Chapter VII: Part 7

“I can take it a little farther than that,” Hayden said. “I can _prove_ he was in town Tuesday night.” He paused, conscious of Corbin’s stare, but when there was no interruption he explained how he had checked the filling stations that afternoon and what he had learned from Lee Cramer.

“Cramer’s son-in-law remembers Corbin,” he said. “He can identify him if necessary. So I say Adler not only made the mistake of bragging about what he was going to do, he also told Corbin where he was staying. Corbin asked directions to The Shady Maple. He was looking for Adler and--”

“So what?” Corbin cut in harshly, his tanned face shiny with perspiration. “That doesn’t mean I killed him.”

“When he told me how he had threatened Adler in Fairview,” Hayden said to Garvey, “an expression he used bothered me. I suppose it’s only a matter of semantics and it certainly isn’t proof, but I remember the sentence. He said: ‘_I should have killed him then._’” He paused to make sure they understood him. “Why should he say it that way? Why should he use the word _then_? Why not simply: ‘I should have killed him’?”

Garvey coughed and the sound of it got their attention. “You admit being here that night, Mr. Corbin?”

“I guess I have to,” Corbin said. “But that’s all I’ll admit. Sure I stopped at the filling station and asked where The Shady Maple was. But I didn’t register. I never stepped on the property. I guess it was around a quarter of nine when I parked and I was hungry. I wanted some time to think, so I went over to the tavern and had a couple of drinks and a sandwich. By the time I had finished the police cars were in the street. There were a few people out there watching and I asked somebody what had happened and they told me.”

He swallowed visibly and said, a note of desperation in his voice: “I hung around just long enough to find out who had been killed. I knew how it would look if I got caught there, so I got the hell out. I drove back to the airport and spent the night in a motel and took the nine-thirty plane out in the morning.”

Garvey looked at Hayden. “Did you actually talk with Lee Cramer’s son-in-law?”

“I talked with Lee,” Hayden said. “I waited while he telephoned the son-in-law and that’s what he said.”

Garvey stood up and began to belt his trench coat. He nodded at Malone and the plainclothes man was already reaching for his coat. He looked at Corbin, who had leaned forward in his chair, a shocked, incredulous look stamped on his face.

“You’d better come along with us, Mr. Corbin.”

“But I’m telling you the truth,” Corbin said.

“You’ll have a chance to prove it.”

For another second or two the big man remained where he was. He looked at Hayden and at Marion and then, as though it occurred to him that no one here could help him, he stood up, his jaw set.

“All right,” he said, “but I want a lawyer.” He looked at Denham. “How about you?”

Denham came to his feet. “This sort of thing is a little out of my line,” he said, “but I can recommend someone.” He took a notebook from his pocket and wrote a few lines with an automatic pencil. He passed the slip of paper to Corbin. “Both of these are good men,” he said. “If you have trouble reaching them, call me.”

Corbin pocketed the piece of paper and went over to get his coat. He put it on and made a final effort to convince Garvey.

“I admit Adler called me,” he said. “I came up here.”

“To stop him.”

“Well--yes. I suppose so.”

“You didn’t care how?”

“I didn’t think about that. I only knew I couldn’t let him foul up Marion’s life for something that was my fault. I didn’t stop to think how I was going to stop him, but I scared the hell out of him once and I figured to do it again.”

“All right, Mr. Corbin,” Garvey said quietly, “you’ll have your chance to prove that.”

The telephone rang in time to punctuate the sentence, and there was a moment of silence as they all exchanged glances at the unexpected sound. When Hayden stepped over to answer it a man’s voice asked for Lieutenant Garvey, and he turned to offer the telephone. They stood listening self-consciously as Garvey said:

“Yeah.... Wait a minute.” He put the telephone down beside the cradle and looked at Hayden. “Would there be an extension?”

“In the bedroom,” Hayden said, and led the way.

When he came back he saw that Marion had come to her feet and was standing close to Ted Corbin, not touching him but looking up at him, her smooth brow furrowed now with concern and the hazel eyes compassionate. They seemed not to be aware of anyone else in the room at the moment and he heard her say:

“I’m so sorry, Ted.”

