seconded Leverage, “which, after all,
is regrettable. It gives us something to think
about besides Andrew Quincy. I'm thinking
we’ll have to give this Dorrington person the once-
over. He ought to be as chock-full of interest-
ing news as a newly dry town is full of booze.”
“Yes,” agreed Carroll, “if he'll talk.”
“Talking,” commented the plainclothes chief,
“seems to be the one thing that nobody concerned
in this case minds doing.”
“It’s David Carroll,” said Sullivan. “He
112
w


TEIE SILVER-ELANDLED KNIFE 113
could make the Sphinx talk and the Delphic ora-
cle declare herself.”
“Never met those gents,” responded Leverage,
“but I’m betting your way, Jim. And what now,
Chief? Shall I trot out Dorrington and make
him show his tricks?”
Carroll relighted a half smoked cigar which
he had allowed to go out while talking with Mrs.
Burrage. “No-o, not right this minute. I'd
like to take a look at the inside of this place.”
“I’m the boy that can show it to you,” said
Leverage. “All aboard for the sight-seeing tour.
A spieler to explain. This way, ladies and gents
. .” and he turned through the big front doors,
Sullivan following. Carroll did not move, and
Leverage stopped.
“What's the matter, Chief?”
“You fellows walk through the library. I'm
coming in the window.”
The others stared. “What's up? Need exer.
cise?”
“In a way,+ yes,” smiled Carroll. Leverage's
good-nature was infectious, covering as it did a
deadly serious mind which Carroll knew to be as
intent on the case in hand, as was his own.
Leverage and Sullivan disappeared into the re-
ception hall. Carroll paced slowly down the
tiled veranda, eyes glued to the ground. He


116 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
books had evidently been chosen with care by a
booklover. And Carroll was not one to neglect
the character-drawing which one's books may do
for one. Putting aside the idea that these books
had been read with interest by Andrew Quincy,
Carroll arrived at the conclusion that the only
friends of the dead man had been his books,
and that his mind had been a bit warped and
embittered by a surfeit of thought-pioneering
literature.
His inspection of the library completed he
walked toward the door leading into the den.
Then he turned to Leverage: “When you got
here this morning was this door open or shut?”
“Wide open.”
“You closed it?”
& 4 YeS.”
“Why? 3%
“Closed it and locked it, as I did the hall door,
sir. To make sure that nothing within the room
could possibly be disturbed.”
“Hmm! Did you pull the window shade
down, too?”
Leverage arched his eyebrows in surprise.
“No, sir, it was down when I reached here.”
“YOu are Sure?”
“Positive. I noticed it specially.”
“That's all.” Carroll stood a moment in deep


THE SILVER-HANDLED KNIFE 117
thought. He examined the knob of the door and
shook his head. “Let’s go in, Leverage.”
The plainclothes man produced a key and the
lock clicked. He and Sullivan stood back as he
SWung the door and Carroll stood on the thresh-
old staring into the room. The electrolier on the
centre table was blazing. “You left that go-
ing?”
“Yes, sir. It was lighted when I got here,
and as I told you, I disturbed nothing.”
“Very good.”
Carroll surveyed the room closely. It was a
tiny thing — about twelve by eighteen feet, he
judged. To his right, about six feet away, was
the wall of the house which cut the room off
from the veranda, and about four feet from the
corner was the single window, its shade drawn
tightly to the bottom. There was no other win-
dow in the room.
The Wall to the left of the door in which Car-
roll stood was bare save for four sections of a
sectional bookcase. The wall opposite the ve-
randa window was broken by a heavy door which
he correctly guessed led to the hallway. The op-
posite wall was barren of decoration. Backed
against it was a large desk and a filing cabinet.
In the diagonally opposite corner from Carroll
was a tiny safe of antique make, its door gaping.


118 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
A few chairs and the centre table on which the
electrolier stood comprised the rest of the furni-
ture. Carroll stood quietly, missing no detail
— cataloguing it all in his brain.
And when he had the room photographed in
his mind he turned his eyes on the tall, Spanish-
leather chair on the opposite side of the centre
table. From his place in the doorway he could
see nothing save the forbidding back of the chair
and beneath it two skinny ankles and a pair of
feet sticking out grotesquely toward nowhere at
all.
He motioned Sullivan and Leverage to remain
where they were, then strode swiftly to the win-
dow at his right. From there he could see the
right hand of the corpse resting on a thin knee
— but nothing else. He crossed the room and
Walked to the hall door. From there his View of
the body was better: he could see the left side,
but not the knife with which the murder had been
done.
Apparently satisfied, he returned to the door-
way and then walked slowly across the room,
approaching the chair from the rear. Papers
were strewn about the table — business docu-
ments, most of them evidently taken from the
safe for home perusal. A copy of Artzibashef’s
“Sanine” lay open and face-downward, doing


TEIE SILVER-ELANDLED KNIFE 119
duty as a paperweight. Carroll rounded the
chair and surveyed the body.
He saw the wizened figure of a man: little and
slender and very much wrinkled, the mouth, even
in death, retaining its harsh lines. The eyes
were wide and staring. From the region of the
heart there was a blood trickle which had made
its way to the floor and formed a pool. . . .
Plunged to the hilt in the body of the little
man was the lethal dagger. All that was visible
was the handle of smooth, polished silver. Car-
roll bent intently over the body and examined
the knife and the wound.
It was plain that the blow had been delivered
by some one possessed of great strength. The
blade had entered the body below the heart and
from the left side: a powerful upward stroke —
the stroke of a man not unused to a knife. Car-
roll noted that fact With interest. He knew that
the average man holds a dagger point downward
and strikes with a down stroke. The murderer
in this case had gripped the dagger as one holds a
cane — and had thrust sideways and upward.
Death, he knew, must have been instantaneous.
He could see no signs of a struggle.
He knelt by the side of the body and examined
every shred of clothing. Then he went over the
table, the chair and the floor with meticulous


120 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
care. Finally he rose and crossing to the safe
took therefrom a porcelain-lined humidor partly
filled with cigars. Carrying this to the book-
case to the left of the door through which he had
entered, he emptied the cigars. From his pocket
he drew forth a silk handkerchief and carefully
polished the porcelain lining of the humidor.
From another pocket he took a pair of small
pincers. He returned to the body, pincers in one
hand, humidor in the other.
Clasping the pincers around the guard of the
dagger, the muscies of his fingers grew taut and
he withdrew the weapon slowly. Holding it by
the pincers, he inspected it. The blade was of
tempered steel. Finally he placed the thing
carefully in the humidor. He locked the humi-
dor with his pincers — fastening them about the
square projection and turning it. He walked to
the safe and placed the humidor safely within.
Then he turned to a further examination of the
I'OOIn.
He made his way to the chair once again and
measured with his eye the distances to the library
and hall doors. Then he went carefully over the
papers in the safe and on the table. That done
he rejoined Sullivan and Leverage. He spoke
quietly to the latter.
“Lock the door again, please: and have Raf.


THE SILVER-HANDLED KNIFE 121
ferty instructed to use double precautions to
keep every one out of that room. Even yourself,
if you please.”
“It's done, Chief. What now?”
“You mean — what do I think?”
44 YeS.” >
“Everything and nothing. Either Dorring-
ton or Andrew Quincy could have done it.”
“But you don’t think they did?”
“I haven’t formed any opinion as yet. I am
interested, though: Very much so. Suppose you
tell me what you think about it?”
Leverage flushed slightly: “I have three
ideas, Chief: two of them at odds with one
another and the other foolish. The first is that
Andrew Quincy killed his uncle in a fit of rage.
The second is that Dorrington returned for some-
thing he'd left, ran into Quincy, had a row and
poked the frog-sticker into him. And the
third —” he paused.
“Well –?”
“You'll laugh at it.”
“No . . . you know I would not.”
“Well, the third was really the first – jumped
at before I knew anything about Andrew or Dor-
rington. When I first saw the body — and re-
member, I know what an old crab Quincy was
— I says to myself . . .” he stared intently at


THE SILVER-ELANDLED KNIFE 123
man committing suicide with a knife would have
plunged it into the body just about as that knife
was plunged into Quincy’s body: a bit more to-
ward the centre, perhaps, but the evidence
strongly indicates that he may have done for him-
Self. I'd like to believe that he did. But before
I can be sure of the accuracy of any such conclu-
Sion there's a lot of other work to be done —
many other things to be looked into.”
“What, for instance, Chief? You're the
boss.”
“First of all,” responded Carroll promptly.
“I'd like to have a chat with Dorrington!”


CHAPTER XI
DORRINGTON
ORRINGTON'S appearance was rather a
surprise to Carroll. Where he had ex-
pected a short, round-faced, dumpy little man
— the flunky of drama,— he found a tall, slender,
almost ascetic looking individual with every ear-
mark of intelligence.
The man's face was as thin as his frame: a
long, sharp nose — well formed; thin lips, clear,
wide-open eyes. He bore himself with a certain
dignity which commanded Carroll's respect im-
mediately . . . but which started him to think-
ing along new lines. He destroyed the fabric he
had builded anent Dorrington and constructed
anew. Here was a man of evident mentality, one
who could be hurt to the quick through his sen-
sibilities and be stung to desperation by insult.
There was nothing servile in the man’s demean-
our – nor did he cringe in the slightest degree.
His gaze was as level and steady as that of the
detective. And it was Dorrington who spoke
first: his voice even and quiet —
124


DORRINGTON 125
“You wish to question me about this case,
Sir?”
“Yes, Dorrington. You know who I am?”
“I have heard of you, sir.”
“I am going to question you — and I am giv-
ing you due warning that anything you may say
of an incriminating nature will be used against
you.”
“That is an unnecessary warning, sir. I have
nothing to conceal.” -
Carroll liked the man. Peculiar, he mused
briefly, that he had personally liked each of the
persons involved in the case. He felt instinc-
tively that he could count on Dorrington for the
truth. Yet he was too much the professional
investigator to allow his personal feelings to
sway judgment.
“I am glad to hear that, Dorrington. I would
like you to tell me what occurred last night, from
the time Mr. Quincy came in — until you found
the body.”
“The quarrel at dinner?”
“Yes.”
“They quarrelled, that is all I can say, sir. I
am sorry to add that quarrels between the master
and Mr. Andrew were not rare. My master
was not very well liked, you know.”


126 TEHE CRIMSON ALIBI
“I knoW that.”
“But I saw very soon that this quarrel was
more serious than usual and I grew worried. I
have been long in the service of Mr. Quincy, sir:
I have been his valet, his butler, his chauffeur —
the only man in the world, I believe, sir, unless
it be his lawyer, Mr. Thaddeus Standish, who was
at all close to him.”
“His nephew?”
“They did not get along well together, sir.
Don’t misunderstand me . . . I am telling the
truth and not trying to throw suspicion on Mr.
Andrew by what I might say — any more than I
am trying to clear myself. You see, I know that
I am suspected.”
“Not exactly, Dorrington —”
“I should be suspected. The person who dis-
covers the body is usually suspected.”
In spite of himself, Carroll smiled. Here was
a man of brain. “Go ahead, Dorrington.”
“To my mind – if my theories interest you at
all — it is preposterous to presume that Mr. An-
drew killed his uncle. He has been a wild lad,
Mr. Carroll, a very wild lad and a great care to
Mr. Quincy — but never vicious. His heart is
as big as his body, sir; and if what I say injures
his position I shall be very sorry. But I have


1DORRINGTON 127
decided, sir, that my best course will be the strict
and whole truth.”
“That is a very wise decision, Dorrington.”
“As I say, they quarrelled violently at table —
so violently that Mrs. Burrage excused herself
and retired to her rooms upstairs.”
“Her rooms are near the servants' quarters,
aren't they?”
“Passing from the landing at the head of the
front stairs, sir, you enter a long hall. Mrs.
Burrage's rooms are the first reached and then
beyond them — stretching out into the wing of
the house are the servants’ quarters: I stay there,
and so do Ellen Garrison, the maid, and Mary
O’Brien, the cook. But only Ellen was there
last night. It was the cook’s night out.”
“And after Mrs. Burrage went upstairs?”
“I listened to the two gentlemen, sir, and I
couldn't help understanding what they were
quarrelling about, especially as Mr. Andrew had
confided in me about the girl.”
“The girl?”
“A Miss Judith Darrell, sir; a young lady of
excellent family although in straitened circum-
stances.” The butler spoke with an odd pater-
nal feeling. “I was very glad when Mr. Andrew
told me about her, sir, and about the fact that he
had gone to work for Horner & Son. He has long


DORRINGTON 129
He paused and Carroll broke in with ill-
concealed eagerness:
“Yes — in the past?”
“I have assisted Mr. Andrew to bed very
Often.”
“Tell me this, Dorrington: haven't you known
more than one occasion when Andrew Quincy
drank himself into a state of unconsciousness
... mental unconsciousness although he was
still able to walk and help himself physi-
cally?”
Dorrington hesitated perceptibly: “Do you
mean, sir, so drunk that the following morning
he would be unconscious of his actions of the
night before?”
“Yes.”
“Several times, sir. But since he met Miss
Darrell he has forsaken the old ways. And I
grew doubly worried when he drank so heavily
last night at dinner. The atmosphere of the
room was what you might call — unpleasant —
Sir.”
“And they quarrelled about Mr. Quincy's visit
to Miss Judith Darrell ?”
“Not very long, sir. One of them — I forget
which — suggested that they continue the con-
Versation later in Mr. Quincy's den. And after


