to have been a witness to your previous wedding.”
“I don’t believe it,” he said again stubbornly.
“It’s a matter of record. How do you suppose she’ll explain it when I ask her?”
“Leave Betsy Ann out of this.”
“She’s in it,” Shayne told him. “Up to her neck. Unless you want to make a full confession and explain how you conned her into going to Fitzgilpin to discover for certain whether he was the same man whom you met at the Commodore Hotel in New York a year and a half ago. Because that’s what she did, and goddamn it to hell, if she doesn’t have a logical explanation for what she did, we’ll charge her with being an accessory before the fact.”
Rutherford Rodman leaped to his feet, baring his teeth and waving the heavy automatic excitedly.
“Get out!” he shouted. “I don’t know what your stinking game is, but I don’t want any part of it. If you dare come around saying any of these things to my wife…”
“What sort of things is the man saying Rutherford?” inquired an icy voice from the hall doorway. They all turned to see a tall, angular woman framed there. Her hair was stringy and her plain face was devoid of makeup. She clutched a blue woolen dressing gown tightly about her, and her lips were thinned against slightly protruding teeth.
17
Rodman exclaimed, “Betsy Ann! My dear. I’m terribly sorry you were disturbed. These men are here on business and…”
“What sort of business, Rutherford? At this time of night and you waving that ridiculous gun around?”
Rodman looked down at the pistol in his hand as though surprised to discover it there, and Shayne got to his feet behind him. He said, “Police business, Mrs. Rodman. Now that you’re here, I’d like to ask you a couple of questions.”
“I warned you, Shayne. Leave her out of it.” Rodman whirled about, lifting the gun menacingly, but Shayne’s big right hand shot out and his fingers clamped about the man’s wrist. He tightened his grip inexorably and said, “Drop it.”
Rodman’s body writhed for a moment against Shayne’s bone-crushing grip, then the automatic dropped from his lax fingers.
Shayne stooped to scoop it up and dropped it into his coat pocket. He said curtly, “Both of you will answer my questions or I’m taking you in to police headquarters.”
“What sort of questions, dear?” Mrs. Rodman moved slowly into the room to stand beside her husband and link her arm in his. “I’m certain we have nothing to hide from the police.”
“That’s what I’ve been telling him,” blustered Rodman. “He’s made the ridiculous and damnable accusation that you have been trying to insure my life without my knowledge.”
“But, darling. I wanted it to be a surprise,” she said composedly. “You said you wanted us to take out joint policies, but were a little short of cash to pay the premiums, and I thought I’d surprise you by doing it myself.”
“Using the name of Mrs. Kelly?” Shayne put in.
“I suppose it was foolish of me,” she agreed, “but I intended to use my right name, of course, when the policy was issued. But the nasty little man I went to was most insulting in his refusal. He seemed to think I had an ulterior motive.”
“Jerome Fitzgilpin?” Shayne asked.
“Was that his name? I’m afraid I didn’t pay much attention. You don’t mean to say the police are interested in my trying to take out an insurance policy?”
“The police are interested in Jerome Fitzgilpin’s murder last night,” Shayne told her grimly. He was somewhat baffled by her ready explanation of her visit to Fitzgilpin’s office. Rodman appeared baffled too, but by this time Shayne had reached the conclusion that the man was a consummate actor.
“Can you alibi your husband for the period between ten and twelve?”
“Of course I can. We were right here at home together. Murder, you say?” Her plain, bony face showed an expression of revulsion.
“You spent the entire evening together?” Shayne demanded swiftly.
“Don’t answer any more impertinent questions, darling,” Rodman put in before she could reply. “This is utterly ridiculous, but I think I should call an attorney.”
“But I don’t mind answering his questions, Rutherford. We were together all evening, you know.”
“Your husband says differently, Mrs. Rodman.”
“Why would you do that, Rutherford?” Her voice was soothing and almost maternal. She pressed his arm closer to her angular body. “You know you’ve nothing to hide.”
“He’s been hiding other things from you,” Shayne told her harshly. “Did you know, for instance, that you aren’t his first wife?”
“Of course I knew that. You mean that silly little Rose in New York? Rutherford tells me everything.”
For a long moment there was a queer silence in the room. There was a curious, baffled expression on Rodman’s face which Shayne was at a loss to understand. It was as though the two of them had somehow got their signals crossed. As though each one was desperately playing it by ear, and neither was quite sure what the other would say next.
Shayne said, “Did he tell you also that he had neglected to get a divorce from Rose before marrying you?”
“That’s a lie!” Rodman jerked around to glare at the redhead. “I told you there was a Mexican divorce.”
“Have you seen the decree, Mrs. Rodman? Are you sure you’re legally married to him?”
“I trust Rutherford implicitly,” she stated with quiet and dignified poise.
“Will you continue to trust him after it’s proven that he murdered his first wife because she was trying to blackmail him, and then murdered Fitzgilpin last night to cover up the first crime?”
“But that’s ridiculous,” she said aloofly. “Rutherford couldn’t do such a thing. He wouldn’t harm a fly. And I’ve told you we were together last night.”
“Please, Betsy Ann,” begged Rodman helplessly. “Let’s not say anything more. I insist upon consulting an attorney.”
This was the weak point, Shayne realized anew. This was where they hadn’t gotten together in advance and synchronized their stories.
“Exactly what time did you return home last night?” he demanded of the heiress.
“I was with Rutherford all evening. He couldn’t possibly have done anything to that little man.”
“He said you were still out when he went to bed with a strong sleeping pill at ten o’clock,” Shayne told her. “Why do you suppose he told me that?”
“But, Rutherford, dear,” she protested. “You know I was right here…”
Rodman’s face was ashen. He swallowed hard, looking at her with an odd expression as though he were seeing her for the first time.
“But you weren’t, Betsy Ann. Why do you keep on saying you were here with me? Why do you lie about it?” His voice rose shrilly. Frightened and nearing hysteria.
She replied quietly, “Because I thought you wanted me to, darling. Because I thought you needed an alibi.” Her voice became warm and possessive, “You know I’d lie for you any time, my dearest one.”
“And provide yourself with an alibi at the same time,” Shayne put in swiftly. “Isn’t that it, Mrs. Rodman? Isn’t that what you really wanted? It was you who phoned Fitzgilpin, wasn’t it, and asked him to meet you some place for a drink? Did you tell him you had reconsidered about the insurance policy and had told your husband all about it? He would have responded to that sort of invitation. There was a hell of a big premium involved if you made it a legitimate proposition.”
“Betsy Ann,” begged Rodman, a look of horror on his face. “You didn’t! You…?”
“Don’t look at me like that,” she told him coldly. “I did it for you. I did everything for you. I love you so much. I can’t lose you, Rutherford. You’re all I have. My husband.” Her face was awed as she crooned the two words. She held her chin aloofly and closed her eyes as though in unbearable pain, but tears streamed from under the closed
