Murder at Bridge Page 2

  CHAPTER TWO

  As Special Investigator Dundee drove through the city of Hamilton at aspeed of sixty miles an hour, his way being cleared by traffic policemenwarned by the shrill official siren which served him as a horn, he hadlittle time to think connectedly of the fact that Nita Selim had beenmurdered during a bridge game in her rented home in Primrose Meadows.

  Even after the broad sleekness of Sheridan Road stretched before him hecould do little more than try to realize the shock which had numbedhim.... "Lovely Nita," as the society editor of _The Morning News_ hadcalled her, was--_dead_! How, why, he did not know. He had asked nodetails of Penny Crain.... Funny, thorny little Penny! Loyal littlePenny!

  "Judge Marshall has telephoned Police Headquarters," she had told himbreathlessly over the telephone, "but I made him let me call you as soonas he had hung up. I wanted _our_ office to be in on this right from thefirst."

  Beautiful, seductive Nita Selim, almost cuddling under his arm withinthree minutes of meeting him--_dead_! A vision of her black-pansy eyes,so wide and luminous and wistful as they had looked sideways and upwardto his, pleading for him to join her after-bridge cocktail party, nearlymade him crash into a lumbering furniture van. Those eyes were luminousno longer, could never again snap the padlocks of slave chains upon anyman--as Penny had expressed it.... Dead! And she had been so warmlyalive, even as she had retreated from him at his mention of the factthat he was attached to the office of the district attorney as a specialinvestigator. What had she feared then? Was her death a payment for somerecent or long-standing crime? Or had she simply been withdrawing fromcontamination with a "flat-foot"?... No! She had been _afraid_--horriblyafraid of some ulterior purpose behind his innocent courtesy in drivingPenelope Crain to Breakaway Inn.

  Well, speculation now was idle, he told himself, as he noted that hisspeedometer had dropped from sixty to thirty in his preoccupation. Hespeeded again, but was soon forced to stop and ask his way into PrimroseMeadows. The vague directions of a farmer's son lost him nearly eightprecious minutes, during which his friend, Captain Strawn of theHomicide Squad, might be bungling things rather badly. But at last hefound the ornate pair of pillars spanned by the painted legend,"Primrose Meadows," and drove through them into what soon became arutted lane. Almost a quarter of a mile from the entrance he found theisolated house, unmistakable because of the line-up of private carsparked before the short stretch of paved sidewalk, and the addedpresence of police cars and motorcycles.

  Dundee turned his own car into the driveway leading from the streetalong the right side of the house toward the two-car garage in the rear.Ahead of his roadster were two other cars, and a glance toward the opengarage showed that a Ford coupe was housed there.

  As he was descending Captain Strawn's voice hailed him from an openwindow of the room nearest the garage.

  "Hello, Bonnie! Been expecting you.... Damnedest business you eversaw.... There's a door from this room onto the porch. Hop up and come onin."

  Dundee obeyed. Driving in he had noted that a wide porch, upheld byround white pillars, stretched across the front of the gabled brickhouse and extended halfway along its right side, past a room which wasobviously a solarium, with its continuous windows, gay awnings,and--visible through the glittering panes--orange-and-black wickerfurniture.

  It was easy to swing himself up to the floor of the porch. Strawn flungopen the door which led into the back room, remarking with a grin:

  "Don't be afraid I'm gumming up any fingerprints. Carraway has alreadybeen over the room.... The Selim woman's bedroom," he explained. "Theroom she was killed in."

  "You _have_ been on the job," Dundee complimented his former chief.

  "Sure!" Strawn acknowledged proudly. "Can't be too quick on our stumpswhen it's one of these 'high sassiety' murders. Dr. Price will be hereany minute now, and my men have been all over the premises, basement toattic. Of course it was an outside job--plain as the nose on yourface--and we haven't found a trace of the murderer."