130 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
that they did not speak, although they seemed
to rather — er – Oh ! you understand the condi-
tion, sir, do you not?”
“I believe I do, Dorrington. And now —
after dinner, what occurred?”
“Mr. Andrew left the table first and went
through the library into the den —”
“Did he turn on the lights in the library?”
“No, sir, only the electrolier in the den.”
“And Mr. Quincy?”
“Itemained for a second in the dining room.
And, sir, I knew it was not my place, but I begged
him not to quarrel with Mr. Andrew. I told him
about Miss Judith —”
“Go ahead, Dorrington.” -
“And he grew very angry with me, sir. Of
course, it was presumptuous of me to interfere
in the domestic affairs of the man for whom I
work in a rather menial capacity, but I could not
see them drift to a climax without doing my best
to avoid a catastrophe. I tried to make him
listen to the story of Mr. Andrew's regeneration
through his love for Miss Darrell, sir —” Car-
roll marvelled at the man’s choice of language —
“but as soon as I mentioned her name he flew
in a more violent rage than ever. He said, sir,
that she was a common adventuress —
“I have known Miss Judith, sir, for a long
*


DORRINGTON 131
time; both her and her mother — and I'm afraid
my retort was a trifle acrid: more, undoubtedly,
than I should have said. And When he flashed
back at me with profanity I'm afraid I grew
exceedingly personal. And then, Mr. Carroll,
he gave me the inexcusable insult. You under-
Stand?”
“I understand.”
“I'm afraid I rather lost control of myself,
sir; for the first time in years I allowed my pas-
sion to sway me. And the result was, sir, that
he discharged me: ordered me from his house
for ever.
“I flung out of the room and upstairs. The
last I saw of him he was going through the library
to the den and as the door opened I heard the
clink of glass and knew that Mr. Andrew must
have been drinking some more. On the way to
my rooms I met Mrs. Burrage and she begged
me to reconsider: begged me to remain. I’m
afraid I was somewhat violent. I packed my
suitcases and started down the steps and she
stopped me again to remonstrate: said that the
quarrel downstairs seemed to be stopping as
while we could hear their voices they were not
Violent.
“But I was angry then, sir, wrong as I may
have been, and I would not listen to reason. The


132 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
injustice of Mr. Quincy's action rankled worse
than the insults he had heaped upon me. I was
not in any judicial frame of mind. And besides,
I told her that Mr. Quincy was not the kind of
man to change his mind. He had discharged me
for what he thought was good cause, and noth-
ing but a grovelling apology could make him
take me back. And that, sir—” with quiet dig-
nity, “I could not attempt.
“I left the house and took my suitcases to the
Mabrey Hotel – a rather cheap lodging house, on
Union street. Then I decided to take a walk
and think things over.
“Last evening was very pleasant, sir, and
after I had walked a few miles out along High-
land Road through the country, I began to see
things at a new angle. Perhaps, I reasoned, I
had been hasty — and then, too, sir – no matter
how eccentric Mr. Quincy may have been, I had
been very close to him and was rather fond of
the old man. And I fancy that he was rather
fond of me. And a man of my age, sir – I am
forty-three — falls into rather a groove. I had
been with Mr. Quincy for many years, I felt my-
self a part of his menage; his home was my home,
the only home I had. The very thought of mak-
ing a change, of going into service at some one's
else home rather — er — appalled me.


IDORRINGTON 133
“I did not believe for one moment, sir, that I
had been in the wrong or that Mr. Quincy's in-
sults were justifiable — even though I had mo-
mentarily forgotten my place and lost my temper.
“I am a religious man, sir, and I communed
with my God on that walk. Something within
me seemed to say that the right course was the
charitable course and the charitable course to
forgive the poor old man for what he had done.
For I knew that deep down in his heart he wanted
me back: not that he would ever have admitted it,
sir, for Mr. Quincy was one of those unfortunate
men who are not honest even with their own
consciences. -
“And so, after I had walked for at least two
hours, sir - Oh! more than that, for it must have
been half past eleven — I made up my mind that
I would go to Mr. Quincy and apologize humbly
for what he fancied I had done. I felt ennobled
when I reached that decision, sir, for it went
against the grains I am only human — and I
Knew that I had been in the right; and it is much
harder for a man to apologize for something for
which he is not to blame than for something
wherein he has been wrong. -
“God must have been directing my footsteps,
sir, for when I reached that decision I found my-


134 TEIE CRIMSON ALIBI
self on Highland Road only a couple of blocks
from home "— his tone grew wistful —“you see
how unconsciously, sir, I speak of it as home.
It is the only home I have.
“I turned in at the big gate yonder at the end
of the front walk. I knew that Mr. Quincy never
went to bed until between twelve and one o'clock:
he could not sleep and he usually sat up until
then in his den reading and working. But when
I looked at the house I was struck with the idea
that he had gone to bed, sir; because there was
no light except in the front hall.
“I walked slowly up the front walk toward the
veranda, and then when I got closer I saw that
I had been mistaken. There was a light in the
den, sir, but the shade was pulled tightly down.”
“Was that unusual?” inquired Carroll cas-
ually.
“Very, sir. In fact, in all my years in Mr.
Quincy's service I have never known him to draw
the curtain of his den down at night – or in the
daytime, either, for that matter. I paused on the
walk there and pondered awhile. The fact that
the light was still on in the den assured me that
he had not retired — but something held me there
wondering why that curtain should be down.
“And while I stood there, sir – something


DOREINGTON 135
very strange occurred: something very strange
indeed.” Dorrington paused and clasped his
hands as though to refresh his memory - Car-
roll prompted him:
“Something unusual happened, Dorring-
ton. . . . ”
“Yes, sir — perhaps it was my imagination
. . . but I was sure I heard a door shut at the
rear of the house. Last night was very still and
quiet, you know.”
“I knoW.”
“I don't know why I should have paid any
particular attention to that, sir; but something
— something inside of me — prompted me to step
around to the south end of the house. And as I
did so I saw a light in my pantry. That was
very strange, sir; a light in the butler's pantry
near midnight – very unusual.
“I started to walk back that way, something
prompting me to keep within the shadows of the
house. And then, sir, while I was walking there
— very slowly — the light went out suddenly.
Things seemed doubly dark because of the light
which had been there but a few moments before.
I stood quietly for a minute, wracking my brain
for an explanation, when — when, sir —”
He bent forward tensely, hands clasping and
unclasping nervously. “I know that it sounds


138 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
to what he was trying to impress upon them as
the truth. “The shadows about the grounds
here are very deceptive and while the night was
fairly light — yet it was night, and the man was
running.”
“And you did what?”
“I chased him, sir.”
“Did you see him again?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Not sure? What do you mean?”
“If you gentlemen will step outside I will show
you.” He led them to the southern end of the
veranda and pointed to the extreme rear of the
house. “The two end windows there, gentlemen,
are in the kitchen. Next to that on this side is
the kitchen door. Next to that is the Window
of the butler's pantry and on this side is the door
opening from the pantry to the grounds. The
light I saw was in the window of the pantry.
“After it went out, it seemed as though the
shadow of the house itself came to life and then
I saw that it was a man running across the lawn.
He ran straight back – westerly: you see the
house faces east on Highland Road . . . the
Road itself runs due north and south. Back
there, as you will notice, there are a great many
trees and shrubs and the shadows at night are
extremely dense.


A SEIADOW IN THE GARDEN 139
“I knew, sirs, that something was exceedingly
wrong. I remembered the drawn shade — the
thought recurred to me there — it had struck me
as being so very peculiar. The shade over the
window of Mr. Quincy's den, I mean.”
“I understood,” said Carroll. “You chased
this man Where?”
“To the west side of the grounds — at the back
of the house. I could see nothing of him. I
thought that he had jumped the hedge and so I
went to it and peered up and down the street.
I could see nothing of him. I searched under the
trees and about the bushes — but not a sight of
him could I get. I began to fear that it had been
my overwrought imagination, but as I look back
over it now, I feel more sure than ever that there
was a man. For, Mr. Carroll, there undoubtedly
Was a light in the pantry at that hour — and
there had no right to be!
“I walked slowly back around this side of the
house and as I got to the front walk again, I
thought I saw something move down by the front
gate — the Highland Road gate yonder. My
first idea that Whoever it was had run toward
the back, had simply circled the house and hid-
den in the grounds in front. I watched closely
and did not see any further movement, and I


140 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
wasn't sure just where I had seen that. So I
walked slowly down to the front gate and looked
everywhere for sight of a man. I could see noth-
ing. I stepped into Highland Road. No one
was in sight. Then I went back to the house —
a bit unnerved, if you want the truth, sir - very
much unnerved.”
Carroll lighted a cigar very suddenly. To
him, and to him alone, the butler's story meant
a great deal. For Carroll knew that Dorrington
had seen two men and not one man twice. It
had been Dorrington whom Fanshaw had noticed
in the grounds and Dorrington who had fright-
ened Fanshaw by searching for him. The stories
of Dorrington and Fanshaw tallied perfectly
there,
But Fanshaw said that he had not been in the
rear of the house and Carroll did not believe that
he had been. Besides, if Dorrington's story was
to be believed, some one within the house had
known of the man whom Dorrington had seen
making across the back lawn — and that some
one had snapped off the light in the butler's pan-
try!
Carroll was plainly bewildered. Just when
the case had seemed to be narrowing down and
the evidence all in, an entirely new element had
r


A SEIADOW IN THE GARDEN 141
been introduced which served to set at naught
the work already done and to severely complicate
future investigation.
It was obvious that the man whom Dorring-
ton had first seen was not Fanshaw. Fanshaw
had said that he did not go to the rear of the
house – and even if one presumed that Fan-
shaw's story was not true in its entirety, one had
to admit that there was no plausible reason why
he should have courted detection by any such
crude, meaningless manoeuvre.
Obviously then, a new person had obtruded
himself into the cast of the little tragedy. And
there was only one line along which investigation
of that person could be worked: some one inside
the house knew of that person — or else Dorring-
ton had lied ! For, if Dorrington had told the
truth, that some one in the house had closed
the door which the butler had heard slam as he
reached the house and that some one had turned
off the light in the pantry.
“Who was in the house at midnight last
night?” questioned Carroll a bit shortly.
“Mr. Quincy, myself, Mrs. Burrage and the
maid, Ellen Garrison.”
“Where was Mary O’Brien, the cook?”
“At the house of her married sister for the


142 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
night. She got back at six o'clock this morning.”
“Go ahead with your story, Dorrington. You
left off after you had returned from the front gate
without having seen the man whose shadow you
thought you saw.”
“That's it, sir. There isn't much else to tell.
I entered the house through this door — into the
reception hall. Then I walked through the main
hall —”
“Not through the library?”
“No, sir, through the hallway. I recall it
distinctly.”
“Did you walk quietly?”
“Normally, sir. I didn’t try to be quiet —
any more than I would usually do. I rapped on
the door of Mr. Quincy’s study. I received no
answer. I rapped again, more loudly. Still no
answer, sir. Then I rapped hard — very loudly
that time, and when I received no answer, I en-
tered.”
“The door, then, was not locked?”
“No indeed, sir. I entered the room, and
there, sprawled out in his big chair – his own
chair, sir, where he sat every night — was — was
the master, sir – with the knife — sticking in
him. . . . There was the man with whom I had
hoped to make peace, sir” Dorrington choked,
then went on bravely. “But you are not inter-


A SEIADOW IN THE GARDEN 143
ested in my personal emotions just then, sir. I
saw the silver handle of the knife — and then
I knew that he was dead. . . .
“I rushed into the hall, sir, and just as I got
there Mrs. Burrage came down the front steps
in her kimono and asked me what was the matter,
Sir – and I told her. . . . ” He paused.
“And that's all, sir; except that I called the
police and was very careful, sir, not to go back
into the room until they came.”
“You’ve helped us a great deal, Dorrington.
And now — a few questions: did you recognize
the knife with which Mr. Quincy was killed?”
“Yes, sir – it was a dagger he has had for
years. He used it as a paper-cutter.”
“Where did he get it?”
“I don’t know that, sir. But he seemed very
much attached to it. Usually when he was talk-
ing he'd hold it in his fingers and play with it —”
Out of the corner of his eye, Carroll saw Leverage
and Sullivan exchange meaning glances and he
knew that their thoughts had leaped again to the
suicide theory,–“ and being a very particular
man, sir,” went on Dorrington, “about having
things just so, he kept the silver handle very well
polished.”
“Did you notice the safe when you went in the
rOOm?” - *


144 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
“No, sir. Not particularly, that is.”
“It was open.”
“He usually kept it open at night, sir. From
after dinner until he was ready to go to bed.”
“Was he in the habit of keeping important
papers in there?”
“Not for long, sir.”
“What do you mean: Not for long?”
“Only when he'd bring them home from the
office to go over at night.”
“I see. That finishes with you, Dorrington.
You understand, of course, that you are under
surveillance and must not leave the premises.”
“Do you mean that I am under arrest, sir?”
“No. But you'd better stick pretty closely to
your quarters. We will, of course, need you as a
material witness. You may go.”
Dorrington bowed in his quaint, dignified,
stiff-backed manner and withdrew. The three
detectives stared at one another and Eric Lever-
age drew a deep breath. “If that don't beat the
everlasting Dutch !”
“What?” questioned Carroll.
“The guy that Dorrington chased.”
“You believe that part of his story?”
Leverage flashed his superior a quick glance:
“Don’t you?”
“I asked for your opinion, Eric.”