“Forget it,” Corbin said, his voice gruff. “It’s my own damn fault.”

“But--you came up here to help me.”

“Why not? Just because we couldn’t cut it as man and wife doesn’t mean I don’t still like you. I’ve always liked you; you know that. And, what the hell, I’m the guy that had that brilliant idea two years ago.”

“I’m not blaming you for that.”

“I know you’re not.” He reached out and took her hand. “And whatever happens, don’t worry about the divorce thing. We can work something out in a hurry and--”

He stopped as the door opened and Lieutenant Garvey came back into the room. He let go of Marion’s hand and stepped aside. And Hayden, seeing the lieutenant’s frown, felt an odd tingle of excitement that had come from nowhere and was motivated by nothing more than the expression on Garvey’s face.

“That was Detective Ball from the hospital,” he said, taking time to look at Hayden and then at Marion. “The Lamar girl was conscious for a little while and Ball had a stenographer with him.”

“Is she going to be all right?” Marion asked quickly.

“They’re not sure about that part,” Garvey said, “but she did tell Ball a few things.... You’re a couple of lucky people,” he said and the frown went away. “She corroborated the story she told you. She says Adler was alive when you left, Mrs. Hayden, and she insists that he was dead”--he glanced at Hayden--“when she saw you step into that motel room.”

“Does--she know who tried to kill her?” Hayden asked.

“She says no.” Garvey looked at Corbin. “Ready, Mr. Corbin?... You don’t need to come to the door,” he added to Hayden. “We know the way out.”

_21_

For several seconds after the outer door closed there was nothing but silence in the room. Each seemed busy with his own thoughts and their glances were averted. In his own mind, Hayden was aware of his tangled ideas and an odd sense of frustration mingled with the relief that had come when he knew Doris Lamar had told her story. He also knew what he wanted to do but he was not sure how to go about it, and when the air of depression that hung in the room finally made itself felt he broke it abruptly and with determination.

“I need a drink,” he said, and looked at his wife.

She nodded, took a breath with lips tight, and expelled it forcibly. “Me too, please.... Roger?”

Denham went back to his chair, his smile diffident as he considered the invitation. “You know how it is with me but--well, all right. A weak Scotch and soda.”

Hayden wheeled and headed for the kitchen. It seemed strangely cool as he entered, but he did not wonder about it until he was back at the sink working on an ice tray. When he finally became conscious of the change, he turned slowly and noticed that the door to the breezeway was ajar. He closed it automatically without thinking any more about it, and went on to pour the drinks. He had them made before his glance touched the knife rack and stopped to focus there as he saw the one empty space.

Denham thanked him for the drink, and Hayden went over and sat down beside his wife. He wanted to say “Cheers” but found the word distasteful, so he merely lifted his glass, nodded, and drank as Marion responded. She lowered her glass and sighed again, the hazel eyes still despairing.

“I simply can’t believe it,” she said. “Maybe it’s because I don’t want to believe it.”

“If you mean Corbin,” Denham said, “he looks to me as if he could be a pretty rough character with the proper provocation.”

“I suppose he could be. But that poor girl--”

“Did he know she had offered to give you an alibi for a price?”

“Why”--she glanced at Hayden--“yes, I guess he did.” She spoke of their conversation in the station wagon when they had parked on the back road. “I told John and Ted the same thing I told you.”

“I suppose he felt he couldn’t take a chance,” Denham said. “She admitted being in the motel bathroom when Adler was murdered. Maybe Corbin thought she might have known something else that would incriminate him. If he had that in mind it would be easy enough to ask someone where she lived. It’s only a couple of blocks from the motel.”

Marion shook her head and remained unconvinced. She had her chin up and her mouth had a stubborn twist that Hayden had seen before when she was upset about something.

