 CHAPTER XXI of MIDNIGHT CHAPTER XXI Carole decides. For a moment she was silent. It was patent that she was groping desperately for the correct thing to say. And finally she extended a pleading hand. Please don't think that. What? That it was my husband. He wouldn't. Why not? Anyway, it is impossible. He was in Nashville. He didn't get home until morning. Carole shook his head. I hope he can prove he was in Nashville. We have tried to prove it and we cannot. And you must admit, Mrs. Lawrence, that had he known what you planned, he would have had the justification of the unwritten law. Her eyes brightened. You think then that if he did, he would be acquitted? Yes. More so in view of your story that there was a fight between the two men. That would probably add self-defense to his plea. However, I may be wrong in that. You are indeed, Mr. Carole. My husband isn't that kind of a man. And even if he had done the shooting, he could not have concealed it from me for this length of time. He would have given a hint. No! He wouldn't have done that. If he shot Warren, he would have been afraid of telling even you. She walked to the window where she stood for a moment looking out on the drear December day. Then she turned tragically back to Carole. You are going to arrest me? No. Why not? Because I believe your story, Mrs. Lawrence, and so long as there is any way to keep your name clear of the whole miserable mess, I shall do so. But if you arrest my husband, I have no intention of doing that either, unless I am convinced that he was in the city when the shooting occurred. I am not in favor of indiscriminate arrests. In this case they can do nothing but harm. You are very good, she said softly. I didn't imagine that a detective. Some of us are human beings, Mrs. Lawrence. Is that so strange? She did not answer, and for several minutes they sat in silence, each intent and thought. It was Carole who broke the stillness. Do you know William Barker? Barker? Why, yes, certainly. He was Mr. Warren's valet. I know it. Have you seen Barker since the night Mr. Warren was killed? Yes. He could scarcely distinguish her answer. Twice. He called here? Yes. Was your husband at home on either occasion? No. Why did he come here? She hesitated, but only for the fraction of a second. It was Barker who was driving me to distraction. He knew that I was the woman in the taxi cab. He really believes that I killed Mr. Warren. He has been blackmailing me. Ah! So that explains his visits and his plentiful supply of money. Yes. Oh, it was shameful that I should be so helpless before his demands. It didn't matter that I had nothing to do with the killing. It was enough that I had to pay any price to keep my name clear of Scandal. Looking back on the affair now, Mr. Carole, I cannot understand my own weakness. But I felt that I owed it to my husband and my sister, to protect them from Scandal at any cost. And I have paid Barker a good deal of money. I see, Carole Rose. I want you to understand, Mrs. Lawrence, that you have helped me tremendously. And to know also that I shall probably succeed in keeping your name out of any disclosures which might have to be made to the public. But if my husband did it, in that event it will be impossible not to tell. And if he didn't do it? Then you will be safe. But—finish the detective seriously—if your husband didn't do it, I don't know who did. I have followed every possible trail, and unless guilt can be fastened on either your husband or Barker, there isn't the faintest shadow of suspicion attached to anyone else. It will make things very difficult for me. During his ride to headquarters, Carole was busy with his thoughts. He was worried about the possible complicity of Gerald Lawrence in the shooting of Warren. He was more than halfway convinced that Lawrence knew a good deal about it, and the obvious method was to order Lawrence's arrest and make him prove an alibi. But such a procedure was impossible, in view of his determination to protect Naomi's name to the ultimate moment. He was greeted at headquarters by a reporter for one of the two evening papers. The reporter was eager for an interview. There had been an appalling dearth of local news, and the Warren story had been long since played beyond the point of public interest. The readers, explained the reporter, were growing tired of theories and column after column of conjecture. They wanted a few facts. Carole shook his head. Nothing definite to give out yet. The reporter was persistent. You have made no new discoveries at all? Well, I'd hardly say that. Then you have? Yes, answered Carole frankly. I have. Then you think you know who killed Warren? Carole, his mind still busy with Naomi's story, answered casually. I believe I do. That is just a belief, mind you. But there is an outside chance that there will be important developments within the next twenty-four hours. Something definite, eh? If anything at all happens, it will be definite. Then Carole excused himself