“And one who was familiar enough with the hospital routine to know the best time to enter the wing unobserved,” said O’Leary.
“That eliminates Jim Gainsay,” I remarked without thinking.
He regarded me keenly.
“We will come to him later,” he said. “As to the radium—yes, I think we can assume that the radium theft was at least one of the motives. Its disappearance indicates that, though it might be merely a blind. But the radium is very valuable, a small fortune to many men. As a matter of routine we have taken steps to insure the immediate reporting of anyone trying to dispose of a quantity of radium. I do not expect to hear from this, however, for the person who has the radium will naturally wait until this affair has blown over before attempting to sell the stuff. Yes, the radium theft may account for the death of Jackson but not for Dr. Letheny. At least not unless—”
“Unless he caught the thief?” I interrupted eagerly.
“If that were true, how account for his stealthy return to St. Ann’s and the fact that he did not call for help?” He paused but I said nothing and he continued: “Then there is the obvious conjecture that the person who administered the morphine must have been either so skilled that he could do so without awaking Jackson, or someone to whom the patient was accustomed. Dr. Letheny had charge of the case—”
“Dr. Hajek helped him some,” I blurted. “And Dr. Balman was in to see him once or twice. And there were the nurses—”
“Then it appears to lie between Dr. Hajek and Dr. Balman and you and Miss Day,” said O’Leary all too coolly. I gasped and he went on: “And the unknown element which is always to be considered. We can’t tell which died first—Dr. Letheny or his patient. We do not even know for certain whether Dr. Letheny met his death inside the walls of the hospital or not, but I have reason to believe that it was in Room 18. Otherwise it would have been difficult and purposeless, so far as I can see, to convey his body into the room and into that closet. Almost impossible for a woman,” he added as if in afterthought, and his eyes on that aggravating pencil. “I am inclined to think that the sound you heard and believed to be a window dropping to the sill was actually the blow that meant death for Dr. Letheny.”
“Oh—!”
“Yes.” His eyes were meeting mine, searching my face so intently that I felt as if my very thoughts were visible to them. “Now, Miss Keate, please tell me something of this Corole Letheny. I understand that she and her cousin were not on the best of terms.”
“That is true,” I acknowledged hesitantly.
“Don’t be afraid of incriminating anyone,” said O’Leary impatiently. “Clues are funny things. When they seem to point one way they are very apt, on close investigation, to point another way entirely. So please don’t hesitate to answer my questions.”
This reassured me somewhat; not that I have ever cared for Corole Letheny, but one does pause to consider one’s speech in such a serious matter.
“Corole and Dr. Letheny never did get along well together. But I don’t think she can be involved in this.” Thinking of the oddly mud-stained slippers, I paused again. That incident could have had nothing to do with the murders, of course, but still it was singular.
“What is it, Miss Keate?”
Before I knew it I had told him of the muddied bronze kid pumps.
“Indicating that Miss Letheny had some errand that took her hurriedly into the storm and that within a few moments following the discovery of Dr. Letheny’s death. Suppose you ask this maid, Huldah, about it. She will be more willing to talk to you. Oh, yes”—he smiled a little—“we must investigate every incident, every straw, no matter how small and insignificant it appears. And moreover,” he drew something from his pocket, “I am interested in Miss Letheny because of this.” He placed the small, square object on the table before us. I stared. It was Corole Letheny’s revolver. She had bragged about the thing often enough so I had no difficulty recognizing it. Someone had made her a gift of it, and it was very unsuitably decorated with some sort of silver trumpery and had her initials engraved upon it.
“We found this on the floor of the closet in which Dr. Letheny was found,” said O’Leary quietly.
For a long moment I sat there in silence, my eyes fascinated by the dully gleaming thing. What could it tell?
“But—neither of the men was shot!” I said at length.
“No,” agreed O’Leary, still quietly. “No. There is only the fact to go on that Corole Letheny’s revolver was found in the room where two men met their death in one night. That is all. It only indicates her probable presence at some time in the room. And a revolver usually means that whoever carried it had reason to believe he was in danger—or expected trouble of some kind.”
“But—Dr. Letheny might have brought it himself. He might have suspected that someone was planning to steal the radium.”
Lance O’Leary smiled slowly.
“You are loyal, Miss Keate. It may interest you to know that on going through Dr. Letheny’s deed box, I found that he was the beneficiary of a reasonably large income and that on his death it goes to Corole. I find, too—you see we detectives make our living by questions and answers,” he interpolated, as I suppose I looked as I felt, very much puzzled at the knowledge he appeared to have secured—“I find, too, that Dr. Letheny kept his household down to the most moderate of expenses and gave Miss Letheny only a barely sufficient allowance.”
“It is true that she has complained a great deal about money,” I admitted thoughtfully. “She is rather beautiful, you know, and loves to dress