“I’ll never believe it,” she said. “With that man Adler it could have happened. He might have threatened Ted or pushed him too far. But not that girl. I lived with him three years. I should know what he was like. He wouldn’t hurt a woman, not deliberately. No.” She gave her dark hair another toss. “I don’t believe it.”

Hayden took a small breath and knew it was time for him to give her some help. “Neither do I,” he said.

“Oh, come now.” Denham’s smile was superior, his tone condescending. “It’s not what you want to believe that matters. All facts point to Corbin and you both know it. If he didn’t, who did?”

“I think you did, Roger,” Hayden said. “I think it had to be you.”

He heard Marion’s small gasp, saw the grin fix itself on Denham’s face. Behind the glasses the pale eyes had strange lights in them as they narrowed coldly.

“That’s not very funny.”

“I agree,” Marion added. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“I’m saying Roger killed Adler.”

Again he heard the quick words of protest, and when he made no comment a sort of delayed reaction set in and he felt the tension start to build in the room as they realized he meant what he said. He could feel his wife’s eyes upon him, but he was watching Denham and he heard him laugh derisively.

“You’re out of your mind,” he said finally. “Why should I do that?”

“Because you’re sick,” Hayden said. “You must have been sick for a long time.”

“Sick?” Denham said. “You’re babbling. I was healthy enough to lead a Ranger outfit in Korea and I’ve kept myself fit ever since. I’m in better shape right now than you ever were.”

“The sickness I’m talking about is in your head, Roger. Who was it you hated most? Was it Marion, or me, or both of us?”

“John!” Marion said, her voice sharp. “Look at me.” She waited until Hayden obeyed. “You’re wrong. Roger couldn’t hate us. He was my friend.”

“That’s what we thought,” Hayden said.

“But why should he kill Adler? He never knew the man, never even talked to him.”

“That’s what made the plan so good. But if he killed Adler, and I say he did, there can only be one motive.” He looked at Denham. “Do you want to know what I think?”

“Not particularly.” Denham leaned back and crossed his knees. “But if you insist I’ll listen.”

“You were in love with Marion once,” Hayden said, “if anyone as cold-blooded, self-centered, and stiff-necked as you could ever be in love. She must have sensed that because, while she accepted you as a friend and companion, she wanted no part of you physically. You couldn’t get to first base and you couldn’t understand it. You had a fine background, social position, money, intelligence, and reasonable good looks, and what happened? She married someone from the other side of the tracks who had nothing much to offer except that physical attraction and a certain personal warmth.

“That marriage didn’t work out,” he added quickly, “and that must have pleased you. After that plane crash you stood by as the family friend and you probably figured that this time you could get what you wanted. Instead of that, she married someone who, according to your standards, didn’t have much more to offer than Corbin. So the hate and bitterness kept eating away at you and there was nothing you could do about it, nothing. No way you could pay Marion back until Sam Adler showed up and gave you a chance.”

He took a breath, aware of Denham’s bright and narrowed stare but no longer bothered by it. “It wasn’t enough that he could prove Corbin was alive and complicate our marriage until something could be worked out. It wasn’t enough that I would have to go into debt for a long time to repay the seventy-five thousand dollars Marion had collected. You saw a chance to make one or both of us stand trial for murder. You were going to hang something on us that we’d never live down, and you might have made it if it hadn’t been for Doris Lamar. Sam Adler meant nothing to you. You’d killed men before in Korea. Adler was only a means to an end, and you killed him the same way you set up the frame for us--cruelly, deliberately, without compunction, without pity.”

“John!”

Again Marion interrupted him and he saw that her face was pale, the eyes stricken by what she had heard.

“You’re guessing,” she said. “You’re making it up.”

“All right,” Hayden said, “I’m guessing. But I’m not making up the fact that Adler was killed with a knife from our kitchen. Is that right? That’s what the police say, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but--”

“So who but Roger could have taken that knife? Not Corbin. He didn’t get into town until that evening. Not George Freeman.”

He could tell by the look on her face that he had scored this time and he continued, ignoring Denham.

