Midnight, Octavus Roy Cohen [summer reads txt] 📗

turned it over. From the first Carroll had scouted the idea that the dead man's fiancee might have been responsible for his death; but still it was a line of investigation which demanded examination, and his pretty young visitor was making that road exceedingly simple. He injected all the warmth of his friendly, sunny nature in the smile which he bestowed upon her.

"You have helped me tremendously with that piece of information,
Miss Rogers."

"I don't see how, particularly. No one with any sense—provided they knew Hazel, of course—could even imagine her killing any one, and least of all an adorable boy like Roland. She was so much in love with him!"

"Of course, I haven't the pleasure of Miss Gresham's acquaintance."

"Of course not. You'll have to meet her, though. She's a darling! Naturally, she's all broken up this morning because her wedding date was all set. Now all her plans have gone smash, and she really was terribly fond—"

"You say you spent the night with Miss Gresham?"

"Certainly, and—"

"Where?"

"At her house."

"And you are sure she was there all night?"

"Of course! We slept in the same bed—and that's certainly proof enough, isn't it?"

"I suppose so."

"You suppose? My goodness gracious! Don't you know?"

"Well—yes. If you're sure—"

"Why, my dear Mr. Carroll, we didn't even actually go to bed until a quarter before twelve. At ten o'clock we made some waffles downstairs—Hazel has just bought a perfectly darling aluminum electric waffle-iron. It makes the most toothsome waffles—all crisp and everything. And you know when you use aluminum you don't need any grease, so that makes the waffles much nicer. I'm getting horribly domestic since Hazel became engaged, because she is learning—"

"And after you made the waffles?"

"Oh! After that we went up-stairs to her room, and put on our kimonos, and had a heart-to-heart talk. I can't tell you what we talked about, because sometimes—well, it was atrociously risqué—as women will, you know, and—"

"At a quarter before twelve you were still sitting up talking, and you had your kimonos on?"

"Yes, and—oh, you just ought to see Hazel's new kimono—pink crêpe de chine, trimmed with satin. She looks simply ravishing in it. I told Sis I wanted one like it, but—"

"And then you went to bed?"

"Yes, just about then."

"You are sure Miss Gresham didn't get up!"

"Oh, I'm positive she didn't! I didn't get to sleep until after one o'clock, anyway, and I would have known."

"You've given me some valuable information, Miss Rogers; and I'll see to it that the newspapers correct any impression they may have left that Miss Gresham might have been connected with the crime. Meanwhile"—he rose—"I'm a bit overdue down at headquarters; so if you'll excuse me—"

Evelyn Rogers rose and stood before him. Her pretty little face was eager.

"I've really helped you, Mr. Carroll?"

"Enormously."

"Well, I wonder—you know I'm just fiendishly anxious to be helpful in the world—I wonder if you'd let me help you some more?"

"I'd be delighted."

"Would you really?"

"Really!"

"And I can come to you any time to talk things over?"

"Whenever you get ready."

She clapped her hands.

"That's simply exquisite! You know, Mr. Carroll, I'm just simply crazy about you! I always have been, but I'm more so now than ever—just hopelessly!"

"Thank you."

She made her way to the door. There she turned, and there was a peculiar light in her eyes.

"Mr. Carroll!"

"Yes?"

"I wish you had been nineteen years old just now."

"Why?"

"Because," she flashed, "if you had been nineteen years old when I told you what I did, you would have kissed me!"

CHAPTER VI REGARDING ROLAND WARREN

For a long time after Evelyn departed, Carroll remained seated, puffing amusedly on the cigar which followed his matutinal cigarette. Time had been long since the detective had come in contact with so much youthful spontaneity, and he found the experience refreshing. Then he rose and would have left the apartment for headquarters, but again Freda announced a caller.

"Another young lady?" questioned Carroll.

"No, sir. It bane young feller."

"Show him in."

The visitor entered, and Carroll found himself gazing into the level eyes of a slightly disheveled and obviously excited young man of about twenty-eight years of age. The man was slight of stature, but every nervous gesture bespoke wiriness.

"Are you Mr. Carroll?"

"Yes."

"I'm Gresham—Garrison Gresham."

"A-a-ah! Won't you be seated!"

"Yes. I came to have a talk with you."

Carroll seated himself opposite his caller. Then he nodded.

"You came to see me?"

"About the Warren case."

"You know something about it?"

"Yes!" The young man seemed to bite the word. "I do."

"What?"

"You're in charge of the case, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"You've seen this morning's papers?"

"I have."

"Well, they're rotten—absolutely rotten. They don't say it in so many words, but the impression they create is that my sister, Hazel, was the woman in the taxi who killed Roland Warren. It's a damned lie!"

The young man was growing more excited. Carroll put out a restraining hand.

"I quite agree with you, my friend—it was a pretty rotten impression to create; but I shall see that all doubt is removed from the mind of the public when this afternoon's papers appear. I have just learned that your sister has an ironclad alibi."

"You have already learned that?"

"Yes."

Gresham leaned forward eagerly.

"What makes you sure—that she did not—was not—"

"Suppose I question you—if you have no objections."

"Fire away."

"Where was your sister at midnight last night?"

"At home."

"Alone? I mean was any one besides your family there?"

"Yes," replied Gresham, showing surprise at Carroll's evident knowledge of facts.

"Who?"

