CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The Miles home, still known in Hamilton as the Hackett place, since ithad been built more than thirty years before by Flora's father, oldSilas Hackett, dead these seven years, dominated one of the mostbeautiful of the wooded hills which encircled Mirror Lake in theBrentwood section. Of modified Tudor architecture, its deep red,mellowed bricks had achieved in three decades almost the same ageddignity and impressiveness as characterized the three-century-oldmansion in England which Silas Hackett's architect had used as aninspiration.
The big house faced the lake, a long series of landscaped terracesleading down to the water's edge, but the driveway wound from the stateroad up a side of the hill, to the main entrance at the rear of thehouse.
Once before--on Sunday, the day after Nita Selim's murder, when he hadcome to interview Lydia Carr and had secured the alibi which hadeliminated Dexter Sprague as a suspect--Dundee had driven his car upthis hill between the tall yew hedges. But then he had taken the forkwhich led to the hooded doorway over the kitchen; had descended thekitchen stairs with Lydia, to the servants' sitting room in thebasement. Now he continued along the main driveway to the moreimpressive entrance, whose flanking, slim turrets frowned down upon aline of police cars and motorcycles.
His approach must have been expected and observed, for it was the masterof the house who opened the great, iron-studded doors and invited thedetective into the broad main hall, at the end of which, down threesteps, lay the immense living room. The detective's first glance took instately armchairs of the Cromwell period, thick, mellow-toned rugs, and,in the living room beyond, splendid examples of Jacobean furniture.
"A horrible thing to happen in a man's home, Dundee," Miles was saying,his plump, rosy face blighted with horror. "I can't realize yet that weactually slept as usual with a corpse lying down here all night! And Ihave only myself to blame--"
"What do you mean?" Dundee asked.
"Why, that the--the body wasn't discovered sooner," Miles explained. "Ifit had occurred to me that Whitson hadn't closed the trophy roomwindows, I should have gone in to close and lock them when I made therounds of living room, dining room and library, after our guests weregone last night."
A pale-faced, bald-headed butler had materialized while his master wasspeaking. "Beg pardon, sir, but I did not close the trophy room windowsbecause I thought you might be using the room again.... You see, sir,"and Whitson turned to Dundee, "Mr. Miles and Mr. Dunlap played ping-pongin the trophy room after dinner until the other guests began to arrive,and I did not want them to find the room stuffy--it was a warm night--ifany of the guests--"
"I see," Dundee interrupted. "Who, to your knowledge, was the lastperson to enter the trophy room last night, Mr. Miles?"
"I was, except Sprague, of course, and I had no idea he'd gone there.Drake wanted to play anagrams, and before the bridge game started, Iwent to the trophy room to get the box," Miles explained. "I turned offthe light when I left, and there was no light burning in there thismorning when Celia, the parlor maid, went there to put the anagram boxback in the cabinet, and found the body.... Flora--Mrs. Miles--hadbrought the anagrams in from the porch and left them on a table in theliving room, as our guests were getting ready to leave. There wasnothing else to bring in, in case of rain. The bridge tables are ofiron, covered with oilcloth, and fitted with oilcloth bags for thecards, score pads, and pencils--"
"Yes, I know," Dundee interrupted. "Miss Crain has already told me allabout that, and a good many details of the party itself.... By the way,where is Mrs. Miles now?"
"In bed. The doctor is with her. She is prostrated from the shock."
"Where is this room you call the trophy room?" Dundee asked. "No, don'tbother to come with me. Just point it out. It's on this floor, Iunderstand."
Miles pointed past the great circular staircase that wound upward fromthe main hall. "You can't see the door from here, but it's behind thestaircase. Celia found the door closed this morning, and no light on, asI said--"
Dundee cut him short by marching toward the door which was again closed.He entered so noiselessly that Captain Strawn, Dr. Price and thefingerprint expert, Carraway, did not hear him. For a moment he stoodjust inside the door and let his eyes wander about the room which PennyCrain had already described. It was not a large room--twelve by fourteenfeet, possibly--but it looked even smaller, crowded as it was with thelong ping-pong table, bags of golf clubs, fishing tackle, tennisracquets, skis and sleds. There were two windows in the north wall ofthe room, looking out upon the yew-hedged driveway, and between themstood a cabinet of numerous big and little drawers.
Not until he had taken in the general aspect of the room did Dundee lookat the thing over which Captain Strawn and the coroner were bending--thebody of Dexter Sprague.
The alien from New York had fallen about four feet from the windownearer the east wall of the trophy room. He lay on his side, his leftcheek against the floor, the fingers of his left hand still clutchingthe powder-burned bosom of his soft shirt, now stiff with dried blood, apool of which had formed and then half congealed upon the rug. The righthand, the fingers curled but not touching each other, lay palm-upward onthe floor at the end of the rigid, outstretched arm. The one visible eyewas half open, but on the sallow, thin face, which had been strikinglyhandsome in an obvious sort of way, was a peace and dignity which Dundeehad never seen upon Sprague's face when the man was alive. The left legwas drawn upward so that the knee almost touched the bullet-piercedstomach.