“Only you and I and Roger knew why Sam Adler was here and what he wanted. Roger was your good friend,” he added, unable to keep the bitterness and resentment from his tone. “You told him everything. He knew where Adler was staying. He knew about the photographs Adler had. He knew I was coming to see him and he felt sure I would go to the motel to have it out with Adler after I’d left him. When I came home Tuesday night and went out to the kitchen to make a drink that knife was missing. I didn’t think much about it then. I didn’t even consider it until you told me the police thought it came from our kitchen.

“You had already had a drink when I came in Tuesday,” he added. “Roger had been here and knew the story. You’d had a drink with him, and he must have been in the kitchen with you. That’s when he took the knife. That’s the only time he could have taken it, so he must have known then that he was going to kill Adler and frame us if he got the chance. I don’t know what his original plan was, but I made it easier for him.”

He looked at Denham. “Didn’t I, Roger? When I left you Tuesday night I told you I was going to stop at the tavern and get a double brandy before I went over to have it out with Adler. I wanted a little time to pull myself together and that was all you needed. You must have followed a minute or so later. You knew exactly where to find Adler. What you had to do couldn’t have taken more than another minute or two. You thought the police would find the snapshots on him and discover what they meant. You knew they’d eventually trace the knife. You were on your way home before I even left the tavern. Luck was with you all the way except for one thing--Doris Lamar.”

He paused again, the tension winding a little tighter inside him and the bitterness he could no longer control edging his words.

“Marion still counted on your help and she told you the proposition Doris made. She said so a few minutes ago when you asked if Corbin knew about Doris. You were going to kill her too, not because she could put the finger on you, but because you knew that if she talked she would give us both alibis and that might make the police consider you. With her dead we would be in exactly the same position you set up for us. One or both of us would probably eventually have stood trial for murder and that was what you wanted. That was what you had to have. Two minutes longer and you would have made it, but you didn’t dare go after her until it was dark and I got there before you could finish the job.”

Denham uncrossed his legs and sat up. If he was concerned by what he heard it did not show. His control and reactions were superb, and except for a tightness around the mouth and the bright, pitiless glints in his eyes there seemed to be no outward change in his appearance.

“What was all the business with Ted Corbin for?” The words were measured and sardonic. “What was the idea of trying to make a case against him with the police?”

“What I said about him was true,” Hayden replied. “But when the police check him out at the tavern they will probably find out he is in the clear and that will bring them back to the knife again, Roger. I’ve read about people who brooded over some injustice, real or fancied, and built up a personal private hate until it became a phobia or a fixation or a neurosis. I wanted to find out how it was with you. I wanted Marion to know the truth about you once and for all.”

The remarks did not seem to bother Denham. He ran his fingers through his short, brown hair, and from what he said then it was apparent that he had not heard much of what Hayden had just said.

“You said I had a bad break with Doris Lamar,” he said. “I made one other mistake and that was about you, John.”

“Yeah,” said Hayden. “I’ve got the picture. I live a well-ordered life. I have no real drive, no spark; I’m dull, conventional, law-abiding. A peasant.”

Again Denham did not seem to hear him. There was, somehow, a far-out look in the cold, bespectacled eyes. They were directed at Hayden, but he was not sure they actually saw him, and the look was suddenly disturbing.

“I misjudged you,” Denham said in the same, toneless voice. “I fixed the door latch so you could walk in on Adler. I thought when you did and found out what happened you’d be too shocked--maybe stupid is the word--to do anything but call the police. That’s what the average levelheaded citizen would do. Why not you?”

“I wasn’t very levelheaded at the time,” Hayden said. “I was thinking of Marion, and myself, and Ted Corbin. I looked for the snapshots and I found them. I might have destroyed them and called the police then. That’s what I wanted to do--until I remembered that if there were snapshots there had to be negatives. When I couldn’t find them in the room--”

“That was smart,” Denham said. “And the Mobile police did find the negatives. But that took a little time. That gave you a chance to get down and locate Corbin.”