"Evelyn Rogers spent the night with her. Evelyn's a seventeen-year-old kid who has had what I believe you call a crush on my sister. They were together in that house from ten o'clock last night, or earlier, until this morning. And if you don't believe that—"

"But I do. I have just had a visit from Miss Rogers, and she told me exactly what you have just repeated; so I'm pretty well satisfied that your sister had nothing whatever to do with the affair. I will take pains to see that this evening's papers make that quite clear."

Gresham rose. A load seemed to have dropped from his shoulders.

"That's white of you, Carroll! I appreciate it."

"Not at all. I have no desire to cause annoyance or inconvenience where it is unnecessary. And Miss Rogers told me, with great attention to detail, just why and how it was impossible for your sister to have been anywhere except at home last night."

"Evelyn's considerable of a brick, in spite of the fact that she's more or less minus in the upper story. And now, if you're really satisfied, I'll be going."

The two men walked to the door together. They were about of a height;
Carroll slightly the heavier of the two.

"You've no idea as to the identity of the woman in the taxicab, have you, Gresham?"

"No. Have you?"

"None whatever; though I fancy something ought to develop in the near future. The city is discussing it pretty freely?"

"The town's wild about it. They don't understand anything. It's tough on my sister. Hazel is only a kid, and I think she was in love with Warren. Well, good day, Carroll." He extended a firm hand. "Any time I can be of any help—"

"Thanks, Gresham."

Five minutes after Gresham's departure, Carroll was in his car, headed for the police-station. He turned the case over and over in a keen, analytic mind which had been refreshed by a night of untroubled sleep.

There were a good many features about it which puzzled him considerably. While he had not expected that the trail of the mysterious midnight woman would lead to the fiancée of the dead man, the sudden dissipation of that as a clue rather threw him off his balance. He had reached the end of a trail almost before setting foot upon it.

Thus far he had refused to allow himself to be worried by the strangest feature of the case—the appearance of the dead body in a taxicab which, according to its driver's story, could not have been other than empty. It was always easy to explain the disappearance of a person from an automobile; but, he figured, it was patently impossible to enter one without the driver's knowledge.

He reached headquarters and closeted himself with Leverage. They plunged at once into a discussion of that phase of the case.

"There are only two things which could have happened," said the chief of police slowly. "One is that some one croaked that bird Warren and shoved him into the cab while the woman was ridin' in it. The other is that he slipped into the cab and she killed him. While I ain't jumpin' on no set ideas, I have a hunch that the last one is right."

"Why?"

"Because the other—that idea of puttin' a dead body into a cab without the driver knowing it—it just naturally ain't possible."

"Then you are quite convinced, Leverage, that Walters did not know anything about it?"

"Now, say, Carroll, that's putting it up to me rather strong; but since you're asking, I'm here to say that I believe the kid. Of course it's possible that he was in on the deal—but I'm betting Liberty bonds against Russian rubles that he'd have slipped somewhere if that had been the case. Nobody that's in on a murder deal is going to frame a lie that sticks his bean as close to a noose as Walter's would be if he's not tellin' the truth!"

"Sounds reasonable; and yet—"

"I'm surprised at you suspectin' the kid."

"I don't suspect him."

"But you said—"

"We can't overlook anything—that's what I said. It's what I was driving at, anyway. So far, Walters is the only tangible clue we've had to work with. As I told you, the Hazel Gresham trail died a-borning. The kid who came to see me this morning cleared her; and then her brother came along right afterward, red-hot over the insinuations against his sister in the papers. As matters stand now, there's nothing to tie to but Spike Walters."

"I'm glad you're handling it," said Leverage fervently. "And as you are,
I'm making so bold as to ask what you're going to do next?"

"A little general inquiring. You can help me on that. For one thing, I want to get hold of every bit of dope I can regarding Warren—who he was, where he came from, what he did, the size of his bank deposits, his business connections, his social life, and especially every morsel of gossip that's ever been circulated about him in connection with women."

"H-m! You think this dame was a society sort?"

"Probably. He was undoubtedly going away with her; and a man of his stamp doesn't often elope with a woman of the other type."

"True enough! Well, I'll get you what dope I can."

"I want it all. I'm afraid this is going to resolve itself into a contest of elimination. The city is buzzing about the case to-day, and it ought to be pretty easy to get hold of a world of gossip concerning Warren's love-affairs—provided he had any. Everybody's concerned over the identity of that woman, and every woman Warren has ever been mixed up with, even in the most innocuous way, is going to be dragged into the case."

Carroll made his way from headquarters direct to the consolidated railroad ticket office. He introduced himself to the chief clerk and stated his business. The other showed keen interest.

"The tickets were sold to him in this office, Mr. Carroll. This young man here sold them."

Carroll smiled genially at the skinny young chap who bustled forward importantly, proud of his temporary spotlight position.

"You sold some tickets to Roland Warren?"

"Yes, sir."

"When?"

"Day before yesterday."

"You are sure it was Mr. Warren?"

"Yes, sir. I have known him by sight for a longtime."

"About the tickets—what did he buy?"

"Two tickets and a drawing-room on No. 29 for New York—due to leave at 11.55 last night."

"You're sure he bought two tickets and a drawing-room? Or was it one ticket?"

"It had to be two. We can't sell a drawing-room unless the purchaser has double transportation."

"You delivered both tickets to him personally?"

"Yes, sir—gave them both to him."

From the ticket office Carroll went back to headquarters, and