  Although Mrs. Selim had taken the house furnished, it was obvious thatthis big bedroom of hers was not exactly as the Crain family had leftit. A little too pretty, a little too aggressively feminine, with itschaise longue heaped with silk and lace pillows, its superfluity of bigand little lamps, its bed draped with golden-yellow taffeta, itsdressing table--

  But he could not let critical eyes linger on the triple-mirrored vanitydresser. For on the bench before it sat a tiny figure, the head bowed solow that some of the black curls had fallen into a large open bowl ofpowder. She was no longer wearing the brown silk summer coat whose openfront had given him a glimpse of pale yellow chiffon.

  He saw the dress now, a low-cut, sleeveless, fluffy affair, but hereally had eyes only for the brownish-red hole on the left side of theback of the bodice, about halfway between shoulder and waist--a waist sosmall he could have spanned it with his two hands, including its band offuchsia velvet ribbon. There also had been a bow of fuchsia velvetribbon on the lace and straw hat she had swung so charmingly less thanfive hours ago.

  "Shot through the heart, I guess," Strawn commented. "Took a goodmarksman to find her heart, shooting her through the back.... Funnything, too. Nobody heard the shot--leastways none of that crowd pennedup in the living room will admit they did. They'll all hang together,and lie like sixty to keep us from finding out anything that might pointto one of _their_ precious bunch! But if a gun with a Maxim silencer_was_ used, as it must have been if that whole crew ain't lying, thegunman musta been _good_, because you can't sight with a Maxim screwedonto a rod, you know."

  "Have your men found the gun?" Dundee asked.

  "Of course not, or I'd know whether it had a Maxim on it or not," Strawnretorted. "My theory is," he added impressively, "that somebody with agrudge against this dame hired a gunman to hang around till he got herdead to rights, then--plop!" and he imitated the soft, thudding soundmade by the discharge of a bullet from a gun equipped with a silencer.

  "Doesn't it seem rather strange that a professional gunman should havechosen such a time--with men arriving in cars, and the house full ofwomen who might wander into this room at any minute--to bump off hisvictim?" Dundee asked.

  "Well, there ain't no other explanation," Captain Strawn contended."Outside of the fact that my men have gone over the whole house andgrounds without finding the gun, I've got other evidence it was anoutside job.... Look!"

  Dundee followed the Chief of the Homicide Squad to one of the twowindows that looked out upon the driveway. Both were open, since the Mayday was exceptionally warm, even for the Middle West. The unscreenedwindow from which he obediently leaned was almost directly in line withthe vanity dressing-table across the room.

  "Look! See how them vines have been torn," Strawn directed, pointing toa rambler rose which hugged the outside frame of the window. "And lookhard enough at the flower bed down below and you'll see hisfootprints.... Of course we've measured them and Cain, as you see, isguarding them till my man comes to make plaster casts of them.... Yes,sir, he hoisted himself up to the window ledge, aimed as best he could,then slipped down and beat it across the meadow."

  "Then," Dundee began slowly, "I wonder why Mrs. Selim didn't see thatfigure crouched in the window, since she must have been powdering herface and looking into the middle of the three mirrors--the one whichreflects this very window?"

  "How do you know she was powdering her face, not looking for somethingin a drawer?" Strawn demanded truculently.

  "For three reasons," Dundee answered almost apologetically. "First: herpowder puff, as I'm sure you noticed, is still clutched in her righthand; second: there is no drawer open, and no drawer _was_ open, unlesssomeone has closed it since the murder, whereas on the other hand herpowder box _is_ open; third: the left side of her face is unevenlycoated with powder, while the other is heavily but _evenly_ powdered.Therefore I can't see why she didn't scream, or turn around when sheheard your gunman clambering up to her window, or even when he hadcrouched in it. I don't see how she could _h
elp_ seeing him!"

  "Well--what do _you_ think?" Strawn asked sourly, after he had testedthe visibility of the window from the dressing-table mirror.