The disturbance which had been caused by Denham’s strange behavior had ominous side effects, and with them came a warning Hayden could no longer ignore. It seemed now that the sickness he had mentioned still lingered in Denham’s mind, and he suddenly wanted to be rid of the man. He took a swallow of his drink and put the glass down. He stood up.

“I think the police will eventually catch up with you,” he said. “But you’re a lawyer; maybe you can talk your way out of it. Maybe it would be simpler if I called them now and got them over here.” He started to turn away, then stopped abruptly as Denham spoke.

“Not just yet, John.”

Still sitting erect in the chair and not hurrying, he shifted his weight to one hip. He slid his hand down past the raised hip and found something between the cushion and the chair. When his hand came up it held an automatic pistol. There was a certain familiarity in the way he handled the gun, and now he pointed it at Hayden.

“I took this from Sam Adler,” he said, and a small, mean smile twisted one corner of his mouth. “Now I’m rather glad I kept it. Let’s talk a little more, John. You sit over here.” He gestured with the gun. “I’ll sit with Marion and keep an eye on you.”

_22_

The sight of the gun held John Hayden stiff-legged and immobile for a moment until he realized it had been hidden in the chair some time earlier. Now, accepting the situation, he was surprised to find that he felt no great sense of shock. He glanced at Marion and saw that her face was slack and incredulous. She seemed unable to pull her gaze from Denham, but if there was any feeling of fear inside her it did not yet show. She was, it seemed, not yet ready to accept the fact that this man was indeed sick, and Hayden was glad for that.

“All right,” he said, and began to move toward the dining end of the room while Denham circled cautiously toward the divan. “Let’s talk. You took the gun from Adler. Is that what you used to slug Doris Lamar?”

Denham nodded as he sat down. “I imagine a laboratory test or a spectrographic analysis may prove it. That’s why I brought it when you phoned.”

“You intended to plant it?”

“It seemed like a good idea. If Doris failed to recover--and I thought she might--the authorities would have to keep the pressure on you. I felt sure they’d make another search here. If they found the gun it might help clinch the case.”

Hayden eased down on the edge of the chair, the back of his neck tightening. For he understood beyond all doubt that Denham’s mental instability was no longer academic, and in the brief silence that followed while he tried to collect his thoughts he turned his head slightly, wondering if he had heard some faint sound from the kitchen or whether it was his imagination.

Denham, seeing the movement, mistook its purpose. “Don’t try anything, John,” he warned. “I’ve gone too far to make any more mistakes.”

“Roger!” Marion found her voice but a look of awe tempered the alarm that now showed in the hazel eyes. “Why, Roger? Why should you hate me so? What did I ever do--?”

“You laughed at me,” Denham said, and for the first time there were signs of strain and vindictiveness in his voice as his thoughts focused on the seeds of his sickness. “I tried to be nice, to make love to you, to make you treat me like a man wants to be treated, and you laughed.”

“No, Roger.”

“I say you did. I had things to offer that most girls want,” he added, his words low and ragged now. “But you took Corbin, and Hayden. You wouldn’t let me touch you--”

“I didn’t laugh, Roger. I didn’t want to hurt your feelings. When we were young I liked and admired you. I trusted you. Later I had to be more careful because I knew how you felt. I tried to make you understand that I didn’t feel the same way about you. I couldn’t help how I felt but I tried to disguise it because we were friends. I tried to explain that the physical thing between a man and a woman is something that is either there or it isn’t. It isn’t enough for a man to be handsome or considerate or generous. There has to be something very special, and if it’s not there you can’t pretend that it is; at least I couldn’t.”

“You laughed.”

“No. I liked you too much to tell you that I couldn’t stand to have you kiss me. I tried to play it lightly and hoped you’d finally understand. Maybe I shouldn’t have. I thought if you’d only accept the fact that I could never be serious about you that way, you’d start looking for someone who could give you what you wanted willingly. Maybe I should have come right out a long time ago and told you. Maybe I should have told you that I could never love you physically, that something about you repelled rather than attracted me, but I didn’t want to hurt you--and--”

“That’s it,” Denham cut in. “You couldn’t stand me. You cringed when I touched you, as if there was something rotten inside me. That’s what you thought, isn’t it?”