A SHADOW IN THE GARDEN 145
“Well, I do — about the man in the grounds
anyway.” -
“And your opinion of Dorrington? Did he
kill Quincy?”
“I'd gamble not. But I’d arrest him just the
same.”
Carroll threw back his head and laughed ring-
ingly. “Spoken like the true professional
sleuth, Eric. I'm proud of you. And you,
Jim?” turning to Sullivan.
That young man shook his head. “I can’t
make head or tail of it yet, Chief. I'm inclined
to believe with Leverage that Dorrington is in-
nocent and his story strictly true.”
“Don’t you?” questioned Leverage of Carroll.
“I'd rather not say, boys. But I'll say this
much — he certainly makes it ring true.”
“You do believe his story: I can see it in your
eyes.”
“I believe everything — and nothing. There
are certain facts about this case which are almost
too plain and others which lack a very great deal
of being plain enough.”
“The mysterious stranger — of course?”
“Yes — and more. Who, in this house last
night, knew of the presence of that stranger?”
“Not Mrs. Burrage,” volunteered Sullivan
promptly. “I’m wagering that.”


146 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
“Then it narrows down to Ellen Garrison -
the maid,” proffered Leverage promptly, but
Carroll shook his head.
“Not exactly, Eric.”
“She was the only other one —”
“There was another man in the house.”
44 Who? 7%
“Joshua Quincy!”
“The dead man. . . . I say —”
“He may not have been dead then. If Dor-
rington killed Joshua Quincy then Quincy was
alive at that time and could have turned off that
pantry light.”
“But would a visitor to him go out the back
way and then run?”
“Not likely. But why not suppose that
Quincy heard a noise in the rear of the house,
went back to the butler's pantry and turned on
the light. The intruder sees the light and
vamps. Quincy returns to his study and is
seated in his chair when Dorrington comes in
... and after that . . .”
“Phew . . .” whistled Leverage. “You're a
cold-blooded fish.”
“Not exactly. I don't believe that theory my-
self: but I advanced it to show you that one must
not make the mistake of letting hastily drawn
conclusions become too firmly entrenched.


148 THE CRIMSON ALIBI r
say she don't know anything about the case and
then tell you who the man was and what he was
doing here.”
“Let us hope so,” said Carroll, “it would sim-
plify matters tremendously.”
“Hmph! If I was asked for suggestions I’d
say stop right where we are. The deeper we get
into this case the more we learn about how much
more we have to learn.”
They went to the foot of the steps and called
Mrs. Burrage. In answer to their summons the
immaculate little old lady appeared at the head
of the stairway and descended in a flutter of laces
and exclamations. Carroll addressed her —
“Just one more question, Mrs. Burrage. . . .”
“Really, Mr. Carroll: I don’t know a thing
about this case. . . .”
From the rear came Leverage's voice: hoarsely
amused —“What'd I tell you, Jim? Hear her?”
“I know that, Mrs. Burrage,” pursued Car-
roll gently: “But I want you to think care-
fully before you answer this question. It may
be of very vital importance.” -
The old lady's eyes danced with excitement.
“Of course I'll answer carefully, Mr. Carroll —
but I don’t know a thing about what happened
here last night. . . .”
“It's this, Mrs. Burrage. Have you any idea


A SHADOW IN THE GARDEN 149
that at any time between ten and twelve o'clock
last night there may have been some one in this
house except Mr. Quincy, Andrew, yourself and
Dorrington?”
The old lady grew still very suddenly. Her
eyes widened and her face paled. Behind Car-
roll's back Leverage triumphantly nudged Sulli-
van. Carroll leaned forward eagerly —“Was
there any one else in this house?”
The housekeeper's eyes were anguished. She
wrung her hands. “I do wish you hadn’t asked
me that, Mr. Carroll. I do so wish that you
hadn't asked me that question!”
Carroll lowered his voice soothingly: “You
must tell me what you know, Mrs. Burrage. I
assure you that it is vitally important.”
“I know . . .” she dabbed at her eyes with a
lavender-bordered handkerchief.
“Who was he, Mrs. Burrage?”
“I — I – don’t know; really I don’t,” she an-
swered hysterically. “But – but if you must
Know — there was a man in Ellen Garrison's
room all evening!”


CHAPTER XIII
A STRANGER IN THE HOUSE
44 OU are sure?” The words cracked from
Carroll's lips, and the little old lady's eyes
grew suddenly wild and startled.
“Why, no, sir – not sure — but I'm positive.”
“What makes you think that there was a man
in the maid's room?”
“I — I – Smelled him '''
Leverage choked back a chuckle. But Car-
roll's eyes did not waver from the rather piteous
face of the housekeeper. He realized that he had
reached a crucial point in his investigation and
he intended that no detail should escape him.
“Just what do you mean by that?”
“Just what I said, sir – perhaps I’d better
start at the beginning, although, of course, I don’t
really know anything about the –”
“I understand that. Tell me everything,
please.”
“You know about the quarrel at dinner — and
my leaving the table?”
“Yes. Now — after you left the dining
room?”
“I went up the front stairs and toward my
150


A STRANGER IN THE HOUSE 151
room. I was very much worried because the gen-
tlemen were quarrelling bitterly. I listened for
a few moments and then I walked down the
hall. . . .
“There are two hallways at the head of the
front steps: one running the width of the house
and the other one straight back into the wing.
My rooms are on that hall, in what we call the
‘old house.” The servants' quarters are in the
wing and just beyond mine in the hall. On the
opposite side of the hall — I hope I am making
this very clear —”
“You are, Mrs. Burrage; go ahead, please.”
“– Is the door leading to Ellen's room. When
I reached my own room I stood outside my door
listening to the quarrel downstairs and wonder-
ing whether I hada’t sort of forsaken my duty by
coming upstairs and leaving them alone, when I
noticed that something was wrong.”
“Something?”
“In the air. At first I couldn’t place it, and
then I realized that I smelled cigar smoke. I
knew that neither Mr. Quincy nor Mr. Andrew
had been smoking a cigar — especially as Mr.
Andrew smokes nothing but cigarettes. Dor-
rington doesn’t smoke at all, and besides I had
left Dorrington downstairs, and the whole hall-
way, sir, smelled of cigar smoke.”


152 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
“You are sure it was cigar smoke, Mrs. Bur-
rage?” * -
“Yes, sir. Sort of heavy and pleasant-smell-
ing. I walked down the hall and was sure that
it was coming from Ellen's room. Of course,
Mr. Carroll, I might be mistaken about there
being a man in there. Maybe she was smoking
the cigar —”
Carroll smiled in spite of himself: “Not very
likely, I should say.”
“That's what I thought, sir. If it had been a
cigarette now — I wouldn’t have paid so much
attention to it, because Ellen is a young girl and
the young girls of today have such queer ideas,
sir – not at all as when I was growing up,
and —”
“About the cigar smell, Mrs. Burrage.” Car-
roll refused to allow deviation from the main
thread of the story.
“Oh! yes – I was talking about that —
wasn't I? Well, as I said, I thought I located
the odour coming from Ellen's room. I didn’t
have any idea about a man then, sir, because
Ellen has been with us for more than two years
and has been a girl of exemplary character. But
anyway, I thought I’d speak to her.
“I knocked on the door — and then, sir, I hope
I'm not doing Ellen an injustice when I tell you


A STRANGER IN THE HOUSE 153
that I am sure I heard a man's Voice in the room
and heavy footsteps. I knocked again and Ellen
came to the door. I asked her —”
“Just a second, Mrs. Burrage — what was her
appearance when she opened the door?”
“She seemed sort of — frightened, sir.”
“Did she open it promptly, or did she call to
ask Who it was?”
The old lady looked at him in amazement.
“How did you know that, sir? She called first
to ask who it was, and I told her it was I.”
“Did she open the door wide?”
“No, sir. Just barely cracked it.”
“And she looked frightened, you say? Go
ahead, please.”
“She stood right in the doorway, but the min-
ute she opened the door — even that little bit —
I knew I had been right. There was cigar smoke
in that room: a very pronounced odour, sir. And
I knew that she had not been the one smoking —
you see, I was very close to her, and could have
told if it had been she.
“‘What is it, Mrs. Burrage?’ she asked.
“‘Ellen, I said, “there is a man in your
room ' ' -
“She gazed at me in alarm: “No, ma’am —
no indeed, Mrs. Burrage — there is not.’
“‘I heard him, I insisted stubbornly.


A STRANGER IN THE HOUSE 157
“Please call Ellen from her room and set her
to doing something on this floor. See to it that
she goes down the back way.”
“Why?”
“I would like to examine her room. I must
examine her room and I prefer that she doesn't
know I'm doing it. Will you do as I ask?”
“Very well, sir,” agreed the old lady meekly
and departed on her errand. Alone — the three
men gazed at one another.
“No,” commented Eric Leverage dryly, “she
doesn’t know a bloomin’ thing about this case,
she doesn’t. Not a thing!”
Carroll smiled. “Did you ever see one person
SO chockful of Vital information?”
“Never. And she doesn’t realize it. What's
your idea, Chief? There was a man there, of
course.”
“Of course. I have Small doubt of that.
Have to prove it, of course; but the stories tally
too nicely.”
“Your idea being that it was this Ellen dame
who let her feller out through the butler's pantry
and then snapped off the lights — as per Dor-
rington’s yarn?”
“That's my theory – yes.”
“And it makes Dorrington stand ace-high for


158 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
the moment. The dignified old geezer undoubt-
edly told part of the truth anyway.”
“That's so. . . .” A door slammed upstairs
and Carroll nodded to his assistants. “I reckon
the coast is clear. Let's go up and see. Pussy-
foot it.”
They went single-file to the head of the stairs
and Carroll made a quick survey of the house
plan. It was exactly as Mrs. Burrage had de-
scribed. They stood quietly in the hall until the
grey head of the little lady appeared at the back
stairway. She motioned them to silence and un-
locked for them the door of the maid's room.
It was a well-furnished, scrupulously neat lit-
tle room. Furnished in white throughout, the
girl had kept it immaculate — even the cretonne
curtains over the windows appeared as though
they had just come from the laundry.
There were two windows, on the outside of
One of which was a Window-box filled with radi-
ant pansies – urgent with colour. A dresser,
chiffonier and washstand were backed up against
the walls — splendidly white. The single bed
was in plain white enamel. And the two rockers
and two straight chairs were also in white. In
a corner was a carpet-covered footstool. And
to the right of the bed was a big fireplace, deco-


A STRANGER IN THE HOUSE 159
rated with three gas-logs which had lain there
unused since the last cold touch of winter had
departed.
Carroll inspected the room closely, going care.
fully over every article of furniture, conscious
principally of a keen regret that the maid had
been given time to straighten her room so thor-
oughly. He motioned to Sullivan and Leverage
and they, too, inspected every crack and corner
of the room. There was apparently nothing to
be found — no trace of the girl's visitor of the
previous night.
Carroll inspected every stick of furniture in
the room, even to the carpet-covered footstool.
He got down on his knees and peered under bed,
dresser and chiffonier, and then poked through
the brick fireplace. Finally he rose and crossed
to Mrs. Burrage.
“Would you mind stepping into the hallway a
minute?” he requested. Leverage and Sullivan
glanced at him curiously. They had found
nothing, yet, their chief's manner portended. . . .
Mrs. Burrage nodded and obeyed promptly.
Once she had gone Carroll faced his men.
“She was right,” he commented briefly,
“there was a man here last night.” He spoke
quietly, confidently.


160 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
“How do you know?” asked Sullivan.
“Here.” Carroll lifted the carpet-covered
footstool — without a word he pointed to its sur-
face. And there — plain to their eyes, were two –
dirt marks, each about an inch long, placed end
On end. Leverage shook his head.
“You’ve got me, Chief: What's the answer?”
“Look again, Eric. Wouldn’t you say that
those marks were made by the heels of a man's
shoe? Can't you see the man sitting back in his
chair, feet resting — stretched out before him —
on the footstool which an adoring woman had
placed there for him?
“No Woman’s shoe would have made those
marks, and it is reasonable to suppose that they
were made by last night's visitor. Of course
Ellen never noticed them. Just placed the stool
back in its proper place in the corner. What
do you fellows think?”
“I think you're correct,” said Sullivan.
“And you, Leverage?”
“I think so, too, Chief. But that by itself —”
“True, that isn't enough — although consid-
ered with what Mrs. Burrage told us, it might
be. Still, there is something else.”
He crossed the room to the fireplace and
dropped on his knees before it. When he rose he
held in his hand the stump of a cigar!
**


A STRANGER IN THE HOUSE 161
“Here's the cigar, the smoke of which Mrs.
Burrage smelled. It was not tossed in there
idly. If you will notice it was extinguished by
rubbing against some hard surface – see how
evenly it has been rubbed. And there,” pointing
to a black smudge on the firebrick, “is the spot
where it was done: probably just as Mrs. Bur-
rage knocked. That was the noise she heard in-
side. And naturally, in the excitement of pos-
sible discovery, the girl and the man forgot all
about it.”
“Great!” enthused Leverage.
“And so all we have to do now,” finished Car.
roll dryly, “is to find the man!”
“Yep,” seconded Leverage, “I reckon that's
all !”