and sought Eric leverage. Under pledge of secrecy, he told leverage the entire story, as he had heard it from Naomi Lawrence's lips. When he finished, leverage slammed his hand on the arm of his chair. Gerald Lawrence, or I'm a bum guesser, he stated positively. Looks that way, admitted Carole. What I hate about the idea is that if Lawrence is the man, there will be no way on earth to keep Mrs. Lawrence's name out of it. You're right. How about Barker? I believe Barker's story. So does Mrs. Lawrence. She believes that Barker thinks she killed Warren in the taxi. Leverage glanced keenly at his friend. You are going to arrest Lawrence? No, not yet. He may not have done it. Well, sizzled the chief of police. If he didn't, and Barker didn't, who the devil did? Carole shook his head hopelessly. I don't know, Eric, if neither of those two men did, we'll be left hopelessly in the air. Exactly. We know that one of them did the shooting. We've covered this case from every angle, and if we believe that the shooting was not done by Mrs. Lawrence, we must suspect one of the two men involved. And if you are sure it wasn't Barker, let's wait a little while longer, counseled Carole. I want to be absolutely sure of my ground. The two men sat in Leverage's office and talked. They discussed the case again from the beginning to its present status, threshing out each detail in the hope that they might have overlooked some vital fact which would give them a basis upon which to proceed. Their efforts were fruitless. The investigation had developed results, true enough, but those results were not at all satisfactory. And it was about an hour later that a knock came on the door. In response to Leverage's summons, an orderly entered. In his hand he carried an evening paper. Just brought this in, sir, thought you and Mr. Carole might like to read it. The orderly retired. Carole spread the paper, then did something very rare. He swore profoundly. His eyes focused angrily on the enormous first-page headlines. Carole has solved Warren Mystery. Identity of Clubman Slayer known to famous detective. We'll make a rest within 24 hours. Sensational developments promised by David Carole in exclusive interview with reporter for the Star. It all came back to Carole now. The eager reporter, the news-hunger, his non-committal statements. He read furiously through the story. It proved to be one of those newspaper masterpieces which uses an enormous number of words and says nothing. Carole was quoted as saying only what he had actually said. It was the personal conjecture of the reporter writing the story which had given spur to the vivid imagination of the headline writer. So now, questioned leverage, what are you going to do? Deny it? No, snapped Carole. I can't. He hasn't misquoted a single line of what I said. It just makes things... makes a mighty embarrassing. He sat hunched in his chair staring at the screaming headlines and rereading the lurid story. Again an orderly entered. Young lady out there, he announced, who wants to know if Mr. Carole is here? Instantly the mind of the detective leaped to the tragic figure of Naomi Lawrence. She wants to see me, he questioned. Yes, sir. Show her in. He motioned to leverage to remain. The orderly disappeared and in a minute the door opened and a woman entered. Carole sprang to his feet with an exclamation of surprise. Miss Gresham! Hazel Gresham nodded. She advanced toward Carole. Every drop of color had been drained from her cheeks. Her manner indicated intense nervous strain. Her eyes were wide and fixed. I would like to speak to you alone, Mr. Carole. Yes, this is Chief Leverage, Miss Gresham. Leverage acknowledged the introduction and would have left, but the girl stopped him. On second thought, Mr. Leverage, you might remain. Eric paused. His eyes sought Carole's face. Both men knew that something vitally unexpected was about to be disclosed. They waited for the girl to speak, and when she did, her voice was so low as to be almost unintelligible. About a half hour ago, gentlemen, I read the story in the star. I—I— She faltered for a moment, then went bravely on. I came right down to save you the trouble of sending for me. Silence, tense, expectant. You did what? queried Carole. I came down to save you the trouble, the embarrassment, of sending for me. She looked at them eagerly. I have come to give myself up. Carole frowned. For what? For—for the murder of Roland Warren. The detective shook his head. I don't understand, Miss Gresham. Really, I don't. Do you mean to tell me that you were the woman in the taxi cab? She was biting her lips nervously. Yes. And that you shot Roland Warren? Yes. And when I read in the paper that you knew who did it, I came right down here. I didn't want to—to be brought down in a patrol wagon. I see, while thoughts were chasing one another through Carole's brain, he was beginning to see light. You are quite sure that you killed Mr. Warren? Yes, I'm sure. Why do you doubt me? Don't you