“I never stopped to think what it was, Roger. I know now that it must have been something hard and arrogant that made me uneasy and sometimes a little frightened.” She caught her breath. “But why did you pretend to be my friend all these years when you hated me?”

“I told you,” Hayden said. “He’s sick. He’s always had exactly what he wanted except you. He couldn’t take it. His ego hurt him. He had to get even.”

“I waited a long time,” Denham said, his voice low but sinister now. “I thought you’d learned your lesson when you and Corbin made such a mess of things. I thought the accident would wake you up and give me another chance. I was even ready to be second choice. I took care of all the details for you. I collected your insurance and nothing had changed. You still pulled away from me when I tried to be affectionate. To make it worse you married Hayden. You turned that money over to him--”

Hayden interrupted. He did not know what Denham’s plans were, or if he had any, but he wanted to get the pressure off Marion. He knew that the man would not hesitate to use the gun if he made up his mind, but somehow he was no longer afraid of it.

“Sure,” he said, “and that must have burned you plenty. It not only gave me a chance to buy into a business but the business is doing fine.”

Denham ignored him. It was as if he had not heard what was said. Whatever lay in his mind was a corrosive thing that was undermining his sanity and there was no room left for digressions.

“Adler gave me the chance I was waiting for,” he said, still watching Marion. “When you told me what he wanted and why he was here I knew how to get even.”

“You took the knife when you were here,” Hayden said.

“I planned to get him right _after_ you’d seen him, but when you said you’d stop for a drink at the tavern I decided I could do the job then.”

“It didn’t bother you a bit, did it?”

“Why should it? I killed better men than him in Korea. He was nothing, a human leech. It was all over before he knew what had happened.”

“He never had a chance.”

“No chance at all,” Denham said, and something about the connotation of the words made them sound as if he were enjoying the thought. “We used to have to do it at night. We had to be quiet. We had to be careful or get killed. But the technique was the same.”

The grin that warped his mouth showed his teeth, and to Hayden it seemed that the bright gleam in the pale eyes was no longer rational.

“If I had a knife I could show you, John,” he said. “I could demonstrate how easy it is to spin a man around and get your left hand over his mouth from behind while you do the job with your right--”

“Oh, Roger--” Marion buried her face in her hands and for a moment Hayden thought she was going to break down. He heard the muffled sob as she caught her breath, and then she dropped her hands and her face came up, white and stricken. But she was looking right at Denham now when she spoke and her voice had an outraged sound. “How could you?”

“It was almost the same with Doris Lamar,” Hayden said, and wondered again if he had not heard some faint whisper of sound from the kitchen. “After you slugged her--how come she didn’t get a look at you?--you used the stocking from behind, the way they taught you in the Rangers, hunh?”

“If it had got dark a few minutes earlier I’d have made it.”

“You couldn’t let her talk, could you? If she told the truth, and you knew she probably would, we’d have been in the clear and you’d have done your killing for nothing. The fact that she was a woman who had never done anything to you made no difference at all.”

“Why should it?” Denham said. “As a woman she was no better than Adler. She was amoral, promiscuous, common. She was nothing but a tramp and--”

That was as far as Denham got and Hayden knew that he had not been wrong about the faint sounds he had heard in the kitchen. He heard the sudden violent rush of someone coming through the open door, and even before he could turn he knew who it was, who it had to be. For only one person had a deep and personal feeling about what happened to Doris Lamar, and as he twisted and got a glimpse of George Freeman he knew why he was here.

Later, when he had a chance to think, he understood the compulsive and perhaps irrational drive that precipitated the outburst. To Freeman Doris Lamar was none of the things that Denham had just mentioned. Freeman was in love with the girl; he had already proved it when he tangled with Sam Adler at the Log Cabin.