CHAPTER XIV
THE TRAIL GROWS WARM
A'. was fading into evening.
Through the windows of the maid's room
with their cretonne curtains swaying gently in
the soft southern breeze, the three detectives
could see the sun settling slowly in a red ball of
colour toward the serried skyline of trees. A
couple of blocks away was the car line and they
heard the clang of a trolley's gong and then the
impatient whir of a motor which sped by the big
house at a rate far above that made and provided
by city ordinance.
About the house of tragedy all was quiet, giv-
ing no hint, in its exterior, that within its con-
fines had been committed a crime which had
shaken the city to its foundations. For the
death of a city's financially leading citizen means
much, and the manner of his taking-off provided
a choice morsel for gossip and speculation.
Carroll strolled to a window and gazed
thoughtfully down upon the smooth, velvety
lawn. The world a stage — and for a few brief,
tragic moments the previous night, the spotlight
162


THE TRAIL GROWS WARM 163
of the Infinite had been focussed upon this pre-
tentious house on the exclusive Highland Road.
In those few moments a hated man had been
murdered and the city of his nativity was se-
cretly glad. A misspent life, ill compensated by
the wealth accumulated; a life filled with crea-
ture comforts and devoid of friends; crammed
with the subservience of others and barren of a
single spark of affection.
But Joshua Quincy had been the city's most
prominent man and some one had killed Joshua
Quincy. Some one must suffer: first because
there had been a crime against the peace and dig-
nity of the Commonwealth and secondly because
what the newspapers were pleased to dub a
“stir" had been created.
Carroll knew that Roger Fanshaw had not ex-
aggerated materially when he made the state-
ment that there were many in Berkeley City who
would willingly have done the deed of the pre-
vious night had there been any assurance that
they would not be later called upon to pay the
penalty. He, himself, confessed that he had gone
there for that purpose. And, he said, some one
had been there first to do the work which he had
Set Out to do.
So much for Fanshaw. There Was Andrew
Quincy to be considered: Andrew Quincy against


164 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
whom the hand of circumstantial evidence was
inexorably directed: Andrew who had motive, op-
portunity and the desperate courage of alcohol.
And Dorrington — involved also by circum-
stance and worthy of consideration.
Last of all this stranger of whom they had just
learned: a man who had spent the evening in
the house, whose presence had been denied, a man
in whose hands there had been every opportunity
provided Carroll found himself able to supply a
motive for the crime. On the face of it, the af-
fair between the maid and this stranger savoured
unpleasantly of a sordid intrigue – yet Mrs.
Burrage had been insistent upon the fact that
Ellen had been of exemplary character. And
When a woman has known another woman for
two years and rallies valiantly in defence of her
character in the face of such damning circum-
stances — Carroll realized that conclusions could
not be too swiftly jumped at.
He lifted his eyes and saw far in the distance
the tall buildings which marked the civic centre
of the flourishing, progressive municipality.
Down there, somewhere, might be found the dozen
or so men who Fanshaw declared would have
been willing to kill Joshua Quincy had they been
insured against detection. Carroll was seized


TEIE TRAIL GROWS WARM 165
with the idea that perhaps there might be an
actor in the grim drama who had not yet ap-
peared in the cast of characters; some one of
whom he knew nothing — some one to appear
later and change the entire trend of inductive
reasoning — just as this man of whom Mrs. Bur-
rage told, had altered conditions.
He stepped into the hall and asked Mrs. Bur-
rage to call Ellen — with the further request that
Mrs. Burrage leave the girl alone in the room
with them. Five minutes later the door opened
and the girl stood in the doorway: stood motion-
less for a few moments, the muscles of her slender
figure growing taut and her dark eyes widening
with a sudden light of fear. She automatically
started to leave the room but a gesture from Car-
roll — a gesture and a quiet-voiced word-
stopped her.
“Just a minute Ellen. Come in, please, and
close the door.”
The light of fear in the girl's eyes subsided
somewhat — although it did not disappear.
Carroll smiled disingenuously, and there was
something in that smile of Carroll’s which was
intensely personal and comforting. Uncer-
tainly the girl obeyed his command. -
David Carroll eyed her quietly. She was of


166 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
medium height and far more than medium pret-
tiness. She wore a severe black dress with a
maid's apron and cap which enhanced her
piquant beauty. Her complexion was light
enough to have been called pure blond, her hair
and eyes and long lashes raven black. In her
cheeks was a natural colour that the most expert
user of cosmetics could not have duplicated. She
still held a dust-cloth in one slender, ringless
hand – and the corners of her mouth twitched
apprehensively.
Carroll knew that she must be handled tact-
fully. He personally regretted the fact that he
must question her about a fact which, in the na-
ture of things, could do no less than embarrass
her; however free of connection with the crime
of the previous night it might be. He was sorry
for the girl.
“I want to ask you a few questions, Ellen,” he
said quietly. “I am Detective Carroll and I am
in charge of this case.”
Large, frightened eyes flew to his face and
held there appealingly. She gulped —“Yes,
sir. . . .”
“Where were you and what were you doing
at between eleven and twelve o'clock last night?”
The girl proved herself a poor liar. The
colour ebbed from her cheeks and she clutched


THE TRAIL GROWS WARM 167
the dresser for support. But she tried bravely
to impress them with the truth of her weak false-
hood –
“I — I — was in bed, sir. Asleep.”
“What time did you go to bed?”
“About half past nine, sir.”
She turned suddenly to face Eric Leverage who
was staring at her intently. All signs of levity
had dropped from the face of the professional
detective: nor did his eyes waver as hers dropped
before him. The girl backed away with an un-
conscious gesture of fear. Carroll missed no de-
tail of the byplay and wondered at it.
“And after half past nine, Ellen; you remained
in bed ?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You didn't get up at all?”
“N-n-no, sir.”
“Think carefully, my girl. Are you quite sure
that you didn't get up at about eleven-thirty?”
“No, sir – I didn't — I stayed in bed all
night.” *
“And are you sure that you didn’t go down-
stairs to the butler's pantry at about that
time?”
“No, I —” Again Leverage's intent gaze com-
pelled her and she choked back a sob. She
turned to Carroll: “Why does he look at me


170 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
“There — there was no man — with me.”
“There was! Tell the truth now, my girl. It
will be better for you in the end. We know that
there was a man with you. Mrs. Burrage knew
it — and to add proof to that we have discovered
that he left the print of his heels on that foot-
stool yonder – where you had fixed it under his
feet. We found the butt of his cigar in the fire-
place where he had thrown it after Mrs. Bur-
rage had knocked on your door and he had hidden
— somewhere. On my word: it will be better
for you to tell us the whole truth.”
The girl found her voice. The hesitancy
dropped from her manner. “You expect me to
admit that there was a man in this room with me
all evening?”
Surprised at her metamorphosis, Carroll
nOdded: “Yes.”
“I Will not admit it.”
“Even after we know it to be a fact?”
“You will never know it,” she flashed keenly,
“unless I admit it, and I will never admit
it.”
“A-ah! Do you realize that you will be ar.
rested?”
“That doesn't worry me,” she said, with
piteous pride. “I have said that there was no
man in this room.”


THE TRAIL GROWS WARM 17'1
“Then why did you go downstairs at that time
of night?”
“To fetch something from the pantry.”
“What?”
“Something to eat.”
“And you did not see the man who was in the
pantry with you at that time?”
“There was no man in the pantry with me —
then or at any other time.”
“You are foolish, Ellen. Very, very foolish.
You —”
Carroll paused. Once again he caught the
staring eyes of Eric Leverage fixed on the drawn
face of the girl; he saw her meet the look and
fidget. Leverage's attitude was that of the man
who is trying to fix a fact or circumstance in his
mind — who is groping around a point. . . .
“I have said all I am going to say,” the girl
said firmly. “And I guess,” wearily, “if you’re
going to arrest me you’d better do it.”
“I’m sorry,” rejoined Carroll. “Very sorry
that you have seen fit to lie to us.”
Suddenly Eric Leverage stepped forward.
The groping look had gone from his face and in
its stead had come an expression of triumph.
He was smiling: smiling with easy assurance.
“I’d like to ask the girl a question, Chief.”
Carroll hesitated — but only for an instant.


CHAPTER XV
A CONFESSION
ARROLL dropped to his knees beside the
body of the girl. He raised his eyes to
Leverage: “Call Mrs. Burrage!” he snapped.
Ellen's colour had gone. She lay limp in a
pitiful little huddle on the floor. Carroll lifted
her and placed her gently on the bed, then turned
to face Mrs. Burrage. The little housekeeper
was wringing her hands and tears were in her
eyes.
“What have you done?” she cried accusingly.
“What have you done to Ellen?”
“She's all right, Mrs. Burrage: just a faint.
We'll get out of the room while you bring her
around. Better loosen her clothes, I fancy.
Meanwhile, where shall I find some whiskey?”
“In the decanter on the buffet, sir.”
The three men left the room and in a couple of
minutes Carroll had returned with a small glass
filled with the fiery liquor. Mrs. Burrage ad-
mitted him to the room. Ellen still lay on the
173


174 TEHE CRIMSON ALIBI
bed, motionless as when he had left her, but her
clothes had been loosened and her breathing was
deeper and more regular. He pillowed her head
in the crook of his elbow and forced a few swal-
lows of the whiskey between her teeth. She
gasped and sighed. Carroll rose and started for
the door, turning to give a few orders to Mrs.
Burrage –
“Try to keep her quiet. We will remain in the
hall until she has recovered. Then we'll have to
question her further.”
“Not now, sir: the poor girl is —”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Burrage. Ellen is in posses-
sion of information we must have. Call us when
she has recovered. Meanwhile I'll get out before
she comes to.” \
He found Jim Sullivan and Eric Leverage
standing by the window at the end of the hall,
and he fired a question at the chief of the city's
plainclothes force.
“You put one over on me that time, Eric:
what's the answer? Who is Larry Conover?”
It was Leverage's moment. He knew that he
had succeeded where the great David Carroll had
failed, and he was too human to resist his tri-
umph.
“That's the One branch of detective work where
we flat-heads put it over you private investigators,


A CONFESSION 175
Chief. We may not know as much about deduc-
tive thories but we’re there when it comes to
knowing the personal histories of crooks.”
“You mean the girl —?”
“Nix! And likewise — nay, nay! Larry Con-
OVer ”
“Who is he?”
“Did you happen to read a dispatch from the
capital either yesterday or today to the effect
that a certain guy had escaped from the pen?
A chap sent up from here about four years ago
for burglary?”
Carroll nodded. He recalled the item in the
paper of that morning —“Yes. You mean the
chap who robbed the safe at Fairchild & Com-
pany’s store?”
“The same. That guy was named Larry Con-
over. I know a good deal about that bird, seeing
that I worked this end of the case that sent him
up.”
“I get that, Eric — but what caused you to
connect Conover with this girl? What did your
question mean?”
Leverage was innately an actor with a fine ap-
preciation for theatrics. He lowered his Voice
and placed big hands on his hips. “Unless I'm
all wrong, Chief – the man who was in Ellen's
room last night was this same Larry Conover!”


178 TEIE CRIMSON ALIBI
“Go ahead with your yarn, Eric,” chuckled
Carroll. “You’re teaching me a few things
about detective work I never dreamed of.”
“Of course,” disclaimed Leverage modestly,
“I was wise to a lot of advance dope that you
didn't know anything about.”
“That being the case, - suppose you begin at
the beginning and work up to date.” -
“I’m on. In the first place, this old duck —
Joshua Quincy — was principal owner in Fair-
child & Company. Larry Conover worked in
their packing and shipping department. Husky
fellow, straight, good recommendations. I think
it was through Quincy's connection with Fair-
child & Company that Larry ever happened to
meet Ellen who was a friend of the maid they
had here before. And also that's how Ellen got
this job. But if there was any connection in her
taking this job after her feller had been rail-
roaded through, I don't know it. Unless, maybe,
she had a hunch that she might get wise to some
dope that would clear Larry.
“The crime they got him for was simple as
boarding house soup on Saturday night. Old
man Fairchild had received a big amount of
money after banking hours — about fourteen
hundred dollars in cash. Conover was in the of-
fice when he put it in the safe. It was one of


A CONFESSION 179
these children's safes so far as being hard to open
Was concerned.
“That night Larry was seen working in the
store: lights on and all that sort of thing. The
uniformed bull on the beat saw him in the office.
Next morning the money was gone — flooie! just
like that. -
“They investigated almost everybody in the
place. There wasn’t any sign of breaking and
entering and it didn’t look like a professional
job. When they got to Larry they asked him if
he knew the combination of the safe and the nut
admitted that he did. Said he'd opened it for
the cashier many a time. That was one trouble
with Larry Conover — he told too much truth.
“They sent me on the case — me and Red Mc-
Guire. We found out that the day after the rob-
bery he had deposited $700 in the Berkeley City
National. We Searched his room and found a
little over $400 in cash in his trunk. We went
to him and stuck him through the third degree.
“He told a straight story — which was where
we met Ellen Garrison. Said that he'd got
caught in the bust-up of the Citizens Trust &
Savings Company two years before and had been
leary of banks ever since — that he'd kept all his
savings in the little sock at home. That he was
engaged to Ellen Garrison and that the day be-


180 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
fore she had begged him to put his money in the
bank and he'd done it — all but four hundred
cartwheels. Couldn't get entirely away from the
old fear of being wiped out, see? Ellen corrobor-
ated his yarn.
“We found out what he was getting and it was
plausible enough that he could have saved that
amount over again, including what the receivers
of the Citizens Trust had paid back to their de-
positors. We made our report jointly to Old
Man Fairchild and Joshua Quincy. Fairchild
agreed with us — we didn’t believe that Conover
was guilty and neither did he. But Quincy –
the damned old crab was raw as a new-born boil.
“He had the idea in his mind that Larry Con-
over was guilty. Or if it wasn't that he was de-
termined that some one was going to sing for that
little theft and Larry looked like the best vocal
bet. He hired special counsel to assist the prose-
cuting attorney and poor Larry didn't have a
whistling chance. Everything that he could have
admitted to incriminate himself, he admitted.
McGuire and I testified and tried to make the
jury see that we thought he was innocent, but it
was no go. . No one else was even suspected -
and up went Conover to the pen for ten years.
“Three days ago, Larry vamps. Don’t know
just how he worked it, but we got notice from up


182 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
“Anyway, he gets to Berkeley City and gets in
touch with his queen. He knows the cops are
on the lookout for him and he's got to lay mighty
low. And what's a better place, for awhile any-
way, than right in her room here? If he didn’t
have that crook reasoning in his mind before he
went up, he got it soon after he went there be-
cause association with them birds in the pen
teaches a man a heap he hadn’t ought to know.
“He sidestreets to Belleview yesterday after-
noon early and gets into Ellen's room. They’re
mighty happy to see each other. And of course
they talks things over. It'd never do for Larry
to be hiding from the bulls for the rest of his life
and being young things and right inclined to look
on the rosy side — and both knowing that Larry's
innocent and on the level, they get the idea that
maybe they might kid the Old Man into calling
it quits and seeing that Larry gets let off.
“So they wait until late at night when all the
fireworks — which Ellen doesn’t hear and doesn’t
understand — have played out. Then, after An-
drew beats it downtown for the windup of his
booze-fest, Larry, not knowing that Quincy is in
a helluva humour, goes down to his den and
walks in on him with a proposition to help him
stay free so’s he can marry Ellen and be happy
ever after.