"How long has he been dead, doctor?" Dundee asked quietly.
"Hello, boy!" Dr. Price greeted him placidly. "Always the same question!I've been here only a few minutes, and I've already told Strawn that Ishall probably be unable to fix the hour of death with any degree ofaccuracy."
"Took your time, didn't you, Bonnie?" Captain Strawn greeted his formersubordinate on the Homicide Squad. "Doc says he's been dead between tenand twelve hours. Since it's nearly ten now, that means Sprague waskilled some time between nine and eleven o'clock last night."
"Better say between nine o'clock and midnight last night," Dr. Pricesuggested. "He may have lived an hour or more--unconscious, of course.For the indications are that he did not die instantly, but staggered afew steps, clutching at the wound. But of course I shall have to performan autopsy first----"
Dundee crossed the room, stepping over the dead man's stick--a swankaffair of dark, polished wood, with a heavy knob of carved onyx, whichlay about a foot beyond the reach of the curled fingers of the stiffright hand.
"Sprague's hat?" he asked, pointing to a brightly banded straw which layupon the top of the cabinet.
"Yes," Strawn answered. "And did you notice the window screen?"
He pointed to the window in front of which the body lay. The sash ofleaded panes was raised as high as it would go, and beneath it was ascreen of the roller-curtain type, raised about six inches from thewindow sill. A pair of curved, nickel-plated catches in the center ofthe inch-wide metal band on the bottom of the coppernet curtain showedhow the screen was raised or lowered.
Dundee nodded, frowning, and Strawn began eagerly:
"You'll have to admit I was right now, boy. You've sneered at my gunmantheory and tried to pin Nita's murder on one of Hamilton's finest bunchof people, but you'll have to admit now that every detail of this set-upbears me out."
"Yes?"
"Sure. This is the way I figure it out: Sprague has good reason to beafraid he's next on the program. He's nervous. He hops a taxi at hishotel and comes here--can't stick to his room any longer. Wants a littlehuman companionship. This crowd here--and I have Miles' word forit--ain't any too glad to see him, and shows it. He phones for a taxi togo back to his hotel--about 9:15, that was, Miles says--but decides towalk down the hill to meet it. Don't want to go back out on the porchand lie about having had a good time, when he hasn't.... Well, he opensthe front door, or what would be the front door if this was any ordinaryhouse, but before he steps out he sees or hears something--probably a
rustling in the hedge across the driveway, or maybe he even sees a face,in the light from the lanterns on each side of the door. He feels sureNita's murderer has trailed him and is lying in wait for him. In a paniche darts into this room, and don't turn on the light for fear he'll beseen from the windows, but he can see well enough to make out how thescreens work, and he was familiar with the house anyway. I'll bet youanything you like Sprague stayed in this room for an hour or two, tillhe thought the coast was clear, then eased up this screen, intending toclimb out of the window and drop to the ground.... Not much of a drop atthat. You can see that the tall hedge on this side of the driveway comespretty near up to these windows.... Well, I figure he laid his hat onthis cabinet, intending to reach in for it when he was outside, but thathe had already made some little noise which the gunman was listeningfor, and that when he got the screen up this high, the gunman, crouchingunder the window, let go with the same gun and silencer that he used tobump off Nita.... I've got Miles' word for it that neither he noranybody else heard a shot.... Of course, nobody knew Sprague was inhere, and since his hat and stick was both missing from the hall closet,they took it for granted he'd beat it.... Any objections to that theory,boy?"
"Just a few--one in particular," Dundee said. "But I grant it's a goodone, provided Dr. Price's autopsy bears you out as to the course of thebullet, and that Carraway finds Sprague's fingerprints on thatcontrivance for raising the screen. Even then----"
But Dundee was not allowed to finish his sentence, for Strawn wassummoned to the telephone, by Whitson. When he returned there was aslightly bewildered look on his heavy old face.
"That's funny.... Collins--the lad I sent to check up on the taxicompanies--says he's located the driver that answered Sprague's calllast night. The driver says he was called about 9:15, told to comeimmediately, and to wait for Sprague at the foot of the hill, on themain road. He says he waited there until half past ten, then went onback to town, sore'n a boiled owl."
"It doesn't look exactly as if Sprague were afraid of anyone _outside ofthis house_ last night, does it?" Dundee asked. "By the way, I supposeyou've sent for everyone who was here?"
"Sure!" But again Captain Strawn looked uncomfortable. "But we haven'tbeen able to locate the Beale girl and Clive Hammond."