“Why should I object?”
“Charles thought… well, he said that maybe after you read Marvin’s note you would think that was a reason for ordering an autopsy on John. But I told him you couldn’t do it if I didn’t give my consent, and I’d never in the world do that.”
“Why, no,” said Gentry. “Go right ahead with the funeral if you want. I have no objection whatsoever. But you understand that an autopsy on your brother will be mandatory. The law requires it in a case like his.”
She said listlessly, “I understand about that and I guess I can’t stop you. Although I do think it’s utterly barbarous and indecent.”
Gentry said, “I’m sorry,” and the three men left the room together.
15
Marvin Dale’s body had been taken away, and Detective Donovan had gone downstairs to join Petrie and the chauffeur in the study. They found the city detectives seated in chairs near the door, with Charles sullenly lounging in a deep chair at the other side of the room.
Gentry strode in flatfootedly and crossed to stop directly in front of the chauffeur. He deliberately extracted a black cigar from his inner pocket, bit off the end and spat it on the floor, struck a match and held it to the other end, inhaled deeply and thrust his blunt jaw out. His features and his voice were granite-hard as he said,
“Don’t get the idea I’m buying any of this, Morton. I’ve got a pretty good notion about the sort of games you’ve been playing with your employer’s child-bride behind his back, and I think it’s just too bad that her pants got so hot last night that she couldn’t let you go to bed alone.
“But your sex life is no concern of mine except as it has a bearing on murder.”
Charles said, “Marvin committed suicide, if that’s what you’re talking about.”
“Did he?”
The chauffeur shrugged stolidly. “I didn’t see him drink the poison, if that’s what you mean.”
“It’s too bad somebody didn’t,” grated Gentry. “Because I’m telling you right now I don’t picture Marvin Dale as the sort of moral character who’d be so shocked to discover his sister’s infidelity that he’d sit down and swallow strychnine. Nor do I believe for one moment that he hasn’t known all along what you and Mrs. Rogell were up to.”
“Why tell all this to me?” flared Charles.
“Because I want you to know you’re still in trouble, and this investigation isn’t closed by a long shot. Don’t try to leave town.” The police chief turned on his heel and strode toward the door, jerking his head at Petrie and Donovan to follow him.
Shayne went out in the hall behind him with Rourke, and told the reporter, “Why don’t you ride back with Will, and write your story on Marvin? I’ll be along later.”
Rourke grinned amiably. “Going to stick around and chaperone the widow?”
“Something like that.” Shayne watched them go out the front door, and then went back to the kitchen where he found Mrs. Blair seated at the table drinking a cup of coffee.
She offered him one and he thanked her and told her he would drink it black, and sat down opposite her with a cigarette, and asked, “Did you see the suicide note Marvin left?”
She shook her head. “Nobody showed it to me.”
“Just how flagrant were Charles and Mrs. Rogell about their affair before her husband’s death? “
She compressed her lips firmly and met his gaze across the table. “It’s not for me to gossip about people in the house where I work.”
“You won’t be working here long,” Shayne said flatly. “You certainly know that John Rogell left you fifty thousand dollars in his will.”
“I know he told me he was going to.”
“Why?”
“Why not?” she returned with spirit. “He had plenty and we’ve been friends a long, long time.”
Shayne said, “Friends?”
“Maybe you don’t know that he and Miss Henrietta roomed at my boarding house in Central City, Colorado, when he was just a prospector.”
“I know all about that. And how he came back there after your husband died and brought you here to be his housekeeper… and installed you in the adjoining suite until he married Anita and you had to move up to the third floor. And now he’s left you a fortune. Were all of those just friendly gestures?”
She said without rancor, “You’ve been listening to Henrietta. She’s got a nasty mind and always has hated me since she went to law against John and I got on the witness stand and told the plain truth about how generous he was to her.”
“Are you denying that you and Mr. Rogell were more than just friends?”
“I shan’t waste my breath denying it,” she said with simple dignity. “I don’t think you’ve any right to sit in my kitchen and say such things with the funeral not more than an hour away.”
Shayne said, “Wouldn’t you want to see his murderer caught… if he was murdered as Henrietta thinks?”
“If he was murdered,” she said with emphasis. “But I never have believed that one minute. Who’d have a reason?”
“Suppose he had become suspicious of Anita and Charles?”
“I swear he never was. He thought the sun rose and set in that girl. And I must say she made him a real good wife.”
“Do you know that Marvin is supposed to have taken poison because he surprised her out in Charles’ bedroom last night?”
“I didn’t know that, but he was probably so larruping drunk he might’ve done anything.”
Shayne asked, “Do you think Marvin might have killed Rogell?”
“Why would he? He had it mighty soft here.”
“But Rogell didn’t like the way he sponged off Anita. With him out of the way, he’d have it a lot softer.”
“Then why would he go and kill himself a couple days later?”
“That,” said Shayne morosely, “is one of several questions that bothers me. I wish you’d remember back to the night Rogell died. I understand you were in the kitchen until about eleven o’clock, and went up to bed after heating his milk and putting it in the thermos jug.”
“Like I did every night in the world. Before he got married I used to measure out his medicine in the cup myself, and when she came she did it.”
Shayne looked around the surgically clean, white kitchen speculatively. “Think back to that night,” he urged her. “Let’s theorize that someone did add something to his drink that caused his death. Who could have done it… had the physical opportunity?”
“I had the best chance.”
Shayne said, “I know. Who else?”
“Well, Charles was in here while I was washing out the thermos with hot water and heating the milk to go in it. I remember because I had to stop him from drinking the last glass of milk there was left in the refrigerator. I remember because it was just a lucky chance I caught him in time. I would have sworn there was another bottle left after dinner, but there wasn’t. And I scolded Charles for not checking careful before he poured his glass out because he knew Mr. Rogell always had to have a cup at night. Everybody in the house knew they mustn’t ever drink the last cup until I’d fixed his thermos.”
“Then he actually had it poured out before you noticed?”
“Yes, he did. He had a plate of cookies here on the table and I was washing out the thermos at the sink.”
“Then if he knew it was the last glass, he could have put something in it and then stalled around before drinking it so you’d notice and take it away from him?”
“He could have done that,” she agreed doubtfully. “But I didn’t notice him stalling any. He was about to take a sip when I saw it was the last in the bottle and snatched it out of his hand.”
