'I thought maybe you were angry because Richard pursued Delia while you were in… away that year.'
'In jail,' Donovan said. 'A year in jail.' The cigar had crumpled in his hand. He looked with surprise at the mass of tobacco, then dropped it on the floor. 'I didn t know about the house in Brookfield,' he said. 'But I wouldn t have killed Richard that way.'
'I wasn t sure.'
'You are now, though.'
'Oh yes,' Crane said. 'But having Lefty shoot at me, and then learning he was Delia s bodyguard, I naturally…'
'Lefty won t shoot at you again,' Donovan said.
'That s fine.'
Donovan s milky eyes studied Crane. 'It s a smart idea, to use carbon-monoxide gas. It would pass as an accident in most cases, wouldn t it?'
'It certainly did in Richard s case.'
'In fact, you re the only one in Marchton who realizes his death was not accidental.'
'Yes.'
'That s very fortunate… for me.'
'How do you mean?'
'You aren t going to talk about it.'
'Why not?'
Donovan s pale eyes were on Crane s face. 'In ten minutes you won t be talking to anybody.' His face was grim.
'You re joking,' Crane said.
'You think so?'
There was a noise in the hall. The door opened and Frenchy Duval came in the room. He had his hands in the air. Back of him came Williams, holding a revolver against Duval s neck. Pete and the smooth-faced young man followed with drawn automatics, and behind them walked Ann Fortune.
'Bill!' she said when she saw Crane. 'Are you all right?'
'Sure.'
Williams spoke to the smooth-faced man. 'You shoot, punk, and this gun ll go off, too.' He said to Donovan, 'You wouldn t want the Frog s brains all over your floor, would you?'
The smooth-faced young man s face was undecided.
'What do you say, Slats?'
Donovan said, 'Put the rods away.' His face was impassive.
The two men put their pistols in their pockets, but Williams held his to Frenchy s neck. Ann Fortune went over to Crane.
'Are you really all right?'
'I m fine.'
Frenchy Duval s sallow face was the color of a turnip. He said, 'I couldn t help it, Slats. This man, he caught me by the bar and…'
'Forget it,' Donovan said. 'We re all friends.'
'Yeah?' said Williams.
Crane was glad to see Ann, mostly to be rescued, but also because it showed she wasn t too angry with him. 'This is my little wife,' he told Donovan.
Donovan said, 'Pleased to meet you.'
'I think it would be nice to go home,' Ann said.
Crane walked with her to the door. 'Good night,' he said.
Frenchy Duval was frightened again. 'Slats, don t let them kill me!' Under the pressure of Williams revolver he walked stiff-legged to the door. 'Slats!'
The smooth-faced young man had his pistol out again. 'I can fog him easy, Slats,' he said.
'Let them go,' Donovan said.
Crane thought it was wonderful to be safe again.
In the hall he tried to take Ann s hand, but she wouldn t let him.
'Thanks for coming back,' he said. 'It was Williams,' she said. 'I really didn t want to.'
They were going down the stairs, and Crane could see the red light in the hall below. 'Well, thank you, anyway.'
Outside, Frenchy Duval pleaded, 'Please don t kill me.
Williams said, 'All right, Frog. Run.'
Frenchy Duval ran away. They got in the limousine. 'Where to?' asked Williams.
'Where s Richard s car?' Crane asked..
'In the Union Garage. They re holding it for the estate.'
'Let s go there.'
The sun came up on the way to Marchton. There were no cars on the road. When they halted for a stop sign they could hear a rooster crowing. A cold wind came from the east.
'What did Donovan want?' Ann asked.
'He was angry because I talked to Delia.'
'What was he going to do about it?' Williams asked.
'I think he was going to kill me.'
'Really?' Ann asked.
'I got that impression,' Crane said. 'I really did.'
It was broad daylight when they reached the garage, persuaded the sleepy watchman to let them see the sedan. It was a big one, painted a cream yellow. 'Plannin to buy it?' the watchman asked.
'Yeah,' Crane said. 'Mind if we look it over?'
'Go right ahead.' The watchman walked away. Crane examined the heater, found it was in perfect condition. Williams, peering over his shoulder, said, 'No leak there.'
'There has to be something,' Crane said. 'Or else I lied to Slats Donovan.'
'Do you care?' Ann asked.
'I always hate to lie,' Crane lied.
He knelt down by the rear bumper, ran his finger around the edge of the exhaust pipe. It was sticky. He held his finger to his nose, then stretched out his arm toward Ann. 'Smell,' he said.
'Rubber!'
'Sure.' He led the way back to their car. 'That proves Richard was murdered. The exhaust pipe got hot while the hose was on it, melted some of the rubber.
Now if we can find something wrong with John s car we can prove Carmel s suicide note was a fake.'
Williams started the limousine. 'We can bust into Carmel s garage. That s where John s car is.'
By walking along the hedge which divided Richard s property from Carmel s, they approached the garage from the rear. Williams had no trouble finding a master key to fit the lock on a side door. There was a green convertible, a space for a car and a big sedan inside the garage.
'The big one s John s,' Williams whispered. Crane knelt and ran his fingers over the exhaust pipe. He smelled his finger, nodded his head, stood up. 'Rubber?' Ann asked.
Crane nodded solemnly and Williams whispered, 'Then it s a double murder!'
CHAPTER XI
It was probably the worst hang-over William Crane had ever had. It took him forty minutes to bathe and put on a gray chalk-striped suit. He tottered downstairs to the living room and found Williams and Ann talking in front of a bright wood fire. There was a tomato-juice pickup on the table.
'It s about time you got up,' Ann said. 'It s ten o clock.'