He could not know then whether Doris would live or die, but he had sworn to kill whoever was responsible. To give himself that chance he had sneaked away from her cottage earlier. He had known that they were all coming here and the door to the breezeway, which had been ajar earlier, was evidence of how he had entered. He knew now that Denham was responsible. He had heard the woman he loved maligned and slandered and he was ready for the showdown.

Hayden could not stop him. He saw the gun that Freeman had threatened him with before. The round face was chalky and stiff and the eyes held that same wild, unseeing look. He was yelling now as he snapped up the gun and the words made no sense to Hayden.

There was only time for him to feel the full impact of a paralyzing fear that was directed not at himself but at Marion before the gun kicked in Freeman’s hand and the sound of it slammed through the room.

He knew at once that Freeman had missed. He heard the second shot, but by then Denham, who had been under fire before, was moving.

He rolled sideways off the end of the divan and came to a stop in a crouch. The sound of a door opening somewhere in the distance caught Hayden’s ear, though he did not understand it, and with it Denham squeezed the trigger.

Hayden saw the gun buck in Denham’s hand. He heard Freeman’s third shot and knew that Denham had still not been hit. But Freeman had. The bullet struck him somewhere high on the right side, the impact jerking his shoulder back and staggering him slightly.

Denham, still in the crouch, a gleam of some inner satisfaction brightening his bespectacled gaze, seemed about to fire again when Hayden heard the shouts of warning.

Somehow he managed to pull his horrified gaze from Marion, who had instinctively ducked forward to lower her head in her lap. He saw Lieutenant Garvey and the plainclothes man named Malone at the end of the room. He saw their service revolvers snap up and swing toward Denham. He heard two voices, the two quick, hard commands spoken simultaneously.

“Hold it!... Drop it!”

There was no hesitation on Denham’s part. Training, instinct, desperation, whatever it was that fed the impulse, made him wheel to meet this new threat. There was no doubt in Hayden’s mind now that the man intended to shoot and apparently there was none in the minds of the officers.

And so, stunned and powerless to interfere, he simply watched in morbid fascination as the three shots hammered in the room, and he knew instantly the results of that exchange. Denham was an expert of sorts but so were Garvey and Malone. They must have fired a fraction of a second quicker because they stood in their tracks, nothing changing in their faces, ready to shoot again but holding their fire.

Denham took both slugs, one high up in the arm which seemed to recoil. The other apparently struck him in the thigh because the leg started to collapse. He made one final effort to bring the gun to bear but could no longer hold it, and as it dropped from his limp fingers the leg gave way and he fell lopsidedly to the floor.

Hayden was never sure what happened in the next three or four minutes. He had but one thought in mind now, and when he could move he went directly to the divan and sat close to Marion, his arms enveloping her. She came to him immediately, leaning her weight against him, her face buried in the corner of his neck. He could feel her trying to get her breath while her body was racked by small convulsive sobs she could not control. He spoke softly, comforting her, conscious of his own muscular weakness as reaction released the tension that had been punishing him.

“It’s all right, sweetheart. It’s all over.”

He said other things, and he could feel the sobs stop and her breathing grow more regular. When she was ready, she released herself. She brushed the wetness from her cheeks and tried to smile at him.

“I’ll behave now.”

“You’re wonderful,” he said. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I am now.”

“Don’t you want to go into the bedroom and lie down for a while?”

“I couldn’t. Not now. I can’t even sit still. Isn’t there something I can do?”

“How about making some drinks?” he asked, giving words to the first thought that came to mind.

“No.” She stood up and straightened her dress. “But I’ll make some coffee.”

“Good.” He walked part way to the kitchen door with her. “I’ll be out in a couple of minutes.”

When he looked about he saw that Lieutenant Garvey was just hanging up the telephone. Malone had collected the guns from Freeman and Denham, and he had now hunkered down in front of Denham and was helping straighten the wounded leg as Denham leaned back, his shoulders against the front of the divan.

“There’ll be a doctor and an ambulance here in a few minutes,” Garvey said.

Denham watched him, his bespectacled eyes painridden and sullen. “You two are quick with your guns,” he said morosely, “but you need practice.”