suppose that I know whether I killed him? Don't you suppose I can prove that I did it? Yes, I suppose you can. I wonder, Miss Gresham, and Carole's voice was very, very gentle. If you would wait in that room yonder for a few minutes? Certainly, she raised her head pleadingly. You do believe me, don't you? Carole dodged the issue. I want to think. Alone with leverage, Carole clenched his fist. If that isn't the most peculiar, she's not telling the truth, is she, David? Certainly not. She couldn't smash her own alibi if she tried a million years. He paced the room, walking, in quick jerky steps. Finally his face cleared, and he stopped before leverage's chair. I've got it! he announced triumphantly. Got what? Never mind. Carole was surcharged with suppressed excitement. I want you to do something for me, leverage, and do it promptly. Sure. Send Cartwright and bring Gary Gresham here. Gary Gresham? Yes, the young lady's brother. Leverage was bewildered. I don't know what to do with him. Leverage was bewildered. What in the world do you want with him? I want him, explained Carole confidently, because Gary Gresham is the man who shot Warren. End of Chapter 21 Recording by Roger Maline Chapter 22 of Midnight This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline Midnight by Octavus Roy Cohen Chapter 22 The problem is solved. Within an hour Gary Gresham appeared at headquarters in the company of Cartwright. The officer left the room and the three men were alone. Gresham's manner was nervous, but he showed no fright. Leverage, regarding him keenly, found reason to doubt Carole's positive statement that Gresham was the person they sought. The young man stood facing them bravely, waiting. Gresham, said Carole softly, your sister is in that room yonder. She read the afternoon paper, the report that I knew who killed Roland Warren. She immediately came here to give herself up. An expression of utter bewilderment crossed young Gresham's face. Then he started forward angrily. Why are you lying to me? Easy, Gresham, easy there. I am not lying to you. He saw Gary's eyes dart to the door behind which the sister was seated. What did she give herself up for, Carole? For killing Roland Warren. Gresham took a firm grip on himself. She didn't do it, he stated positively. Of course not, returned Carole with equal assurance. You did. And so that you will be quite convinced that I am not trying to trick you into the confession which I am sure you will make, he crossed the room and flung open the door. Come in, please, Miss Gresham. The girl entered quietly, then saw her brother. Instantly her manner softened. She stepped swiftly to his side and took his hand in hers. Please, Gary! Gresham smiled, a tender affectionate smile. Good scout, aren't you, sis? But tell me, his tone was conversational. How did you know that I shot Roland Warren? You didn't! She was a little bit of a fool. You didn't! She flung around on Carole. Don't believe him! I shot Mr. Warren. I knew from the first that you didn't do it, Miss Gresham. I know that Miss Roger spent the night with you. More than that, I know the identity of the woman in the taxi cab. Who was she? It was Gresham who questioned. Carole shook his head. It doesn't matter who she was, Gresham. We're going to keep her name out of this case. She was a woman who loved Roland Warren, and his death saved her from a great mistake. There's no necessity to ruin her life, is there? How did you know it was Gary who did the shooting? asked the girl. The minute you confessed, answered the detective quietly, I knew that you were doing it to shield someone. You could have had no possible motive for shielding either of the other two men under suspicion. I knew that it must be your brother. He had motive enough. He knew that you were in love with Mr. Warren, engaged to him. He knew that Warren was about to elope with another woman, that it would cause you intense misery. So he went to the station that night to prevent the elopement. Isn't that so, Gresham? The young man nodded. Yes, when I went to your apartment the morning after the killing, it was for the purpose of confessing. But then when you assured me that my sister was not under suspicion, I decided to wait a while before saying anything. He paused. And as to that night, I parked my car a couple of blocks away, and walked to the station through Jackson Street, intending to cut through the yards and approach the waiting room from the passenger platform. I had no idea that there would be a tragedy. I wanted to reason with Warren, to beg him to save my sister from suffering, which I knew would be attendant on his elopement. He was walking in the yards as I entered from between the Pullman Building and the baggage room. I don't know what he was doing there, but I spoke to him. He seemed startled at seeing me. I told him that I knew he was planning to elope, and begged him to call it off. Much to my surprise, he immediately got nasty. He seemed to want to get rid of