A CONFESSION 183
“He catches the old bird at the wrong time —
as we know. Not that there ever was a right time
to get old Josh to do the decent thing, and the
old geezer rares and rips and says he's gonna send
Larry back for a few additional years.
“Now take it from me, Chief – life in the pen
ain't any five o'clock teaparty for the feller that's
got it comin’ to him. But take the guy whose
hands are clean and it's hell proper. And that
going back idea getting to Larry just when he'd
left Ellen and they'd kidded themselves into be-
lieving that they were in for a rosepath through
life, sort of knocked him into a heap.
“I reckon he started begging with old Josh
and it gave the old guy something new to let loose
on. Maybe he got nasty — I’m betting a good
American dollar against a royal Russian coin
that he did. And its eleventeen to nothing that
he reached for that table phone to call the police.
“Which was Mister Larry Conover's cue for
quick and sudden action. We'll say he tried to
hold the old man gentle like — remember that
Mrs. Burrage says she heard a sort of a call.
Good! That was it. Larry gets panicky. His
eye lights on that silver-handled knife. His
fingers close around it before he knows just what
he's doing. Josh Quincy rises up and makes a
bid for the phone.


184 TEIE CRIMSON ALIBI
“Flff! It's all over in a jiffy and the old man
fall back, thoroughly and entirely defunct —
, which is just as it should be. Larry beats it back
through the hall door and makes it to Ellen's
room where he tells her he's croaked the old frog.
She gets up in the air and pilots him down the
back stairs, turns on the light in the butler's pan-
try, lets him out, snaps the light off again and
goes upstairs for another good weep.
“Which is just about where Dorrington came
back, chased him and didn't catch him. And
now the poor gink who never stole the measley
fourteen hundred dollars in the first place is
scheduled to swing higher'n Haman for murder!”
Leverage paused and gazed hopefully at his
chief. “How's that dope strike you?”
“Very sound,” answered Carroll thoughtfully.
“Very sound indeed.”
“That's me,” rejoined Eric. “And I’m here
to say that I'm damned sorry that I believe it.
But it clears up a heap of things in my mind.
First place I never could quite believe that Dor-
rington did it — could you?”
“He impressed me as innocent.”
“And it struck me that Andrew told too good
a story to have been guilty.”
“I wasn’t sure about Andrew. I rather had


A CONFESSION 185
an idea that he might have done it – drunk, you
know.”
“Yeh — but drunk or no drunk — a thing like
that sobers a man up a heap. Of course, what he
did afterwards — but I'll tell you about that
later.”
“I'm afraid Conover is our man. One thing
is certain — we've got to catch him.”
“That's it,” groaned Leverage. “And I'm
here to say that I hope I ain’t the one that does
it. Nothing would suit me better than to see
that bird make his getaway. Not that I’m doubt-
ing he did it — we know enough to convict him,
and what we don’t know his girl’s actions a while
ago told us. But if ever a man had just cause —
provided I’m right in thinking he was innocent
of the robbery in the first place. . . .”
Mrs. Burrage appeared outside the maid's door
and beckoned to them. “She's all right now,”
she told Carroll, “but she says she hasn’t any-
thing to say.”
The three detectives filed into the room and
gazed compassionately on the drawn, wan face
of the girl on the bed. Her eyes were wide with
mute, terrified suffering. Carroll spoke to her,
all the former acridity gone from his manner —
“I’m sorry we frightened you, Ellen; but we


186 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
had to. You were not telling the truth and we
knew it.”
“I — I — haven’t seen Larry in a year,” she
gasped. “Not since I visited the penitentiary
last year.”
“I’d like to believe you, my girl. I would
– really. But you see, we know that he was here
last night.”
“He was not,” she defended. “And even if
he was, he had nothing to do with — with — what
you think he had.”
“You are Sure?”
“Yes, I am sure! I know he didn't.”
“How do you know?”
The girl raised herself on an elbow. Her voice
rose high and shrill through the room —
“Because I killed Joshua Quincy!”


190 TEIE CRIMSON ALIBI
Jim Sullivan smiled a thin-lipped smile:
“Small chance, Chief. I’ve more than a little
bit of a hunch that Larry's our man.”
“I’m with you on that,” echoed Leverage.
“How about you, Chief?”
“I'm inclined that way. But the job is — to
land him.”
“And thank goodness,” said Leverage, “it isn’t
my job!” -
“Meanwhile –” Carroll rose —“you trot into
the other room, Eric, and let Rafferty and the
bunch know that Jim Sullivan is in charge here
and that the orders regarding keeping people out
of that room go as they have been. They're
to remain on the job — they can work three
shifts if they like, but I don't want to send a
new detail out. And what about the Coro-
Iner?”
“His inquest, you mean?”
44 Yes.”
“I knew you wouldn't want him poking around
mussing up your evidence so I asked him when
was the latest time he could have it. He agreed
on tomorrow at noon. Couldn't allow any more
time than that, he said. Think you can wind the
case up by then?”
Carroll shook his head. “I don't know. It
depends largely upon whether we catch Larry


TEIE PERFECT ALIBI 191
Conover. Even if he didn't do it we’ve got to
find out what he knows about it.”
“If he didn't do it? Holy gosh! Chief, how
much evidence do you want?”
“Something more than circumstantial,” said
Carroll briefly. “Run along now, Eric.”
In five minutes Leverage was back to report
that he had attended to his commissions. Car-
roll bade Sullivan good-bye and took Leverage
with him in his car. They swung down High-
land Road at a fair speed.
Day had limned gradually into night. The
big arc lamps at the corners sputtered fitfully, the
older children romped on the deep front lawns.
Shirt-sleeved business men, relaxing after the
day’s labours downtown, sprinkled their grass-
plots with long hose. Lights glowed softly
within doors. Again Carroll was almost op-
pressed with a sense of the peacefulness of it all
– such a contrast with the atmosphere of sordid-
ness in which he had been working all day.
They came closer and closer to the heart of
the city where the White Way glowed from great
bulbs on the iron posts which lined both sides of
the principal streets. And at length he parked
his car before Carmody's Chop House.
The headwaiter radiated intense curiosity as
he bowed them into the private dining room


192 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
which Carroll requested. That dignitary knew
that Carroll and Leverage were working on the
case. In fact, that fact was the one new morsel
extended a morbidly interested public by the
evening dailies. As for the balance of the news
accounts — they were nothing more nor less than
an ad infinitum embellishment of the meagre de-
tails in the morning papers. The rewrite men
had had more time to consult their glossaries of
adjectives and their stories were therefore a bit
more lurid – but as for new facts, there were
next to none.
The city was agog. The very silence of the
police was pregnant with possibilities. And the
fact that David Carroll had been called in and
given charge of the case promised definite results
instead of the not unusual sliding over of a case,
sans capture of the criminal, until it should have
been forgotten by the populace.
Over a planked steak of exquisite brownness
and juicy thickness Carroll fired a request at his
square-jawed vis-à-vis.
“Tell me briefly what you know of Andrew
Quincy's movements after leaving his uncle's
house until he was arrested.”
Leverage answered in his customary pic-
turesqueness of speech. “Went downtown on
the trolley — boozed up. Went into three


194 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
“Not when I got there.”
“Did you happen to think of checking up on
his clothes at the house?”
“Yes — later. It doesn't appear that he took
anything except the soup-and-fish he was wear-
ing.”
“Good. It proves one or two things: either
that he lied about being driven from the house
for good by his uncle – in which event he would
have taken clothes with him; or else about be-
ing sober enough to remember everything that
happened.”
“You think the kid croaked his uncle?”
“It is more than possible. I don't think that
he was sober when he did it, if he did it. But we
mustn't Overlook the fact that he had motive
enough to start with and booze enough to finish
the job.” -
“True – but what about Larry Conover?”
“We'll know more about him when Sullivan
reports. It's a dead certainty that the girl will
try to tip him off tonight. That's the way I
look at it, anyway.”
“Me, too. And you think Jim can’t be
dropped?”
“By that girl? Not much. He's one of the
best trailers I know. He was built for it: does
it by instinct. And now tell me this, Eric — has


THE PERFECT ALIBI 195
anything else about this case struck you as pe-
culiar: that is, have you noticed anything at all
which seems to indicate that any one except Con-
over, Andrew Quincy, Ellen Garrison or Dor-
rington might have been mixed up in it?”
Leverage's eyebrows arched with surprise.
“No! Why?” * -
“Just wanted to know,” was Carroll's Delphic
anSWel".
“Listen, Chief,” Leverage leaned across the
table. “You’ve got a hot lead I'm not wise to.
What is it?”
“What makes you think that?”
“I don’t think it. I know it! I’ve Worked
with you long enough to tell.”
“I'd rather not explain now, Eric. But I'll
ease your mind this much — the trail which I’ve
struck was not struck through any skill of mine.
I’m not that kind of a detective. If you're afraid
that you have overlooked anything, you can rest
easy that you haven’t. What I know about this
case that you don’t know came to me first hand
and hot off the bat by the person most interested.
I just wanted to know if you’d run into any signs
of it — that's all.”
“You’re talking in bunches, Chief,” wailed
Leverage, shaking his head sadly. “You make


196 TEIE CRIMSON ALIBI
me feel as though I'd overlooked a couple of warm
bets.”
“You’ve done nothing of the kind. But any-
thing you run into that you can’t account for —
come to me with it, will you?”
“I will – On the level, Chief, you beat me.”
Carroll smiled in his warm, friendly fashion.
“Get the idea out of your head once and for all,
Leverage, that I’ve sleuthed around and discov-
ered something you've missed. I haven't. I
don't believe any detective in the world could be
a more thorough investigator than you are. I
just happened to get a little tip to start off with
which you’re better off not knowing. Trust me
for the truth of that, old friend. I’ll tell you
more about it later on.”
“You win!” sighed Leverage. “You hold all
the aces.”
Twenty minutes later they finished their meal
and Carroll telephoned Sullivan at the Quincy
home in Belleview, to learn that Ellen was still
in bed. “You can get me during the next hour
at Main 1732,” said Carroll, “and after that I'll
leave my number with the desk sergeant at head-
quarters.”
He joined Eric Leverage at the curb. The
seethe of the business day was ended. A few


THE PERFECT ALIBI 197
late workers hustled for their cars, the early-
evening diners sought the several pretentious
restaurants which Berkeley City boasted. Flick-
ering electric signs decorated the metropolitan
sky. “Where to now?” asked Leverage.
“I’m going to do a little work on my own hook:
personal retainer,” smiled Carroll. “I’d like
you to slip up to headquarters and play pinochle
until ten o'clock. If you haven’t heard from me
by then — turn in and I’ll rout you out about
seven in the morning. But don’t leave head-
quarters unless something very urgent in con-
nection with the Quincy case breaks — and then
not without telephoning me. You got the num-
ber I gave Sullivan, didn’t you?”
* Main 1732?”
64 YeS.”
Leverage was well disciplined. With a pleas-
ant “Good night” he turned on his heel and
strode down the street. Carroll watched him go
with an affectionate smile on his lips. He liked
Leverage — liked his carefree manner which
masked a keen mind and a world of efficiency;
liked the man's honesty and steadiness of pur-
pose. He was a good man to work with — one
who, above all, was pleasant in the face of the
usurpation of authority which, in Carroll's
capacity, was necessary.


