on the Joris phone, backing her story about trying to call the police.
“Oh,” said Miss Withers, in a very small voice indeed.
“And just to top it all,” Piper added gently, “Junior Gault, after repudiating his confession, agreed to a lie-detector test. Like so many other smart boys who read recent articles in Esquire and True and other men’s magazines explaining how it’s so easy to beat the machine, he did his best and it wasn’t good enough.” The inspector drew one finger across his Adam’s apple. “Guilty. Of course we can’t bring that evidence into court—a man can’t be forced to testify against himself—but we’re satisfied. Gault killed Tony Fagan. But unless we can find that Kell girl and bring her back to testify, he’s going to get off scot-free.”
The schoolteacher nodded, a very chastened nod.
“And Gault has to be convicted. There can’t be one law for the rich and another for the poor. The Department has had enough criticism, what with the bookie scandals and all. So far homicide hasn’t been smeared with the tarbrush, and I mean to see that it doesn’t get smeared. Now, will you go out and find Ina Kell for us?”
“I’ll do my best; angels can do no more,” said Miss Hildegarde Withers. “Obviously, with so much money and influence involved, and so much depending on her testimony, the girl is in danger. She may be out of my reach, as well as beyond subpoenas or extradition papers. It occurs to me that you and Mr. Hardesty are more interested in Ina’s testimony than in her safety.”
Piper was reaching for his hat. “She’s safe enough, as long as Junior Gault is on ice. Now it’s late, and tomorrow is another day. How about my walking you home?”
“You took the words right out of my mouth,” snapped Miss Withers. “But then, as you were probably about to say, I have plenty left!”
The inspector merely looked sheepish.
6
“Oh, thou child of many prayers!”
“Life hath quicksands; life hath snares!”
—LONGFELLOW
“I AM NOT SEEING any clients this morning,” said Sam Bordin in as firm a tone as one dares use to an attractive employee with whom he has been rumbaing until two A.M. “Gracie, you know I’m up to my hips in the Gault thing and I’ve no time to tackle anything new—not even if it’s a beautiful widow with a smoking pistol in one hand and a fat checkbook in the other.” The tall rangy girl looked down at him fondly, in spite of the fact that the tubby little lawyer had not shaved that morning and obviously had a hangover. “If she was beautiful I wouldn’t let her in,” she told him. “This one is the intellectual type, and I don’t think she’s a client. She just wants ten minutes of your time.”
“For some worthy cause,” Sam Bordin said, wincing. “ No , Gracie!”
The tall girl sighed, and then went out of the room with a practiced waggle of her lips. A moment later she bounced back, bearing an envelope. “The lady said perhaps you’d like to have this anyway, to look at when you’re not so busy.”
Bordin glanced at the two sheets of yellowing paper inside, started to drop them into the basket, and then his eye was caught by something in the handwriting. He read on a bit and then cried, “What did you say her name was? Never mind—run after her! No, give me five minutes and then send her in!” Starting out, Gracie noticed that her employer was reaching hurriedly into the top right-hand drawer of his desk, where she knew he kept a loaded .38.
The drawer also held an electric shaver, with which Sam Bordin had just finished touching up his blue jowls when the visitor entered. He stared at her for a moment, rather as if she were a ghost. “Miss Withers! ” he said wonderingly. “I didn’t connect the name at first—but you haven’t changed a bit. Even the hat, and the umbrella!”
She smiled, and nodded toward the yellowed sheets in his hand. “I thought perhaps a glimpse of your own handiwork might remind
“Oh,” said Miss Withers, in a very small voice indeed.
“And just to top it all,” Piper added gently, “Junior Gault, after repudiating his confession, agreed to a lie-detector test. Like so many other smart boys who read recent articles in Esquire and True and other men’s magazines explaining how it’s so easy to beat the machine, he did his best and it wasn’t good enough.” The inspector drew one finger across his Adam’s apple. “Guilty. Of course we can’t bring that evidence into court—a man can’t be forced to testify against himself—but we’re satisfied. Gault killed Tony Fagan. But unless we can find that Kell girl and bring her back to testify, he’s going to get off scot-free.”
The schoolteacher nodded, a very chastened nod.
“And Gault has to be convicted. There can’t be one law for the rich and another for the poor. The Department has had enough criticism, what with the bookie scandals and all. So far homicide hasn’t been smeared with the tarbrush, and I mean to see that it doesn’t get smeared. Now, will you go out and find Ina Kell for us?”
“I’ll do my best; angels can do no more,” said Miss Hildegarde Withers. “Obviously, with so much money and influence involved, and so much depending on her testimony, the girl is in danger. She may be out of my reach, as well as beyond subpoenas or extradition papers. It occurs to me that you and Mr. Hardesty are more interested in Ina’s testimony than in her safety.”
Piper was reaching for his hat. “She’s safe enough, as long as Junior Gault is on ice. Now it’s late, and tomorrow is another day. How about my walking you home?”
“You took the words right out of my mouth,” snapped Miss Withers. “But then, as you were probably about to say, I have plenty left!”
The inspector merely looked sheepish.
6
“Oh, thou child of many prayers!”
“Life hath quicksands; life hath snares!”
—LONGFELLOW
“I AM NOT SEEING any clients this morning,” said Sam Bordin in as firm a tone as one dares use to an attractive employee with whom he has been rumbaing until two A.M. “Gracie, you know I’m up to my hips in the Gault thing and I’ve no time to tackle anything new—not even if it’s a beautiful widow with a smoking pistol in one hand and a fat checkbook in the other.” The tall rangy girl looked down at him fondly, in spite of the fact that the tubby little lawyer had not shaved that morning and obviously had a hangover. “If she was beautiful I wouldn’t let her in,” she told him. “This one is the intellectual type, and I don’t think she’s a client. She just wants ten minutes of your time.”
“For some worthy cause,” Sam Bordin said, wincing. “ No , Gracie!”
The tall girl sighed, and then went out of the room with a practiced waggle of her lips. A moment later she bounced back, bearing an envelope. “The lady said perhaps you’d like to have this anyway, to look at when you’re not so busy.”
Bordin glanced at the two sheets of yellowing paper inside, started to drop them into the basket, and then his eye was caught by something in the handwriting. He read on a bit and then cried, “What did you say her name was? Never mind—run after her! No, give me five minutes and then send her in!” Starting out, Gracie noticed that her employer was reaching hurriedly into the top right-hand drawer of his desk, where she knew he kept a loaded .38.
The drawer also held an electric shaver, with which Sam Bordin had just finished touching up his blue jowls when the visitor entered. He stared at her for a moment, rather as if she were a ghost. “Miss Withers! ” he said wonderingly. “I didn’t connect the name at first—but you haven’t changed a bit. Even the hat, and the umbrella!”
She smiled, and nodded toward the yellowed sheets in his hand. “I thought perhaps a glimpse of your own handiwork might remind
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