me. He told me it was none of my damned business what he was doing. He even admitted the truth of what I said. That was the first hint of unpleasantness, but it grew rapidly. He cursed me. Anyway, we had a brief, violent quarrel. He said something about my sister, and I struck him. He clenched with me. We were fighting, then, and I am a fairly good athlete. I broke out of a clench and hit him pretty hard. He reached into his pocket and pulled a revolver. I managed to grab his hand before he could fire. I got it from him, and as I jerked it away, it went off. He fell. I was afraid, then, panicky. I felt his body and realized that he was dead. A train had just come into the yards, and there were switch-engines puffing here and there. I was apprehensive that one of their headlights would pick me up, and there were some railroad men walking around the yards with lanterns in their hands. There was danger that I was going to be seen, and had I been, I felt that I wouldn't have a leg to stand on, alone in such a place with the body of a man whom I admitted having shot. You see, I couldn't even prove the contemplated elopement. Late that evening I had received an anonymous telephone call from a man, telling me that if I wanted to save my sister a good deal of unpleasant gossip, I'd better meet that midnight train, as Warren was eloping on it with some other woman. But the man who gave me this information cut off before telling me the name of the woman. I didn't know it then, and I don't know it now. I knew I had to hide Warren's body. Not that my killing was not justified on the grounds of self-defense, but because I would not bring my sister's name into it, and also because even if I did, there'd be no proof of the truth of what I said. I dragged his body into the shadows between the two buildings. Atlantic Avenue was deserted. At the curb I saw a yellow taxi cab, and noticed that the driver was in the restaurant across the street. I conceived the idea of putting the body in the taxi cab. I knew I wouldn't be seen doing it, and it would serve the purpose of causing the body to be discovered at some point other than that at which the shooting occurred. I did it. Then I left. The next morning I read of the case in the papers, and I have followed it closely since. I knew you were ostensibly on the wrong track, and as a matter of self-preservation, I determined to keep my mouth shut unless it happened that the wrong person was accused. Had you charged someone else with the killing, I assure you I would have come forward. But meanwhile, not even knowing the identity of the woman in the taxi, there seemed no necessity for running the risk. There was nothing save my own word to prove self-defense, you see. There is now, said Carol. Hazel started eerily, and he smiled upon her. The story of the woman who actually was in the taxi cab substantiates yours, Gresham. She had followed Warren into the yards to talk to him. She saw the whole affair from a distance, and then went back through the waiting-room of the station and called the taxi in which you had placed Warren's body. Then Gary will be freed? cried the girl, hopefully. His plea of self-defense will acquit him? Undoubtedly, retorted Carol, don't you think so, leverage? Surest thing you know, returned the chief heartily. And I'm darned glad of it. Gary faced his sister. How did you know that I had killed him, says? I didn't, she answered quietly. Not at first, anyway. But if you remember, you came in the house a little after eleven o'clock that night and seemed excited. You came to my room. I was thinking then, explained Gary, that maybe you were eloping with Warren. Then you came home again a little after one o'clock. You waked me then and acted peculiarly. I was reassuring myself, he said, that you really hadn't left the house. The next morning while you were taking your shower, I was putting up your laundry, Hazel went on. I found a revolver in your drawer. I didn't think anything of it then. I hadn't even read the papers about the—the killing. But later I remembered it. I went back to look for the revolver, just why I don't know, and it was gone. I questioned you about it a couple of days later, and you denied that you had ever had a revolver in the house. And I knew then, Gary, I knew that you had done it. He squeezed her hand. We always did know more about each other than we were told, didn't we, little sis? Because at that moment, too, I knew that you knew. The young man turned back to the detectives. And what now? he questioned. We'll have to hold you, Gresham. You'll have to go through the form of a trial, but you'll get off, don't worry. Sister and brother left the room hand in hand. Alone again the two detectives faced each other. You win, David, said Leverage admiringly. Though darned if I know how you do it. A combination of luck and common sense, returned Carol simply. This time it was principally luck. It usually is in such cases. But most detectives don't admit it. It is the