  "I'm afraid, Captain Strawn, that there are only two explanationspossible. The first, of course, is that Nita Selim was quite deaf orvery nearsighted. I happen to know from having met her today--"

  "_You_ met her today?" Strawn interrupted incredulously.

  Dundee explained briefly, then went on: "As I was saying I have goodreason to know she was not deaf, but I can't say as to her beingnearsighted, except that it is my observation that people who areextremely nearsighted do not have very wide eyes and no creases betweenthe brows. I am fairly sure she did not wear glasses at all, becauseglasses worn even a few hours a day leave a mark across the nose or showpinched red spots on each side of the bridge of the nose."

  "You must have had a good hard look at her," Strawn gibed, his grey eyestwinkling, and his harsh, thin-lipped mouth pulling down at one cornerin what he thought was a genial smile.

  "I did," Dundee retorted. "Well, conceding that she was neither deaf norhalf-blind, she would necessarily have heard and seen her assailantbefore he shot her."

  "What's the other explanation?" Strawn was becoming impatient.

  "That the person who killed her was so well known to her, and his--orher--presence in this room so natural a thing that she paid no attentionto his or her movements and was concentrating on the job of powderingher very pretty face."

  "You mean--one of that gang of society folks in there?" and Strawnjerked a thumb toward the left side of the house.

  "Very probably," Dundee agreed.

  "But where's the gun?" Strawn argued. "I tell you my men--"

  "This was a premeditated murder, of course," Dundee interrupted. "TheMaxim silencer--unless they are all lying about not hearing ashot--proves that. Silencers are damned hard to get hold of, but peoplewith plenty of money can manage most things. And since the murder waspremeditated, it is better to count on the fact that the murderer--ormurderess--had planned a pretty safe hiding place for the gun and thesilencer.... Oh, not necessarily in the house or even near the house,"he hastened to assure Strawn, who was trying to break in.... "By theway, how long after Mrs. Selim was killed was her death discovered? Ordo you know?"

  "I haven't been able to get much out of that bunch in there--not evenout of Penelope Crain, who ought to be willing to help, seeing as howshe works for the district attorney. But I guess she's waiting to spillit all to you, if she knows anything, so you and Sanderson will get allthe credit."

  "Now, look here, chief," Dundee protested, laying a hand on Strawn'sshoulder as he reverted to the name by which he had addressed the headof the Homicide Squad for nearly a year, "we're going to be friends,aren't we? Same as always? We know pretty well how to work together,don't we? No use to begin pulling against each other."

  "Guess so," Strawn growled, but he was obviously pleased and relieved."Maybe you'd better have a crack at that crowd yourself. I hear DocPrice's car--always has a bum spark plug. I'll stick around with himuntil he gets going good on his job; then, if you'll excuse me forbutting in, I'll join your party in the living room.... And good luck toyou, Bonnie!"

  Dundee took the door he knew must lead into the central hall, but foundhimself in an enclosed section of it--a small foyer between the mainhall and Nita Selim's bedroom. There was room for a telephone table andits chair, as well as for a small sofa, large enough for two to sit uponcomfortably. He paused to open the door across from the telephone tableand found that it opened into a closet, whose hangers and hat forms nowheld the outdoor clothing belonging to Nita's guests. Nice clothes--thesmart but unostentatious hats and coats of moneyed people of good taste,he observed a little enviously, before he opened the door which led intothe main hall which bisected the main floor of the house until itreached Nita's room.

  Another door in the section behind the staircase leading to the gabledsecond story next claimed his attention. Opening it, he discovered abeautifully fitted guests' lavatory. There was even a fully appointeddressing-table for women's use, so that none of her guests had had theslightest excuse to invade the privacy of Mrs. Selim's bedroom and bath,unless specifically invited to do so. Rather a well planned house, this,Dundee concluded, as he closed the door upon the green porcelainfixtures, and walked slowly toward the wide archway that led from thehall into a large living room.

  He had a curious reluctance to intrude upon that assembled and guardedcompany of Hamilton's "real society." They were all Penny's friends, andPenny was _his_ friend....

