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

‘Better perhaps than you do – so well that I pledge myself to return it to your hands within the next half hour!’

Senator Duffield took three steps forward until he stood so close to Madelyn that he could have reached over and touched her on the shoulder.

‘I am an old man, Miss Mack, and the last two days have brought me almost to a collapse. If I have appeared unduly sharp, I tender you my apologies – but do not give me false hopes! Tell me frankly that you cannot encourage me. It will be a kindness. You will realize that I cannot blame you.’

Senator Duffield’s imperious attitude was so broken that I could hardly believe it possible that the same man who ruled a great political party, almost by the sway of his finger, was speaking. Madelyn caught his hand with a grasp of assurance.

‘I will promise even more.’ She snapped open her watch. ‘If you will return to this room at nine o’clock, not only will I restore your stolen property – but I will deliver the murderer of Raymond Rennick!’

‘Rennick’s murderer?’ the Senator gasped.

Madelyn bowed. ‘In this room at nine o’clock.’

I think I was the first to move toward the door. Fletcher Duffield hesitated a moment, staring at Madelyn, then he turned and hurried past me down the hall.

His father followed more slowly. As he closed the door, I saw Madelyn standing where we had left her, leaning back against her chair, and staring at a woman’s black slipper. It was the one which had been found by Raymond Rennick’s dead body.

I made my way mechanically toward the dining room, and was surprised to find that the members of the Duffield family were already at the table. With the exception of Madelyn, it was the same breakfast group as the morning before. In another house, this attempt to maintain the conventions in the face of tragedy might have seemed incongruous; but it was so thoroughly in keeping with the self-contained Duffield character that, after the first shock, I realized it was not at all surprising. I fancy that we all breathed a sigh of relief, however, when the meal was over.

We were rising from the table, when a folded note addressed to the Senator, was handed to the butler from the hall. He glanced through it hurriedly, and held up his hand for us to wait.

‘This is from Miss Mack. She requests me to have all of the members of the family, and those servants who have furnished any evidence in connection with the, er – murder’ – the Senator winced as he spoke the word – ‘to assemble in the library at nine o’clock. I think that we owe it both to ourselves and to her to obey her instructions to the letter. Perkins, will you kindly notify the servants?’

As it happened, Madelyn’s audience in the library was increased by two spectators she had not named. The tooting of a motor sounded without, and the tall figure of Senator Burroughs met us as we were leaving the dining room. Senator Duffield took his arm with a glance of relief, and explained the situation as he forced him to accompany us.

VI

In the library, we found for the first time that Madelyn was not alone. Engaged in a low conversation with her, which ceased as we entered, was Inspector Taylor. He had evidently been designated as the spokesman of the occasion. ‘Is everybody here?’ he asked.

‘I think so,’ Senator Duffield replied. ‘There are really only five of the servants who count in the case.’

Madelyn’s eyes flashed over the circle.

‘Close the door, please, Mr Taylor. I think you had better lock it also.’

‘There are fourteen persons in this room,’ she continued, ‘counting, of course, Inspector Taylor, Miss Noraker and myself. We may safely be said to be outside the case. There are then eleven persons here connected in some degree with the tragedy. It is in this list of eleven that I have searched for the murderer. I am happy to tell you that my search has been successful!’

Senator Duffield was the first to speak. ‘You mean to say, Miss Mack, that the murderer is in this room at the present time?’

‘Correct.’

‘Then you accuse one of this group –’

‘Of dealing the blow which killed your secretary, and, later, of plundering your safe.’

Inspector Taylor moved quietly to a post between the two windows. Escape from the room was barred. I darted a stealthy glance around the circle in an effort to surprise a trace of guilt in the faces before me, and was startled to find my neighbours engaged in the same furtive occupation. Of the women of the family, the Senator’s wife had compressed her lips as though, as mistress of the house, she felt the need of maintaining her composure in any situation. Maria was toying with her bracelet, while Beth made no effort to conceal her agitation.

Senator Burroughs was studying the pattern of the carpet with a face as inscrutable as a mask. Fletcher Duffield was sitting back in his chair, his hands in his pockets. His father was leaning against the locked door, his eyes flashing from face to face. With the exception of Dorrence, the valet, and Perkins, the butler, who I do not think would have stirred out of their stolidness had the ceiling fallen, the servants were in an utter panic. Two of the maids were plainly bordering on hysterics.

Such was the group that faced Madelyn in the Duffield library. One of the number was a murderer, whom the next ten minutes were to brand as such. Which was it? Instinctively my eyes turned again toward the three women of the Duffield family, as Madelyn walked across to a portiere which screened a corner of the apartment.

Jerking it aside, she showed, suspended from a hook in the ceiling, a quarter of fresh veal.

On an adjoining stand was a long, thin-bladed knife, which might have