That s gratitude for you, Crane thought. You risk your life saving a gal, and who does she thank? The other guy!
Williams said disgustedly, 'All this work chasing after clues, and it turns out to be a plain gangster job.'
Dr Woodrin was looking at Donovan. 'That was a close one.' There was no pink in his face.
Williams said, 'It took guts to do what you did without a gun.' He stared at Dr Woodrin s white face. 'He didn t wing you, did he?'
'No.'
'Where d his shot go?'
Nobody knew, and Williams added, 'Good thing Bill and I were quick.'
Delia Young was watching them. 'Damn you all for a bunch of murderers,' she said in her husky voice.
Dr Rutledge and the guards had come upstairs and goggled at the body and Delia Young. Williams was describing the shooting when Carmel and Alice March arrived in two of the cars.
'We just had to know what happened,' Alice said.
Carmel s dark eyes were on Ann, beside Peter. 'How in the world did you get here?' she asked.
Ann said, 'I thought Slats Donovan was the murderer. So I found out where Delia Young was through a girl at the Crimson Cat, but Donovan surprised me trying to get into the house.'
Carmel said, 'Slats Donovan killed John and Richard?'
'And Talmadge.' Peter March looked at Ann. 'It was clever of you to figure that out.'
'Just a lousy gangster job,' Williams said.
Ann said, 'It wasn t so clever to get caught.'
'But what happened here?' Alice March persisted.
Peter repeated the story of the shooting to Carmel and Alice.
'I m glad you re safe,' Crane said to Ann.
'You didn t show it.' Her voice was cool. 'Letting somebody else untie me.'
Crane shrugged his shoulders. He sat on the table and crooked a finger at Williams.
'Get Doctor Woodrin s medicine bag for me,' he said in a low voice. 'One of the gals brought his car down.'
'Hell!' Williams said. 'Donovan s dead.'
'I want it.'
Williams black eyes were suddenly alarmed. 'He didn t wing you, did he, Bill?'
Crane smiled at him. 'Get the bag.'
Peter March was still talking. 'You really ought to thank me for saving you,' Crane said to Ann. 'Me and Doc Williams. I couldn t untie you because I was too busy with Donovan.'
'That was close,' she admitted. 'I don t see how his shot missed you.'
Crane saw Williams in the hall. He went out and took the bag from him, opened it, fumbled among its contents.
'What re you looking for?' Williams asked. 'A drink?'
Someone in the room called, 'Crane!'
There were a number of medical articles in his hand: a silver thermometer case, a steel probe, some cotton, an atomizer, a glass bottle of capsules. He carried these back into the room.
Peter March asked, 'Any reason we can t cart away the body?'
'I don t know of any.'
'What ll we do with the woman?'
'Let her go,' Ann said. 'She was practically a prisoner.'
Alice March was standing with Dr Rutledge. 'I don t understand why Donovan killed Richard… and and everybody.' Her plump face was bewildered.
Williams jerked a thumb toward the bed. 'Why don t you ask him?'
Peter March said, 'He hated the whole March family because March amp; Company fired him.'
Crane put the medical objects on the table beside the bottle of rye. He didn t feel so good. He took a drink, sat on the table, put the bottle down. He sat with his back arched, his stomach pulled in.
Ann was watching him. 'Are you all right, Bill?'
He smiled at her. 'Sure.' He wished he didn t like her so much. He picked up the atomizer, pointed it at his nose, gave the rubber bulb a tentative squeeze. He sneezed.
Dr Rutledge said to Peter March, 'There must have been more of a motive than revenge.'
Crane put the atomizer on the table, began to clean his nails with the steel probe. 'There was,' he said.
'What was it?' Peter March asked.
Crane ignored him. He put the probe down, took his revolver from his pocket. He gave it to Williams.
'Don t let Doctor Woodrin leave the room,' he said.
There was silence as Williams aimed the revolver at the physician.
Then Dr Woodrin said, 'What s the big idea?' His pink-and-white face was angry. 'If you re playing a joke, I don t…'
'Save it,' Williams said.
'Drop him if he moves,' Crane said.
Carmel March exclaimed, 'You must be mad.'
'Am I?' Crane took the atomizer, squirted it at her. 'With this I purify you.' He gave the rubber bulb a couple of squeezes. He felt a little light headed.
They certainly thought he had gone crazy. Even Williams was a little dubious. He thought, maybe he s just drunk. He wondered if the rye was doped.
The fine spray from the atomizer fogged Carmel s head, beaded on her mink coat, floated past Peter March.
'Perfume!' he said.
Carmel cried, 'My gardenia!'
Crane gave the atomizer a final squeeze. 'Would a corpse by any other name smell so sweet?' he inquired, and turned to Peter March. 'Can you search the doctor s car?'
Peter March nodded to a guard by the door.
Crane spoke to Dr Woodrin. 'Clever idea, wasn t it, to try to implicate Carmel?'
'You re insane,' Dr Woodrin said.
Dr Rutledge said, 'I know I am. For God s sake, Crane, tell us what it s all about.'
Crane felt very tired. The rye didn t seem to do much good, but he took another drink.
'It s about perfume, oily water, a plagiarist and duck shooting,' he said.
Carmel March gasped. 'Duck shooting?'
'Well, the Duck Club then. They ve found oil in Michigan, near Lansing, and in Illinois.' Crane spoke to Peter March. 'But there s probably a hell of a lot more right under your great-grandfather s land.'
Even the guards gaped at him. He went on: 'Woodrin knows this. Having been an oil-company doctor, he d be bound to know a lot about oil. Oil seepage; the geologic formation of the duck grounds tipped him off, but he couldn t buy the property.'
The guard who was searching Dr Woodrin s car appeared with a Scotch-plaid blanket and a tennis net. 'They were in the rumble,' he said, going away again.
Crane continued, 'There was little danger of the oil being discovered since the Marchs aren t oil people, even though oil seepage killed fish in the pools, and there are no wells within five hundred miles to make them think of oil. But as a trustee of the great-grandfather s estate, Woodrin could sell the land to himself… once the last March had died.'
His face incredulous, Peter March stared at the doctor. 'All those murders to get possession of an oil field?'
'Oh, he hated all of you, too.'
Carmel gasped, 'Hated us?'
'Sure. You were rich; he wasn t. When he had a chance to make money, with Donovan and Talmadge, in the night-club business, John spoiled it. So he went after the oil. How much is an oil field worth? A million dollars? Fifty million?'