200 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
genuously, “if it would be all right for me to wait
in his room.”
Mrs. Burton smiled. “Of course, sir, that will
be all right. If you are a friend to Mr. Fan-
Shaw —”
She led the way through the musty hallway,
past a pair of closed doors which Carroll cor-
rectly guessed to be the dining room, and into a
large, airy, first-floor room at the extreme rear
of the house. Probably it had been a “back-
parlour” in the days when that institution was
in vogue. The detective gazed about with ob-
vious approval.
“Dandy nice room, Fanshaw has.”
Mrs. Burton beamed with pride. “It is a nice
room, sir, if I do say it. And Mr. Fanshaw de-
serves it.”
“He’s been with you a long time, hasn't he?”
“More than three years. And he pays his
board in advance every month.” Her manner
said plainly that she had thus conferred the ulti-
mate of praise.
“By the way,” asked Carroll casually, “how
does he seem to be feeling now? He tells me he
was ill last night.”
“He was that, sir. I had to call the doctor
for him. Violent indigestion — I was afraid for
awhile that he was going to be taken down with


THE PERFECT ALIBI 201
appendicitis. I had a sister-in-law who was
taken that way one night and before morning they
had to take her to the hospital in an ambulance
— us never dreaming that she was really very
sick, and —” And so she rattled on through the
illness of the unfortunate lady, omitting no
clinical detail and winding up triumphantly
with: “and that was why I was so worried over
Mr. Fanshaw. Why, I lay awake until after two
o'clock this morning and I could hear him groan-
ing all that time —”
“Do you mean,” questioned Carroll, who knew
that between 9:30 and 12:30 Fanshaw had been
out of the house, “that all during that time you
could hear him groaning?”
“Yes, sir,” she answered firmly, “I didn't close
my eyes and there wasn't a minute that I couldn't
hear him pitching and tossing about on his bed!”
And though Carroll did not speak his thoughts
he marvelled at Fanshaw's knowledge of board-
ing-house-landlady psychology which had builded,
on nothing, so perfect an alibi.


CEIAPTER XVII
CARROLL CONSULTS A LAWYER
HE well-meaning, if excessively garrulous,
Mrs. Burton eventually departed, leaving
Carroll in sole possession of Fanshaw's room.
And once the door had closed behind her, the de-
tective became active.
He worked swiftly and efficiently. Straight
to the clothes-press he went and every pocket in
every suit hanging there was examined carefully
— without result. Bureau and chiffonier draw-
ers were pulled open, fingered through and closed
again. The trunk was tried, found locked, and
left untouched. Then Carroll inspected the
I’OOn1.
It was not in any particular unlike its thou-
sand of sister rooms in the boarding house Zone
of the city: a high-ceilinged room of vast area
adjoining a bathroom distinctive chiefly for the
dogged antiquity of its plumbing. It was separ-
ated from the room next to it by high, golden-oak
folding doors, tightly locked. That room, Car-
roll correctly hazarded, was Mrs. Burton’s and
next to that, the dining room. At the rear were
202


204 TEIE CRIMSON ALIBI
in the doorway, blinking violently in the glaring
light from the ceiling bulb, the drooping lid of
his left eye quivering anxiously. Then he rec-
ognized his visitor, drew a deep breath and came
forward with hand outstretched.
“I’m glad to see you — really.”
As Carroll shook the man's hand he was con-
scious again of a feeling of repugnance, yet, at
the same time, an instinctive liking. After an
absence from Fanshaw of thirteen work-filled
hours, the effect of the man’s exotic personality
on the detective was the same as it had been on
the occasion of their peculiar first meeting.
Fanshaw settled his bulk into a chair opposite
that occupied by Carroll and rubbed the palms
of his hands expectantly. The drooping eyelid
danced rapidly up and down for a few seconds,
then grew still, shading the eye and giving to
the otherwise genial face a somewhat sinister
cast.
“How goes it, Carroll? Any progress?”
Carroll nodded. “A good deal.”
“You’ve landed your man?” Fanshaw leaned
forward with ill-concealed eagerness. Carroll
puffed slowly on his cigar and, shook his head.
64 NO-O.”
The other's jaw dropped in disappointment.
* Cht! TOO bad . . .”


206 . THE CRIMSON ALIBI
“I know just the bushes you mean. How long
did you hide there?”"
“From about ten o'clock until nearly eleven-
thirty, maybe a few minutes later.”
“And you said, as I remember it, that you no-
ticed Andrew Quincy in the den? That you saw
him cross the den a couple of times. Is that cor-.
rect?”
44 Yes.”
“You entered the house through the library,
didn't you?”
44 Yes.”
“Of course there was no light in the library?”
“No. The light was burning in the den and
in the reception hall.”
“You couldn’t have seen any one in the library
from where you were hiding, could you?”
“No — not in the library. That was dark.
But I could see into the den very plainly. The
light was very bright.” -
“Did Andrew seem to be acting suspiciously?”
“He seemed to be — angry, if that is what you
mean.”
“And When he left the house?”
“He went from the den through the hall —”
“You saw him open the door leading from the
den to the hall?”


208 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
fifteen feet closer to the house than my original
hiding place.”
“Where was the man whom you thought saw
you?”
“He appeared to come from around the south
end of the house.”
“You feel sure he saw you?”
“Positive. He walked straight toward me.
But he evidently imagined that I had made my
getaway and eventually went back into the
house.” -
Carroll nodded with satisfaction. Fanshaw's
story in that particular tallied so perfectly with
Dorrington's that the butler, in the detective's
mind, stood almost cleared of complicity: almost,
but not quite. As a matter of fact, Carroll
knew that Fanshaw's fear of detection was
justified in that Dorrington had really seen
him.
“You were afraid he had recognized you?”
pursued the detective.
“Afraid – yes.”
“But not certain?”
“I did not think that he had, and had I carried
out my original intention of killing Joshua
Quincy, I would have run my chances. But in
the face of the discovery that some one else had
done it — I grew a bit panicky. There was the


CARROLL CONSULTS A LAWYER 209
possibility that whoever it was in the garden had
recognized me . . . and I didn’t exactly hanker
over being hanged for a crime some one else had
been guilty of — however willing I may have been
to do it myself. When I walked away from there
I was conscious of only one thought: I wanted the
real murderer caught and I was terrified over
the fact that I might have left some trace — some
tiny bit of evidence — that would lead to my ar-
rest: and in that event, as a matter of course to
my conviction. Can’t you understand that, Car-
roll ?” *
“Perfectly. Let's see if I’ve got this straight:
You didn’t enter Quincy's study at all — just
stood in the doorway, saw that he was dead, and
then got out?”
“That's all, sir.” Fanshaw smiled wryly.
“And I was considerably more frightened getting
out than I would have been had I really killed
him. Funny twist to a man's mind, isn't it —
that he should be frightened of arrest for a crime
he was willing to commit and didn’t have a
chance to?” -
“Normal psychology,” vouchsafed Carroll.
“A simple—although interesting — condition.”
The detective rose and reached for his hat.
A glance at his watch showed him that it was five
minutes after nine o’clock.


CARROLL CONSULTS A LAWYER 211
shall be looking for you, sir, with a keen inter-
est.”
Carroll then telephoned Delaney, the night
desk sergeant at headquarters, learned that there
had been no call from Jim Sullivan for him —
wondered at it briefly — told Delaney that for
the next hour he could be reached at Edgemere
8197 and after that at his own apartment. Then
he started his car, pressed brazenly on the ac-
celerator and sped swiftly over a winding boule-
vard toward Edgemere.
Thaddeus Standish, portly, fifty, ponderously
polite and acutely conscious of his pre-eminence
in the legal field of Berkeley City, conducted Car-
roll into his library; his deep voice booming
through the huge mansion in which he lived.
He was in strange physical contrast to Carroll:
fully twice his size and oozing cordiality where
the detective's manner — to Standish at least —
was exceedingly reserved.
Over light wine — which Carroll did not touch
— and from behind a cloud of Smoke from a black
cigar of rare fragrance which Standish had forced
upon him, Carroll fired his question —
“What do you know about Mr. Quincy’s con-
nections with Roger Fanshaw?”
“Eh?” The wind went suddenly from Stand-
ish's sails.


CARROLL CONSULTS A LAWYER 213
“Positive. I had it in my hands this very af-
ternoon, sir.”
“You are going to have Fanshaw arrested on
your own hook?”
Standish shook his head. “Certainly not. I
could never convict him. You see, at the time,
Mr. Quincy did not register a formal protest
against the check and, to my knowledge, I am the
only person who knew of the forgery: except
yourself, of course. And Mr. Quincy being dead
— I could not convict Fanshaw. Mr. Quincy's
personal testimony would be needed to prove the
signature illegitimate. And that, sir, is a patent
impossibility.”
“What kind of a man is Fanshaw?”
“A dirty hound, sir: unscrupulous and with-
out conscience.”
“And yet Mr. Joshua Quincy was allied
with him in several deals — even after know-
ing his character?”
“I knew nothing of any such deals, sir — in
an official capacity.”
Carroll’s lips curled back in a sneer. He
placed his cigar on an ash tray and rose: “Two
of a kind!” he said pointedly.
Standish rose heavily to his feet. Then he real-
ized that he could construe Carroll's remark two
ways — as meaning Quincy and Fanshaw or as


214 TEHE CRIMSON ALIBI
meaning Quincy and himself. He elected the
former; but his face was very red and his dignity
exceedingly ruffled — -
“You detectives, sir,” he started angrily, but
Carroll cut him short.
“Good night, Mr. Standish. I’m going home
and going to bed!”


216 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
then turned the spray colder. His skin glowed
pinkly and he shuddered with the delicious feel
of it. Then he walked to his room and turned
in between fresh, clean sheets to a night of un-
troubled slumber, his mind forcibly rid of the
Quincy case for nine glorious hours.
His morning shower found him ready for a new
day of investigation: keen eyed, alert, his mind
nimble to cope with new developments. He ate
with a relish the breakfast of coffee, poached
eggs, fried ham and grapefruit, and then left
word with Freda that any one who called him
could get in touch with him from headquarters.
He telephoned Jim Sullivan and learned that
Ellen had not left her bed during the night ex-
cept to go twice to the telephone. Both times,
said Sullivan, she had seen him watching her
and had returned to her room without calling a
number. He said that she seemed to have re-
covered from her touch of hysteria but appeared
a bit ill from the effects of the grilling through
which she had been put the previous night.
Carroll gave him orders to continue as he had
been doing and to snatch what sleep he could
during the day. Then he entered his car and
motored to Headquarters where he found
Eric Leverage waiting for him in the assembly
room, his manner radiating impatience.


THE THIRD DEGREE 217
“Morning, Chief: anything new?”
“Not a thing. How about your end of it?”
“Nothing. I stuck around as per your orders.
None of the men report sight of Conover.”
“And Jim Sullivan tells me that Ellen left
her room twice to telephone — saw him — didn’t
do it — and made no attempt to leave the
house.”
“She will, sooner or later,” said Leverage posi-
tively, “and then it will be strictly up to Jim.”
“He'll make good. I know him.”
“I’m hoping so. Larry Conover's our man.”
“I hope you're right, Leverage.”
“YOU doubt it?”
“I’ll doubt it until I know it. What about
Andrew Quincy?”
“He’s just as unhappy as he was yesterday.
Which reminds me that that girl of his is due
here in a little while. Said you had promised
to let her see him whenever she wanted to, and
I told her you’d drop in just about this time —
I say! speaking of angels . . .” as the orderly
leaped to his feet and opened the big front doors
to admit Judith Darrell.
She was dressed very simply in a blue coat
Suit and a chic little White turban hat. She
smiled frankly as she extended her hand to Car-
roll and requested permission to see Andrew.


218 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
He led her back to the cell. Andrew, dressed now
in a simple grey sack suit which had been brought
him from his home, rose to his feet — his eyes
dancing with happiness at sight of the girl. He
turned eagerly to the detective. -
“Anything new, Mr. Carroll? They won't tell
me a blessed thing.”
“Orders, Mr. Quincy. I can’t tell you much
myself. There's a good deal that's new, though.”
“What?”
“Afraid I cannot tell you now. I’d like to ask
you a few questions, though.” He paused and
glanced inquisitively at Judith. She started for
the door but Andrew restrained her.
“You can ask me before Judith, Mr. Carroll.
She knows all about me: all that I have done of
which I am ashamed and the little I may have
done of which I am proud.”
“What I want to know – briefly — is this,”
said Carroll. “Why — after your uncle had
driven you from the house — didn't you carry
your suitcases?”
Andrew flushed and fidgeted uncomfortably.
Then he met Carroll's eyes unflinchingly: “I
suppose I was too beastly drunk,” he answered
bluntly.
“Do you clearly remember leaving the house?”
“I have a vague recollection — that's all.”


THE THIRD DEGREE 219
“Did you see any one in the garden — hid-
ing?”
“No. Perhaps because even if there had been
any one there, I wasn't in a condition to look for
him.”
“And when you reached Berkeley City.”
“I finished up my tumble off the water wagon.
You see, Judith here had thrown me down and
she usually means what she says — and — Oh!
you know —”
“Don’t!” the girl interposed quickly. “I
didn't dream that it would — that you — I
know I was wrong, Andrew; but from the way
your uncle spoke, and the belief that I was sow-
ing discord and robbing you of an inheritance.
3%
Andrew possessed himself of her little hand.
His voice was very soft: “There's a dear little
thing, sweetheart. Neither of us dreamed where
we'd be carried by this thing. Least of all that
within twelve hours I'd find myself arrested for
a murder I did not commit.”
Carroll's voice cracked compelling through the
narrow confines of the cell: “Are you sure that
you did not?”
“Am I sure —?” Andrew seemed at a loss
for words: for the first time the full significance
of Carroll’s meaning impressed itself on his mind.


