American Sherlocks by Nick Rennison (reading like a writer .TXT) 📕

‘You may use my car for the trip if you want to,’ Lamson volunteered immediately.

‘No, I thank you. I prefer to go in the train. I shall be pleased to have your car take me to the station, though, if that will not inconvenience you.’

As the pair descended the stairs they paused a moment to gaze at the activities of the police. The room remained in much the same condition as when they had originally viewed it, except for the fact that the body had been removed, thus doing away with the most gruesome feature of the case. Seeing them, the chief paused for a moment.

‘Giving up so early in the game, Mr Sawyer?’ he inquired, a slightly sneering accent in his voice.

‘Not exactly giving up, Chief,’ Quincy replied, ignoring the tone. ‘But my business temporarily calls me elsewhere, and, for the present, I shall be obliged to absent myself. I expect to return here later on, though, unless in the meantime you have been able to solve the mystery. You have found no trace of hidden wealth as yet, I suppose?’

‘No, we have found nothing, but there must be some clue to it somewhere. I am about to act on your suggestion and search the cellar.’

‘Before you do that, Chief,’ said Quincy, smiling frankly, ‘I would suggest that you search the woman’s chamber. There are some bank books there which will be of interest to you.’

‘You mean that her money was deposited in a bank?’ the chief demanded sharply.

‘It was, and still is, in a bank, or in banks, to be more exact. I fear you will be wasting your time if you search farther for it here.’

For a moment the chief stared silently, but at last a slow grin began to relieve the hard lines of his face. ‘Mr Sawyer,’ he said, ‘you have put one across on us. I held you lightly in the beginning because, several times of late, my department has been considerably hindered by the actions of amateur detectives, and I took you to belong to the same class. I see you know your business, and I apologize for my former abruptness of speech.’

The speech came as a complete surprise to Quincy, but he was not to be outdone in courtesy. ‘Chief,’ he said, ‘I accept your remarks in the spirit in which they were intended. Frankly, I am now starting out on a clue which I think will prove valuable. If I am successful I shall notify you of the fact on my return, and it is highly probable that we may be able to act together in the final scenes.’

The chief regarded him with increased respect. ‘I shall be pleased to act with you if you are successful,’ he said simply.

In ten minutes’ time Quincy was seated in Lamson’s car and hurrying toward the railroad station. Shortly afterward he was aboard a train for Gloucester and, bending over the three photographs, was carefully arranging his plans for the campaign he intended to wage in that peculiar city.

All that day, and throughout the night, Lamson and the chief anxiously awaited the return of Quincy or the coming of some word which would indicate his progress. The affair by that time had been spread broadcast through the medium of the press, and the grounds swarmed with reporters, to the disgust of Lamson, who cordially hated the notoriety which was thus being brought to his door. The second forenoon following the murder passed away without result in the desired direction, and Lamson, unused to the necessary tedium of a police investigation, and suffering from the strain involved, was at his wits’ end when Quincy suddenly reappeared as unostentatiously as he had departed. Lamson rushed eagerly from the house to greet him, the chief, no less eager, hurrying after, while the handful of reporters clustered around, listening intently for the first hint which might be incorporated in their several stories. Quincy waved them laughingly aside.

‘Not yet, boys,’ he adjured them. ‘I have a good story for you, and you shall have it very shortly, but I must first make my report to Mr Lamson.’

Obediently the reporters fell back, accepting his assurance without question. Lamson and the chief reached him simultaneously and, above the hurried hum of the reporters’ voices, rose Lamson’s appeal:

‘What luck, Sawyer? For heaven’s sake tell me the result quickly.’

Quincy took him soothingly by the arm. ‘It’s settled, Lamson,’ he said quietly; ‘but my investigation has had a most remarkable result. A most surprising result! Come into the house, and I’ll tell you all about it.’

When they were seated in the library, or at least when the chief and Quincy were seated, Lamson being too nervous to do anything other than to fidget about the room, Quincy digressed slightly from the point of the matter in hand.

‘I notice that you have gained considerable notoriety, Lamson,’ he said.

‘Notoriety!’ Lamson snorted the word furiously. ‘Notoriety! Yes, I certainly have, thanks to the press and its representatives outside! Look at the headlines which have been running. “Wealthy Epicurean’s Cook Murdered”, “Lamson’s Elysium Wrecked by Murderer” and so on without end! Why in the world must I be dragged into the case in that manner?’

Quincy allowed himself a smile at Lamson’s expense before proceeding. ‘You are merely the victim of circumstances, Lamson; but that was not what I intended to tell you. I wish to warn you that you are to receive still more notoriety because this case is about to produce one of the greatest sensations the press has had for years.’

Lamson paled at the words, and his agitation increased perceptibly. ‘You don’t mean,’ he stammered, ‘that you suspect me of the murder?’

‘Oh, no, Lamson, great Scott, no!’ Quincy hastened to assure him. ‘I have the murderer, and he has confessed. I merely wished to warn you