The Greatest Works of Earl Derr Biggers (Illustrated Edition). Earl Derr Biggers
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gave him a two weeks' card. He wrote a lot of his letters there. But—but—I can't see—"
"He was clever man. Even in moment of passing, his dying hand would seek to leave behind essential clue."
"Speaking of that," said Kirk, "how about those velvet slippers? Where are they?"
Chan shrugged. "Slippers were essential clue in one case, long ago. What did they lead to? Positively nothing. If I am suiting my own taste, this time I look elsewhere."
Miss Morrow entered the room. Her face was usually full of color—an authentic color that is the gift of the fog to San Francisco's daughters. Now it was deathly pale. Without speaking, she stepped beyond the desk and looked down. For a moment she swayed, and Barry Kirk leaped forward.
"No, no," cried the girl.
"But I thought—" he began.
"You thought I was going to faint. Absurd. This is my work—it has come to me and I shall do it. You believe I can't—"
"Not at all," protested Kirk.
"Oh, yes you do. Everybody will. I'll show them. You've called the police, of course."
"Not yet," Kirk answered.
She sat down resolutely at the desk, and took up the telephone. "Davenport 20," she said. "The Hall of Justice?... Captain Flannery, please... Hello—Captain? Miss Morrow of the district attorney's office speaking. There has been a murder in Mr. Kirk's office on the top floor of the Kirk Building. You had better come yourself... Thank you... Yes— I'll attend to that."
She got up, and, going round the desk, bent over Sir Frederic. She noted the book, and her eyes strayed wonderingly to the stocking feet. Inquiringly she turned to Chan.
"The slippers of Hilary Galt," he nodded. "Souvenir of that unhappy case, they adorned his feet when he came down. Here is Paradise—he will explain to you."
The butler had returned, and Miss Morrow faced him. "Tell us what you know, please," she said.
"I was busy in the pantry," Paradise said. "I thought I heard the buzz of the burglar alarm by Mr. Kirk's bed—the one connected with the windows and safe in this room. I hastened to make sure, but Sir Frederic was just behind. It was almost as though he had been expecting it. I don't know how I got that impression—I'm odd that way—"
"Go on," said the girl. "Sir Frederic followed you into Mr. Kirk's room?"
"Yes, Miss. 'There's some one below, sir,' I said. 'Some one who doesn't belong there.' Sir Frederic looked back into the pitch dark living-room. 'I fancy so, Paradise,' he said. He was smiling. 'I will attend to it. No need to disturb Mr. Kirk or his guests.' I followed him into his room. He tossed off his patent leather pumps. 'The stairs are a bit soiled, I fear, sir,' I reminded him. He laughed. 'Ah, yes,' he said. 'But I have the very thing.' The velvet slippers were lying near his bed. He put them on. 'I shall walk softly in these, Paradise,' he told me. At the head of the stairs, I stopped him. A sort of fear was in my heart—I am given to that—to having premonitions—"
"You stopped him," Kirk cut in.
"I did, sir. Respectfully, of course. 'Are you armed, Sir Frederic?' I made bold to inquire. He shook his head. 'No need, Paradise,' he answered. 'I fancy our visitor is of the weaker sex.' And then he went down, sir—to his death."
They were silent for a moment, pondering the servant's story.
"We had better go," said the girl, "and tell the others. Some one must stay here. If it's not asking too much, Mr. Chan—"
"I am torn with grief to disagree," Chan answered. "Please pardon me. But for myself, I have keen eagerness to note how this news is taken in the room above."
"Ah, yes. Naturally."
"I shall be glad to stay, Miss," Paradise said.
"Very well," the girl answered. "Please let me know as soon as Captain Flannery arrives." She led the way above, and Kirk and the little detective from Honolulu followed.
Barry Kirk's guests were seated, silent and expectant, in the now brightly lighted living-room. They looked up inquiringly as the three from below entered. Kirk faced them, at a loss how to begin.
"I have dreadful news for you," he said. "An accident—a terrible accident." Chan's eyes moved rapidly about the group and, making their choice, rested finally on the white, drawn face of Eileen Enderby. "Sir Frederic Bruce has been murdered in my office," Kirk finished.
There was a moment's breathless silence, and then Mrs. Enderby got to her feet. "It's the dark," she cried in a harsh, shrill voice. "I knew it. I knew something would happen when the lights were turned off. I knew it, I tell you—"
Her husband stepped to her side to quiet her, and Chan stood staring not at her, but at Colonel John Beetham. For one brief instant he thought the mask had dropped from those weary, disillusioned eyes. For one instant only.
They all began to speak at once. Gradually Miss Morrow made herself heard above the din. "We must take this coolly," she said, and Barry Kirk admired her composure. "Naturally, we are all under suspicion. We—"
"What? I like that!" Mrs. Dawson Kirk was speaking. "Under suspicion, indeed—"
"The room was in complete darkness," Miss Morrow went on. "There was considerable moving about. I don't like to stress my official position here, but perhaps you would prefer my methods to those of a police captain. How many of you left this room during the showing of Colonel Beetham's pictures?"
An embarrassed silence fell. Mrs. Kirk broke it. "I thought the pictures intensely interesting," she said. "True, I did step into the kitchen for a moment—"
"Just to keep an eye on my domestic arrangements," suggested Barry Kirk.
"Nothing of the sort. My throat was dry. I wanted a glass of water."
"You saw nothing wrong?" inquired Miss Morrow.
"Aside from the very wasteful methods that seemed to be in vogue in the kitchen—nothing," replied Mrs. Kirk firmly.
"Mrs. Tupper-Brock?" said Miss Morrow.
"I was on the sofa with Miss Garland," replied that lady. "Neither of us moved from there at any time." Her voice was cool and steady.
"That's quite true," the actress added.
Another silence. Kirk spoke up. "I'm sure none of us intended a discourtesy to the Colonel," he said. "The entertainment he gave us was delightful, and it was gracious of him to honor us. I myself—er—I was in the room constantly—except for one brief moment in the garden. I saw no one there—save—"
Chan stepped forward. "Speaking for myself, I found huge delight in the pictures. A moment I wish to be alone, in order that I may digest great events flashed before me on silvery screen. So I also invade the garden, and meet Mr. Kirk. For a time we marvel at the distinguished Colonel Beetham—his indomitable courage, his deep resource, his service to humanity. Then we rush back, that we may miss no more." He paused. "Before I again recline in sitting posture, noise in hallway offend me. I hurry out there in shushing mood, and behold—"
"Ah—er—the pictures were marvelous," said Carrick Enderby. "I enjoyed them immensely. True enough, I stepped out on the stairs for a cigarette -"
"Carry, you fool," his wife cried. "You would do that."
"But I say—why not? I saw nothing. There was nothing to see. The floor below was quite deserted." He turned to Miss Morrow. "Whoever did this horrible thing left by way of the fire-escape. You've already learned that—"
"Ah, yes," cut in Chan. "We have learned it indeed—from your wife." He glanced at Miss Morrow and their eyes met.
"From my wife—yes," repeated Enderby. "Look here—what do you mean by that? I—"
"No matter," put in Miss Morrow. "Colonel Beetham—you were occupied at the picture machine. Except for one interval of about ten minutes, when you