TEIE THIRD DEGREE 227
44 Yes? 35
“And, Chief —” Leverage's voice dropped — it
quivered with excitement: “One of the first
things Lefty confessed to having done was that
burglary of the safe at Fairchild & Company
about four years ago — the crime for which
Larry Conover was doing time!”


CHAPTER XIX
A CALL FROM SULLIVAN
EN minutes later David Carroll and Eric
Leverage were ensconced in the former's
roadster driving slowly toward Belleview and
the scene of the tragedy. Carroll had left word
with the desk sergeant that he could be found at
the Quincy home in case of need.
For a long while, as Carroll threaded his way
through the downtown traffic maze, and then
depressed the accelerator a trifle as they struck
the broad macatlam boulevard leading to the
fashionable suburb, neither spoke.
Carroll was busy with his thoughts, for his
sympathies — heretofore strongly on the side of
Andrew Quincy, had suddenly received a jolt
and had veered toward Larry Conover.
Leverage's startling story of Lefty Lewis's
confession had placed Conover in a new light.
Before, he had loomed up in Carroll's mind as
a man duly convicted of a crime which he had
probably committed, a desperate man — escaped
from the penitentiary to prey upon society, a
man stung to murder by desperation. Now all
was changed. From a quarry to be relentlessly
228


A CALL FROM SULLIVAN 229
sought and summarily punished, he had changed
to a victim of misguided persecution.
For Larry Conover was innocent! Innocent,
at least of the crime for which he had been sent
to the state penitentiary: the crime which had
driven him to the murder of Joshua Quincy —
provided that he had indeed killed the aged mil-
lionaire. But the very establishing of his in-
nocence drew the murder noose more tightly
around his neck, for it lent plausibility to Lev-
erage's original theory regarding the history of
the crime — that Conover, knowing his innocence,
had sought to soften Joshua Quincy that he
might face the world freed from the stigma of
the criminal. That Quincy had sourly refused,
that he had attempted to summon the police, and
that Conover, frantic in the face of certain re-
incarceration, had seized the silver-handled dag-
ger and stabbed desperately. A far more likely
story now that Carroll knew him to have been
innocent.
And there was no longer the faintest shadow of
doubt as to his innocence of the Fairchild &
Company robbery. Lewis had described it
boastfully as one affair in a series of burglaries
which had startled Berkeley City and had set
up a howl by the populace against the apparent
inefficiency of the police.


230 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
And now David Carroll sought Larry Conover
to tell him in the one breath that he was inno-
cent of the original crime — had been publicly
proved so — and then, in the next, to pronounce
the arrest for murder and lead him, almost cer-
tainly, to the hangman's noose.
A vision of the drawn face of Ellen Garrison
came to him as he drove toward Belleview: a
girl robbed of her happiness by the intransigent
bitterness of the man who was now dead. The
love which Ellen bore Larry was piteously pow-
erful. Eagerly she had assumed the burden of
guilt for Quincy’s murder—so eagerly as to
stamp her confession a lie, and at the same time
carry conviction that her lover was really guilty.
It was unjust: the system was unjust, mused
Carroll cynically. A man hounded to the peni-
tentiary, justifiably escaping that he might en-
joy the liberty of which he should never have been
deprived, goaded to a murder in the heat of pas-
sion — and now, freed of guilt in the original,
destined to pay the maximum penalty for the
consequences toward which the chain of circum-
stance had inexorably led.
Eric Leverage read his superior's thoughts,
and chimed in suddenly with: “It is tough luck,
ain't it, Chief?”
“Rotten?” snapped Carroll. “If I had my


232 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
A gang of boys on a vacant corner lot wrangled
happily over a baseball game . . . and some-
where in the slums hid Larry Conover, fugitive
from justice; and back at the jail Andrew Quincy
wracked his brain to the aching point in the ef-
fort to remember clearly whether or not he had
killed his uncle.
Eventually the two detectives reached the
Quincy home, basking peacefully in the warm
sunlight of spring. Plainclothesman Ferguson
greeted them in the reception hall and reported
that Rafferty and Collins were snatching some
much-needed sleep. Nothing in the study had
been disturbed, he told them, and they had al-
lowed no one to enter.
He admitted that they had experienced con-
siderable trouble from newspapermen with their
barbed verbal shafts, cleverly conceived to draw
an answer from unwilling lips; and he regretted
to report that enterprising staff photographers
had succeeded in snapping views of the big house.
But as for information — they had told nothing.
“As a matter of fact,” he added, “we don't know
a bloomin' thing ourselves!”
Carroll, followed by Leverage, entered the
death chamber quietly and switched on the lights
— the room had been left as it was found: the
shade of its lone window drawn tightly down


A CALL FROM SULLIVAN 233
*
... and electric illumination was necessary.
The sight within the room was far from pleas-
ant. Even Leverage, hardened as he was to sim-
ilar scenes, experienced a feeling of revulsion.
The face of the dead man seemed to leer . . .
one could not feel sorry that he was dead; save
in the trail of sorrow his departure had blazed
— a fitting end to a misanthropic existence.
Foot by foot, inch by inch, Carroll reinspected
the room. The case had baffled him to a certain
extent and he wished to reassure himself that no
material clue, however seemingly unimportant,
had been overlooked. He poked into every
corner, under bookshelves, into the bookcases
themselves. He gave particular attention to the
high-backed, Spanish-leather chair where the
crime had been committed; he got down on his
knees and examined the rug for the sometimes
telltale footprints. What he found told him
nothing.
He went to the safe and secured the cigar
humidor in which he had placed the silver-
handled dagger which had brought Quincy to his
death. Without lifting it from the porcelain-
lined box he carried it under the glare of the
ceiling light and gazed fixedly at it. Taking the
tiny pair of pincers from his pocket, he caught
the knife by the blade and turned it over. For


A CALL FROM SULLIVAN 235
“In your moseying around in the study yon-
der — ?”
“Nothing. I found footprints, of course;
fifty of 'em. But they told me nothing.”
“They always tell me just as much.”
“Well,” Carroll rose. “Think I'll chat with
Jim awhile and see what move Ellen Garrison
has made.”
The two men crossed the veranda, and made
their way through the reception hall and up the
front stairway. The two halls, one running
north and south and the other at right angles-
and leading through the servants’ quarters-
were empty. The doors on the latter hall were
all closed. There was no sign of Jim Sullivan.
Carroll walked to the door of Ellen Garrison's
room and knocked. There was no answer. He
applied his ear to the door and was greeted with
utter silence. He knocked again. Still there
Was no anSWer.
He placed a tentative hand on the knob. It
yielded to his touch and the door swung back.
He stepped into the room. It was empty !
A quick glance into the adjoining bathroom
showed that the girl was not there. Somewhere
in the house, probably, safely within sight of Jim
Sullivan. .
“Who are you hunting for, gentlemen?”


236 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
They turned to find Mrs. Burrage in the door-
way,— her face lined with her experiences of
the past thirty-six hours; her garb ostentatiously
black. -
“Jim Sullivan — Where is he?”
“He's gone,” she answered simply. “Didn’t
you know that?”
“Gone. Where?”
“I don't know — really I don't.”
“When did he go?”
Her answer came very calmly: “Just after
Ellen left | * - -
“Just after – Holy sufferin mackerel!”
broke out Leverage, then cut off short at a warn-
ing glance from Carroll. It was the latter who
spoke.
“Tell us what you know about it, Mrs. Bur-
rage.”
“I don’t know anything about it. That is,
nothing at all except how peculiar it was.”
“Tell us that – please.”
“It was about two hours ago. I noticed that
Mr. Sullivan laid down on the davenport in the
reception hall, and I don’t blame him because
he's been up so much that he must have been
terribly sleepy.
“After awhile I noticed Ellen peeping at him
over the banisters and twice she went downstairs


238 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
heels over the railing of the massive veranda.
At eleven o'clock the telephone rang and Carroll
had barked a “Hello” into the transmitter al-
most before the clangour ceased. He breathed
with relief as Sullivan's voice came to him over
the instrument: subdued – a mere whisper.
“Chief?”
“Yes.”
“This is Jim.”
44 YeS? 3%
“Can't talk loud. But I think I’ve got our
man.”
“Good — where?”
“Carter's Hotel down in the Halfacre district.
If you don’t know it, Leverage does.”
“I know it.”
“She – know Who I mean?”
* Ellen?”
“Yes. She slipped out a while ago and I
spotted her. She nearly lost me a couple of
times. Followed her here. Hung around out-
side and learned from the clerk afterwards that
she asked for a man registered as Frank Carson
— get that name?”
“Yes — Frank Carson.”
“Good. Said she was Mrs. Carson. Went up
to his room : 318 – corner room on the third floor.
No fire escape outside. Can’t get out except


A CALL FROM SULLIVAN 239
through the hall. I’ve got it watched. And I'm
betting it's our man.”
“It is,” confidently. “We'll come right
down.”
“Quick as you can make it. Park your car a
block away.”
“I Will.”
“Fine. And say, Chief—”
“Yes?”
“Take my advice and come heeled!”


HALFACRE 241
side of the road to the other and slewed breath-
takingly before answering to the firm hand on
the wheel.
Carroll, never a speed demon at best, was driv-
ing as he had never driven before. Once a boule-
vard motorcycle policeman overhauled them after
a chase which brought delirious cheers from the
children playing on the Highland Road lawns
and was keenly disappointed to learn that he had
been giving chase to his police superiors.
The detective sat at the wheel, his face set as
though graven in marble, muscles of arm and
torso tensed to the strain, eyes riveted on the
broad, macadam roadway which unwound like
a great, endless ribbon beneath the whirring
Wheels.
On they sped, with never a letup save at im-
portant street crossings where there was danger
of meeting street cars: they whizzed along with
the motor sending its staccato defiance into the
still air, the special siren whistling eerily and
the wind whipping into their faces.
It seemed as though the skyline of Berkeley
City’s civic centre came toward them. Lever-
age lost all sense of motion. He held grimly to
his seat, too terrified for verbal protest. And
not until they reached the environs of the city
proper, did Carroll slow down to an eminently


246 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
interference from inside. NOW — where's the
Other fellow?”
“The tall, thin guy?”
44 Yes.”
“In th’ hall upstairs gum-shoein’ around
3.18.”
“That's where this Mr. and Mrs. Carson are,
isn’t it?”
“Guess so. He's had th’ room f’r a coupla
days.”
“And you just took it for granted that the girl
was his wife, eh?”
“She said she was, an I ain't here to look after
the morals of the people that comes to this hotel.
Just get that in y’r bean. Y’ain't got nothin’ on
this joint in that line —'r any other, f"r that
matter.”
“Worse luck,” retorted Leverage cheerfully,
then turned and led the way up a second flight of
steps, even more viciously narrow and dark than
those leading from the street to the pseudo
lobby.
At the poorly-lighted landing at the head of
the stairs they met Jim Sullivan and that in-
dividual was frankly glad to see them. “I’ve
been scared stiff,” he admitted frankly. “This
ain’t the kind of a joint I'd choose for a pleasure
trip. What I don’t see is how the devil a girl


EHALFACRE 249
when I’ve got it to do — I'd rather handle things
tactful-like as Jim, here, suggests.”
“It's a go, then,” approved Carroll. “I’ll
stand on this side of the door frame and you and
Leverage stand on the other side. Keep flat-
tened against the wall, and leave it to me to start
the ball rolling. And no gun-play unless there
isn't any way to avoid it. There's always the
chance you know that Larry did not kill the old
man and we know that he's innocent of the Fair-
child & Company robbery for which he was sent
to the pen.”
“Innocent?” gasped Sullivan in surprise.
Leverage told him briefly the story of Lefty
Lewis's blanket confession, and when he finished
Sullivan shook his head commiseratingly:
“The poor fellow,” he said. “If he did kill
Quincy — I don’t blame him!”
“And now,” said Carroll softly. “Let's get
on the job. There's no telling when that door
will open and we want to be right there when
it does. Keep your guns out.”
Silently as ghosts they trod down the carpeted
hallway and took their positions against the wall
On either side of the door marked — in chalk —
318. Then commenced a vigil that for sheer
physical effort, was trying on all of them, fine
muscular specimens though they were.