wild-eyed reporter with the vivid imagination whom we can thank for this solution. It was his fiction that brought about Miss Gresham's ridiculous confession and that which caused me to know that she must be shielding her brother. As to how matters stand, I say thank God. Why? Garry Gresham will undoubtedly be freed. It was a clear case of self-defense. Unfortunately, the fact that there was an elopement will have to be known. But that is a comparatively trivial thing, unpleasant as it may be for Miss Gresham. And, most of all, I'm glad because Naomi Lawrence's name will not be dragged into it. How will you work that, David? It can be done, Eric. The district attorney is a pretty good friend of mine, and he's a good square fellow. Of course he will have to know the entire story, and it is a certainty that he will believe it. And when he does, you know that he will handle the case so that Mrs. Lawrence will not be connected. Irregular? Yes. But you believe he can and will do it, don't you? You bet your bottom dollar he will. He's another nut like you, so bloom and human it hurts. And now, said Carol, I want to chat with William Barker. There are one or two loose ends I want to clear up. Barker was very humble as he entered the room. You're free of the murder charge, stated Carol promptly. But we may hold you for blackmail. Barker heaved a sigh of relief. I ain't objecting to that, Mr. Carol. It's a small thing when a man is thought he might be strung up. Who killed Warren? questioned the detective. Don't you know? came the surprised answer. Yes, but I'm asking you. I suppose you're driving at something new, retorted Barker. But I really think Mrs. Lawrence shot him. She didn't, answered Barker. She didn't, answered Carol. And there's one thing I want to warn you about right now, Barker. You're the only person except the chief here and myself who knows that Mrs. Lawrence is connected with the case. I want her name kept out of it. Of course, that makes it impossible to arrest you for blackmail. And so, if you tell me the entire truth, I'm going to let you go free. But if I ever hear of her name in connection with this case, I'll know that you have leaked. And I'll get you if it takes me ten years. Understand? Yes, sir, I do. Thanking you, sir. I know which side my bread is buttered on. Good. Now I'm telling you that Mrs. Lawrence did not shoot Warren. Who did? I don't know. Suddenly his expression changed. If it wasn't her, Mr. Carol, it must have been Mr. Gresham. Ah! What makes you think that? Barker's eyes narrowed. You give me your word of honor, Mr. Carol. I ain't going to be pinched for blackmail. Yes. Well, it was this way, sir. Being Mr. Warren's valet, I knew he was planning to run off with Mrs. Lawrence. I knew that he was going to raise an awful row in town, and I knew that Mr. Gresham would do a heap to keep his sister from being unhappy as she was going to be if Mr. Warren done as he was planning. So I called up Mr. Gresham that night and told him everything but the woman's name. My idea was that he had bussed up the elopement. I went to the station to make sure that Mrs. Lawrence got there, knowing that once she was there, if young Mr. Gresham busted things up, I'd be able to blackmail Mrs. Lawrence, her being a rich woman. I'm coming clean with you, Mr. Carol. Go ahead. I never seen Mr. Gresham at all at the station, and when I seen Mrs. Lawrence get into the taxi, and found out the next morning that Mr. Warren's body was found there, of course I couldn't help thinking like I did, could I? I suppose not. You're a skunk, Barker, and I hate to let you go. But if the chief is willing, I'm going to do it, because your hide isn't worth Mrs. Lawrence's good name. Now get out. I'm free? questioned the man eagerly. How about at leverage? Sure, growled a leverage. You're the boss, David. Immediately as Barker left the room, Carol turned to the telephone and called a number. Who's that? questioned leverage. Mrs. Lawrence answered Carol. I want to tell her that she is safe. Leverage smiled broadly. And as he watched Carol's eager face, he saw an expression of consternation cross it. Carol covered the transmitter with his hand. Good Lord! he groaned. It's Evelyn Rogers. Leverage chuckled, then listened shamelessly to Carol's end of the conversation. Yes, yes, this is David Carol. I'm glad you think it was sweet of me to telephone. I want to speak to your sister. She isn't there? Well, ask her to telephone me at headquarters as soon as she comes in, will you? Uh-huh. The Warren case has ended, and that's what I wanted to tell her. I only did my best. Yes. Oh, say! The receiver clicked on the hook. Carol was grinning as he turned back to his friend. Guess what that young thing said when I told her that I had solved the Warren case? Tell me, David, I'm a poor guesser. She said, returned Carol gravely, that I am just the cutest man she has ever known. End of Chapter 22, Recording by Roger Moline End of Midnight by Octavus Roy Cohen