“I thought we did pretty well,” Garvey said. “We didn’t have much time. We don’t like to shoot to kill if we can help it.” He glanced at Freeman. “How are you, Mr. Freeman? Can you hold on?”

Freeman was sitting in a straight-backed chair, the heel of his left hand pressed beneath the right shoulder. The round face was no longer chalky and stiff, and his eyes were dull and disinterested.

“I think he busted a collarbone but I’m okay. It’s a damn good thing you got here when you did. I never even shot a gun before.”

“We’re all lucky,” Hayden said. “What brought you back anyway?”

Garvey considered the question, and for the first time since Hayden had met him he saw the lieutenant smile. It was not a big smile but it was pretty good for Garvey. He seemed pleased about what he had to say.

“Did you think we’d forgotten about the knife, Mr. Hayden?”

“Oh?”

“It took a while but we definitely traced it to you. Without the Lamar woman’s statement we had what we call a pretty airtight case against either you or your wife or both.”

“Did you ever consider Denham?”

“We considered everybody,” Garvey said. “With Denham we had no motive, but in this business when you have the facts to warrant an arrest you make it and let the motive develop later.”

He took a moment to glance at the wounded man on the floor before he continued.

“We spent a lot of time on Freeman but we couldn’t crack him. He had no reason to take that knife from your house or any opportunity. Neither did Mr. Corbin. It didn’t take us long to check him out tonight, and what they told us at Jerry’s Tavern was enough to start us thinking in another direction. There wasn’t anybody left but Denham and we came back to pick him up.... I still don’t know what the motive is, do you?”

“I know,” Hayden said, “but it goes ’way back and it’s not too easy to understand.”

The sound of a siren fading outside took Garvey to the front door, and Hayden moved into the kitchen and swung the door behind him. He moved up beside his wife, who was standing by the sink, and slipped his arm about her waist. Again she leaned her head against his shoulder and he said: “How’s the coffee coming?”

“It should be perking any minute.”

“How about the baby?”

“He’s fine too,” she said and digressed with a sigh. “I’m awfully glad it wasn’t Ted.”

“Me too.”

“What will they do to Roger?”

Hayden said he did not know. “He’s a lawyer and he’s got plenty of money, but from now on it’s up to the State’s Attorney and the courts. We’re not going to worry about Roger and we’re not going to worry about us because everything’s going to be fine. We’ll have a divorce in no time and after that--”

He let the sentence dangle and turned her by the shoulders until she faced him.

“You don’t mind marrying me again, do you?”

He saw the answer in her eyes as she put her hands on the back of his neck. She kissed him hard and passionately and almost as quickly stepped back.

“I’d like to, Mr. Hayden.”

He grinned at her and then gave her a firm but affectionate slap on the rump as she turned toward the stove. He said they’d probably have to be poor for a couple of years until the insurance money was repaid, and when she said it didn’t really matter she sounded as though she meant it.

A NOTE ABOUT THE AUTHOR

GEORGE HARMON COXE _was born in Olean, New York, and spent his
youth there and in nearby Elmira. After a year at Purdue and one
at Cornell, he worked for five years on newspapers in California,
Florida, and New York, and did advertising for a New England
printer for five years more. Since that time he has devoted
himself to writing--for two years with Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, then
as a free-lance, selling numerous short stories, novelettes, and
serials to magazines as well as to motion-picture, radio, and
television producers._

_He is a past president of the Mystery Writers of America._

SEPTEMBER _1962_

A NOTE ON THE TYPE

The text of this book is set in Caledonia, a Linotype face
designed by W. A. Dwiggins, the man responsible for so much that
is good in contemporary book design and typography. Caledonia
belongs to the family of printing types called “modern face” by
printers--a term used to mark the change in style of type-letters
that occurred about 1800. Caledonia borders on the general design
of Scotch Modern but is more freely drawn than that letter.

Transcriber’s Notes

Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected.
Hyphens in some words have been silently removed to improve
consistency. Italicized text is surrounded by underscores:
_italics_.