They all froze at that.
Then there was a burst of excited voices.
“All right, all right, calm down. Let the little lady tell her story. Spill it.”
I did, beginning with the footsteps I thought I’d heard on the stairs.
“Any of the rest of you hear anything?” Jerry turned to the people who lived upstairs.
They all talked at once, but he weeded them out one by one.
Not one of them would admit that he had either seen or done anything unusual.
Miss Sands reported having been in bed and asleep since nine thirty, after a particularly tiring sale day in her store.
Mr. Grant had gone to bed a little after ten, had been asleep.
The Wallers had been at a movie at the little house below the capitol, had come home just after eleven, gone to bed and to sleep.
Mr. Buffingham had been on his way out for a package of cigarettes when he passed me in the hall; had come back, read for a while, slept.
Mr. Kistler had stayed downtown until after midnight, had stopped at my door to say hello when he saw the thread of light under my doors, and had been disturbed when I didn’t answer. The other people had appeared from upstairs, one by one, when they were awakened by his pounding on my door and calling my name. They’d gone to their doors to see what was up, then out into the halls, and finally been lured downstairs, pretty much as they slept.
Except for Mr. Kistler, they had all come down together.
Unless they were all lying, there couldn’t be any doubt of that. They all verified it.
“Of course,” speculated Jerry gloomily, “we can’t tell how long before you was found that the choking took place. Whoever it was might have had time to get upstairs and undressed. Or he might just have gone around the front again, come in, and started pounding on your door.”
“That wasn’t what happened.” Mr. Kistler was elaborately calm.
“Oh hell.” Jerry abandoned that track and tried another. “Who runs this joint?”
They explained to him about Mrs. Garr’s going to Chicago. He was interested in that. He asked them over, one by one, if each one had been aware that Mrs. Garr was to be gone that night.
They all knew. Mr. Buffingham said, at first, that he didn’t know, but then he recollected it.
“Oh yeah, I guess she did say somethin’. I didn’t pay much attention.”
When it was Mr. Grant’s turn he said, “Oh yes, I knew,” vaguely.
“What time’d she go?”
“It was that excursion on the Great Western,” I said.
“Pulled out at 8:05 p.m., Jerry,” the quiet second officer said.
“I wonder who else knew the old lady was gone?”
“The Hallorans would—” I started.
“But Mrs. Garr didn’t go, then.” It was said absently, as if the speaker were thinking aloud.
It was Mr. Grant. He blinked at us over his thick lenses when we stared at him, fidgeting as if he wished he hadn’t spoken.
“What do you mean she didn’t go? She’s gone, ain’t she?”
“Oh, it’s nothing, nothing at all.”
“I’ll decide that. You talk.”
“It was just that I saw her after that. After eight-five, I mean.”
“Oh, you did! Where at?”
“I saw her across the street, walking up Sixteenth Street. I was in my room, looking out the window, and I saw her crossing over from the other corner, from the Elliott House corner, you know. I remember I wondered about it because I knew she was going away. Then I thought she must have come back for something. She started across Trent Street just as a car came along; she went back to the sidewalk again until it went past. I looked at my watch pretty soon after that because I wondered if I should go for a walk until bedtime. It was after eight thirty-five then, almost eight forty.”
“Why, I suppose she might have come back for some reason,” Mr. Kistler said. “Funny she didn’t turn up with all this racket going on, though. She’s usually Johnny-on-the-spot. I’ll call her.”
He went into the hall. “Mrs. Garr! Mrs. Garr!” he called loudly.
His voice echoed, but there was no other answer. He came back.
“Sure about the time that excursion left, Red?” asked Jerry.
Red went into the hall, made a telephone call, came back.
“Eight-five. Checked it,” he reported laconically.
Jerry took Mr. Grant in hand.
“Mr. Grant, there’s a lot of old ladies around.”
“It’s not likely I would mistake Mrs. Garr.” Mr. Grant was quiet but stubborn.
“Yeah. Maybe. And the time, now. How long before you looked at your watch?”
“Not more than five, ten minutes.”
Jerry laughed. “That’s what you think. If you’d listened to evidence in court a couple times, mister, you’d know how right people are about time.”
He stood up impatiently.
“This ain’t getting us anyplace, anyhow. You don’t think the old lady came back and choked her, do you? Time for you to speak up, lady. I mean you, Mrs. Dacres. Think it could have been the old lady choked you?”
I thought back. “Oh no. No, it couldn’t have been. Whoever it was was strong. Mrs. Garr had a bad heart. It made her breathless to do anything taking strength. Breathless to walk upstairs, even. I didn’t hear the—the person breathe at all, until he grabbed my neck.”
“Get any look at him at all?”
“No, I didn’t. But I have a feeling it was a man. That was my impression.”
Jerry grunted. “A lot of good that’s going to do us. Couldn’t tell was he short, fat, tall, thin?”
Again I tried to think, desperately. It was important, I could see that. If it were someone from the house. Short—that would be Hodge Kistler or Mr. Grant. Tall—Mr. Buffingham or Mr. Waller. Fat—Mr. Waller. Thin—Mr. Buffingham or Mr. Grant.
But try as I might, I couldn’t give the figure that had attacked me any bulk at all.
Just hands, coming out of the darkness. Arms. Steel strength in clenching fingers.
I shook my head.
The looks Mr. Waller, Miss Sands, and Mrs. Waller directed at me