  But his first swift, all-seeing glance about the room reassured him. Nohysterics here. These people brought race and breeding even into thepresence of death. Whatever emotions had torn them when Nita Selim'sbody was discovered were almost unguessable now. A stout, short woman ofabout thirty was tapping a foot nervously, as she talked to the man whowas bending over her chair. John C. Drake, that was. Dundee had met him,knew him to be a vice president of the Hamilton National Bank, in chargeof the trust department. Penelope Crain was occupying half of a"love-seat" with Lois Dunlap, the hands of the girl and of the womanclinging together for mutual comfort. That tall, thin, oldish man, withthe waxed grey mustache, must be Judge Hugo Marshall, and the prettygirl leaning trustingly against his shoulder must be his wife--KarenMarshall, who had jumped at her first proposal during her first season.

  "Yes, well-bred people," he concluded, as his eyes swept on, and thenstopped, a little bewildered. Who was _that_ man? He didn't belongsomehow, and his hands trembled visibly as he tried to light acigarette. Leaning--not nonchalantly, but actually for support--againstthe brocaded coral silk drapes of a pair of wide, long windows set inthe east wall. Suddenly Dundee had it.... Broadway! This was noHamiltonian, no comfortably rich and socially secure Middle-westerner.Broadway in every line of his too-well-tailored clothes, in the polishedsmoothness of his dark hair....

  "Why, it's Mr. Dundee at last!" Penny cried, turning in the S-shapedseat before he had time to finish his mental inventory of the room'soccupants.

  She jumped to her feet and threaded a swift way over Oriental rugs andbetween the two bridge tables, still occupying the center of the bigroom, still cluttered with score pads, tally cards, and playing cards.

  "I've been wondering if you had stopped to have dinner first," shetaunted him. Then, laying a hand on his arm, she faced the living roomeagerly. "This is Mr. Dundee, folks--special investigator attached tothe district attorney's office, and a grand detective. He solved theHogarth murder case, you know, and the Hillcrest murder. And he's _my_friend, so I want you all to trust him--and tell him things withoutbeing afraid of him."

  Then, rather ceremoniously but swiftly, she presented her friends--Judgeand Mrs. Hugo Marshall, Mr. and Mrs. Tracey Miles, Mr. and Mrs. John C.Drake, Mrs. Dunlap, Janet Raymond, Polly Beale, Clive Hammond, and--

  At that point Penny hesitated, then rather stiffly included the"Broadway" man, as "Mr. Dexter Sprague--of New York."

  "Thank you, Miss Crain," Dundee said. "Now will you please tell me, ifyou know, whether all those invited to both the bridge party and thecocktail party are here?"

  Penny's face flamed. "Ralph Hammond, Clive's brother, hasn't comeyet.... I--I rather imagine I've been 'stood up,'" she confessed, with afaint attempt at gayety.

  And Ralph Hammond was the man who had once belonged rather exclusivelyto Penny, and who, according to her own confession, had succumbed mostcompletely to Nita Selim's charms!--Dundee noted, filing the reflectionfor further reference.

  "Please, Mr. Dundee, won't you detain us as short a time as possible?"Lois Dunlap asked, as she advanced toward him. "Mr. Dunlap is away on afishing trip, and I don't like to leave my three youngsters too long.They are really too much of a handful for the governess, over a periodof hours."

  "I shall detain all of you no longer than is absolutely necessary,"Dundee told her gently, "but I am afraid I must warn you that I can'tlet you go home very soon--unless one or more
of you has something ofvital importance to tell--something which will clear up or materiallyhelp to clear up this bad business."

  He paused a long half-minute, then asked curtly: "I am to conclude thatno one has anything at all to volunteer?"

  There was no answer, other than a barely perceptible drawing together inself-defence of the minds and hearts of those who had been friends forso long.

  "Very well," Dundee conceded abruptly. "Then I must put all of youthrough a routine examination, since every one of you is, of course, apossible suspect."