250 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
Inside the room they could hear the murmur
of voices: low, tense and vibrant. Occasionally
a meaningless word floated to their ears and was
lost in the dinginess of the hallway. And eventu-
ally, after they had been there for fully three-
quarters of an hour — and which they at the
time believed to be closer to three hours — they
heard a choky “Good-bye,” in a man's voice.
The three men shifted tensely and took tighter
grip of their revolvers. Leverage's jaw was set
grimly, Sullivan was plainly nervous — only Car-
roll showed no emotion, although had the light
in the hall been brighter one might have seen that
his eyes had lost their habitual blue softness and
had assumed a cold steel glint. His slender
frame was taut in every muscle, he was poised
on the balls of his feet as a runner poises before
a dash.
The good-byes within the room were long and
punctuated by the sound of a woman's sobbing.
Carroll flashed a message to Sullivan — flashed
it by means of his eyes and expressive gesture —
which was to the effect that Sullivan should take
it to himself to see that the girl did not escape
or cause the trouble which a desperate, cornered
woman can easily cause.
And then a key grated in the lock of room num-
ber 318. Then there was silence. Carroll’s eyes,


CHAPTER XXI
MARRIED
HE man was Larry Conover, but even Eric
Leverage, hardened as he was to the pasty,
colourless flesh of the penitentiary, experienced
a sense of shock. He remembered Larry as he
had been on the day of his trial and conviction:
broad, healthy, alive with ruddy colour, exud-
ing vigour and sheer animal spirits. And now-
A tall man confronted him with white skin
drawn tightly over jutting bones, eyes deep in
the sockets and staring as from a skull, hair
clipped short and shoulders sagging. Usually
Leverage would not have been compassionate but
as he looked at what had once been a magnificent
man he was struck forcibly with the idea that it
had all been unnecessary: the conviction, the
prison term and the consequent red stain of
murder.
The magnificent spirit which had been Con-
over's four years before was gone. After the first
impulsive movement toward the window – three
stories sheer above the flagged pavement — he
turned toward them, the light of the cornered rat
in his sunken eyes. He shrugged his shoulders
with a pitiful, helpless — almost appealing-
gesture.
252


MARRIED 253
“Well?” he questioned — and paused.
“We’ve got you at last, Larry. . . .”
A pitiful wail broke through the tense silence
of the room, Ellen Garrison broke from Jim
Sullivan's grasp and threw herself sobbing in the
arms of the escaped convict.
“Oh! Larry – Larry-boy! It is all my fault.
I — I — thought he was asleep . . . and he
wasn't. . . .”
He stroked her hair gently and tears sprang
to his eyes. He was unashamed. “There, there
— little girl. You did everything you could.
Perhaps it's just as well. . . . We would never
have known a moment's peace. You've been a lit-
tle wonder-woman. Don't cry, dear. . . .”
But she clung to him passionately, shaken with
a paroxysm of sobbing. “It isn’t right, Larry —
it isn't right. You — you — don't understand.
They’ve come to arrest you for — for — the
murder of Mr. Quincy.” *
He nodded hopelessly. “I understand that,
dear. There isn’t any use fighting against it.
They’ve got me and they'll railroad me through
just as they did before —”
Leverage stepped forward. His voice was very
gentle. His eyes very soft and human. “Listen
to me, Larry Conover. We came after you and
we landed you because we had to. But I want


254 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
you to know that you've got friends in the three
of us —”
“Yes —” bitterly, “swell friends. What's
this: a new sort of third degree?”
“I don’t blame you for being sorry — and I'm
sorry as hell that you croaked old Quincy. . . .”
“I didn’t,”— with sudden vehemence of pas-
sionate denial: “Before God, I didn't!”
“I'd give a pretty if you could prove that,
Larry. But the cards are all against you —”
“Just as they were before.”
“Yes — just as they were before. But if we
have anything to do with it, they’re not going to
get you for murder. Manslaughter maybe . . .
something easy like that —”
“I’d rather they'd hang me,” said the man
dully, “than send me back to that pest-hole.
I’m glad old Quincy is dead, but I didn’t kill him
any more than I robbed the Fairchild safe. You
were on that case, Leverage: you didn't believe
I was guilty.”
“No, Larry — I didn't believe you were guilty.
And now I know that you were not!”
“You know it? What do you mean?”
“No longer ago than two hours a notorious
yegg confessed that he robbed the safe at Fair-
child’s. That cleared you —”
Larry's head went back. His nostrils dilated


MARRIED 259
“In the clothes-press. Ellen locked it and
had the key.”
“But before you did that you put out your
cigar and threw it into the fireplace?”
“Yes. And forgot it in the excitement.
Right after that there was nothing for me to do
but lay low. I fancied that Mrs. Burrage would
be keeping an eye on that hall to see if any one
tried to get out of there. And then, after we
were sure that she had gone to sleep, I was afraid
to try it because Ellen kept listening at the head
of the steps to what she said was a quarrel be-
tween Joshua Quincy and his nephew.” Con-
over's hands were working spasmodically as he
talked. His fingers closed around a scrap of
paper on the dresser and he tossed it from him
with his left hand. Carroll’s eyelids quivered
slightly. -
“I don’t see how any one could have helped
quarrelling with the old man. I have never seen
a person so generally hated. But anyway, they
were quarrelling, and bitterly, she said. She
sort of held her post there, waiting for the young
fellow to go out.
“I guess it must have been quarter past eleven
when he did go, and then she came to me and told
me I’d better make a try at getting out of there.


MARRIED 261
me. But now,” he spread his hands wide with a
hopeless gesture, “it’s all off. . . .”
“Listen to me,” said Carroll gently, “I want
you to believe that I want to clear you if you are
innocent. If you did it I’m going to send you
up: but if you didn’t do it, I’d like to see you
get off. Will you do something for me?”
“What is it?”
Carroll produced a pad and a fountain pen.
“Sit down at that table and write a sentence for
me.”
The others stared. ConoVer shook his head in
puzzlement. “I don’t get you —”
“Just sit down at that table and write some-
thing for me.”
“What?”
“Anything.”
No one understood — least of all Conover, who
suspected a trap. But he instinctively liked Car-
roll and finally he took the pen and paper, seated
himself at the table and wrote a sentence — wrote
it with his left hand. He rose —
“Now,” said Carroll strangely, “wad that up,
stand in the corner yonder and throw it to me.”
Bewildered at the strange request and not un-
derstanding whither it led, Conover hesitated
again. But he did as asked: took his place in
the opposite corner and threw the wad of paper


CARROLL MAKES AN ARREST 269
“At my apartment.”
“Anything new?”
“Plenty.”
Fanshaw's voice quivered with eagerness.
“Got your man?”
“I think so. I want to see you a few minutes.”
“There?”
“Yes. Can you come right up?”
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
“Good. Just ring three times when you get
here and I'll let you in myself.”
He put down the receiver and faced the others.
“Surprises you, doesn't it, that I'm on such in-
timate terms with Roger Fanshaw?”
“Nothing you do surprises me,” commented
Leverage. “But what does it all mean?”
“Fanshaw was the first person to tell me any-
thing about the Quincy case.”
“How does he know anything about it?”
“He was there,” announced Carroll calmly.
“Suppose,” suggested Leverage, “that you
spill the story. That's what you’re driving at,
ain't it?”
“Yes.” Carroll lighted another cigar and
seated himself in a big leather chair. And then
he started with the arrival of Fanshaw the previ-
ous morning and detailed to them the man's


CARROLL MAKES AN ARREST 271
Carroll smiled, “it’s a fact that when I visited
his boarding house last night I found his estim-
able landlady ready to take an oath that she heard
him groaning from eight o'clock at night until
about half past one the next morning. And now
— what do you think of Fanshaw's story?”
“Me?” answered Leverage. “It seems that
every one who ever had anything to do with the
old geezer was jinxed. Not but what Fanshaw
wouldn’t have been willing to kill. It's just a
pity that some guy like that who’d be better off in
jail couldn’t be sent up for it: instead of a decent
guy like Larry Conover who had his last chance
taken away from him by the dead man.”
Silence fell upon the group – a silence broken
suddenly by three whirrs of the electric bell.
Carroll left the room swiftly and intercepted the
girl. “I’ll answer it, Freda. You go on back
to the kitchen.”
He was smiling cordially as he opened the
door to admit Fanshaw. The eyelid which
drooped over Fanshaw's left eye quivered slightly
as he saw the three hats on the rack, but he said
nothing as he followed the chattering Carroll
into the study. But at sight of Leverage and
Sullivan, Fanshaw stood motionless, a bit of
colour draining from his cheeks. In the most
casual manner in the world, Carroll introduced


CHAPTER XXIII
CLEAR SKIES \
ILENCE fell upon the group — silence
broken only by the stern ticking of the
ancient Grandfather's clock in the corner; si-
lence broken by that and by the faint whir of the
city which came to them softly as from a very
great distance.
They were staring at Fanshaw: Fanshaw
whose left eye was concealed beneath the now
closed lid, Fanshaw who was staring dumbly at
the shining handcuffs on his wrists — trying to
right himself to the sudden, startling change in
the aspect of things. He had left his boarding
house in an intoxication of jubilation — Carroll's
declaration that he had his man had held out to
him the hope of perpetual safety. And then —
this!
This arrest for the murder of Joshua Quincy.
This sextet of keen eyes upon him, watching every
play of colour on his face, every quiver of the
telltale lid of the left eye, every nervous, spas-
modic movement of his big muscular hands—
so helpless now in their circlets of official steel.
273


274 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
Fanshaw stood quiet, shaking his big head —
shaking his head and muttering doggedly: “I
didn't do it! I didn't do it !” Gone was his
vaunted poise, routed before the onslaught of
stark surprise. Surprise and horror.
“Tell us about it, Chief,” begged Leverage.
“Because if this bird told you the story you told
us then it's a marvel you landed him. It had
me buffalo’d right. How did you know that Fan-
Shaw did it?”
“I didn’t,” said Carroll simply, “until I was
quite conviced that no one else could have done
it.
“I’m intensely human, and, I'm afraid, gulli-
ble. When Fanshaw told me his story I swal-
lowed it hook, line and sinker. It seemed per-
fectly all right to me, I was as unsuspicious as a
new-born babe. You see, his psychology was
sound as a dollar. It is perfectly natural for a
man in the position he claimed to have been to be
more frightened than though he had really car-
ried his plan through. Therefore I did not ques-
tion that phase of his story — especially when
backed by the fact that, as I afterwards proved,
Dorrington really did see him in the garden.
“You’ve heard of perfect crimes: crimes
planned with a meticulous attention to detail so
that their perpetrator cannot be caught. This


276 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
ample. But when I searched for that paper it
was not there. At first I thought that Fanshaw
had taken it. So I called on Thaddeus Standish
- Quincy's lawyer, and learned that Standish
had the paper in his possession. Therefore,
knowing what I now know, I realize that after
killing Quincy, Fanshaw carried out his original
plan and searched for that check. He didn't
find it and disarmed me further by asserting that
he hadn’t even hunted for it: admitting two lesser
crimes to camouflage a greater.
“I was prepared for minor discrepancies in
Fanshaw's story. No man who had been through
what he had could be expected to retail his yarn
with an unflagging fidelity to detail. But even
at that — and I took the trouble to interview him
yesterday evening about this point — he went too
far When he said several times that he had not
entered the room in which Quincy was murdered.
“If you remember the scene of the crime, you
will recall that the chair is a high-backed leather
one, facing the wall opposite the door leading
from the library – the door through which Fan-
shaw admits he entered the study. A person
standing in that door could not have seen the
body! More: he could not possibly have seen
the lethal knife even though the body had been
Visible. And there was no doubt that Fanshaw


280 THE CRIMSON ALIBI
“On the face of it, we have two facts: the first
is that Fanshaw would have seen Conover
through the window. The second is that Con-
over, had he killed Quincy — and I confess that
until I began piecing together the testimony I
thought he was guilty — would have entered from
the rear hall, stabbed his man and gone out by
the same door so that he would have been no-
where near the shade. And had the shade been
pulled down during the course of Fanshaw's vigil
in the garden he would have commented on the
fact.
“But even that does not clear ConoVer. Not
by a long shot. A mere discrepancy — that's all.
But, you see, it is a cumulation of discrepancies
in Fanshaw's story, which has at length con-
Vinced me.
“Three times I have examined the body, and
you two men can, of course, plainly remember
the position of the knife before I extracted it from
the body. You will recall that it entered the
body from the left side, having been plunged with
an upward stroke. The blade found the heart.
“Gentlemen, that blow was delivered by a
right-handed man! Fanshaw is right-handed;
so is Andrew. So is Dorrington. But Larry
Conover is left handed!
“Just a couple of hours ago at the Carter


CLEAR SERIES 281
Hotel I surprised you by asking him to write
for me and then to toss me the bit of paper. I
had noticed that he used his left hand and wanted
to establish fully that he was a left-handed man.
I didn't keep silent about it then for any love of
theatric effect, but merely because I was not at
that time ready to tell you about Fanshaw's story
which had come to me in a semi-confidential way.
Now that I am convinced of his guilt — condi-
tions have changed. I feel that I am justified in
using his own partial confession to piece out a
chain of convincing testimony.
- “Conover, being left-handed, could not have in-
flicted the blow that killed Quincy. It is a
physical impossibility: he would have had to tie
himself in a knot to thrust the knife home from
the left side of Quincy's body provided the knife
were held in his left hand. And that, while not
in itself sufficient to clear Conover — is certainly
ample in view of the other mitigating circum-
stances: don’t you think?”
Eric Leverage nodded. “I hand it to you,
Chief. It’s a dandy case — but — but —”
“But What?”
“There's one thing you overlooked.”
“Which is?”
Leverage glanced uncertainly toward Fanshaw
who was sitting humped down in his chair, still


CLEAR SERIES 285
you will swing for it. I don't want to see you
hanged.
“I cannot promise results. But I will promise
this: if you will formally confess to the murder
of Joshua Quincy, I will do my level best to see
that you get a sentence of life imprisonment.
HOW about it?”
Fanshaw raised a haggard face to Carroll.
He moved his hands helplessly and the chains
jangled. “I believe you will help me, Carroll,”
he said in a slow, tired voice; “and I don’t know
that I’m so sorry it's all over. If you'll draw up
that paper I’ll sign it.”
And as Carroll rose to get pens and paper
Leverage buttonholed him: “Say, Chief,” he
whispered hoarsely, “let me be the first to tell
Larry Conover and his wife, will you? I want
to see the faces of them kids when they learn that
they’re free!” -
THE END