Читать книгу Blood on His Hands - Max Afford - Страница 7

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If Valerie Sheldon had expected to cause a sensation with her statement, she was disappointed. Read merely grunted non-committally. The plain-clothes men gave the girl a hard stare and returned to their work of searching the room. It was Jeffery who put the question:

"Is the 'Courier' the only newspaper using these steel files?"

"I doubt it," was the reply. "Every office must have a few dozen lying about. They're common enough, heaven only knows."

Blackburn was bending over the weapon, careful not to touch it. He looked up. "Perhaps you can help us to establish this point," he said quietly. "If this is the weapon—as it certainly appears to be—could an ordinary outsider, a person not connected with a newspaper office, obtain one of these files?"

"I should say it would be a fairly simple matter," the girl told him. She was about to say something further, when she closed her lips. Jeffery, watching, noticed a thoughtful expression cross her face. He smiled at her. "You were going to say...?"

Val Sheldon's eyes were grey. She spoke slowly, almost as though weighing every word.

"I was going to say this," she confessed. "It isn't so much a question of what manner of person could get possession of a paper-file, so much as the manner of person who would recognize a potential weapon in an object of that nature." Her voice dropped a key. "See what I mean, gentlemen? Probably someone used to impaling papers..." She was staring at the file with fascinated eyes.

The Inspector crossed over to the cabinet, staring down at the strip of polished flooring. "He must have stood about here and tossed the file into the drawer." He was measuring the distance to the open drawer with his eyes. "If so, why aren't his footprints on the polished floor?"

With a faint curl of her lips, Miss Sheldon retorted: "Footprints can't show through carpet."

A flush crept into Read's face at her tone. He said coldly: "It so happens that there is no carpet in front—"

But he was interrupted. Val Sheldon gave a sudden ejaculation and snapped her fingers decisively. Excitement trembled her tone.

"I knew there was something different about this room from the moment I stepped into it! But I couldn't think what it was. Now I know." She crossed to where Read stood staring at her. "See! One of the squares of carpet has been moved!"

"Moved?"

"Of course!" She was staring at the floor, genuinely excited over her discovery. She turned with a quick gesture of her hands. "When my stepfather furnished this room, it was impossible for him to get a carpet length large enough to cover the entire floor. He had the floor stained while the management purchased two smaller squares. When I visited Sir Merton last week—and on every time before that—these squares were placed together in the centre of the room. This formed one large carpet with a wide border of stained wood showing on the four sides of the apartment." Again that quick gesture, this time to the floor. "Now look at them."

There had certainly been an alteration in the carpet. Instead of the two squares fitting closely edge to edge, the nearer square had been dragged up against the wall supporting the shattered door. This square fitted close to the skirting-board, and its new position left a wide swathe of polished boards down the centre of the room and in front of the cabinet. The carpet square on the further side of the room had not, apparently, been touched.

Read was already walking about the moved square, his eyes on the scarlet pile. Near the heavy desk, he dropped on to his knees, and Jeffery saw him purse his lips in a silent whistle. Presently he rose.

"The carpet's been shifted all right," he announced. "You can see where the desk-legs have impressed into the pile. Whoever moved those legs must have lifted them one at a time and kicked the carpet away from under them. Then the rug was dragged from its position in the centre of the room and over to the left-hand wall." He paused, one nervous hand tugging his moustache. He seemed irritated by this discovery. "Now, why in the name of Noah should anyone go to that trouble?" He swung round on the girl. "You say that arrangement of this carpet was in order last week?"

"Positively."

"And you have never seen it in this position before?"

Val Sheldon shook her head emphatically. "Never! You see how it throws the entire room out of proportion? Makes it appear lop-sided. That was what struck me when I entered, although I never thought of looking at the floor."

Read turned back to the desk. He bent his knees and, gripping a corner of the massive woodwork with both hands, put forth all his strength. The heavy leg jerked clear of the carpet, but the strain was apparent in the blood that crimsoned the Inspector's face. He lowered the leg and moved round, glancing ruefully at the ugly red weals scored across his palms by the desk-edge.

"It took a husky to move that carpet," he admitted. "I'm no weakling, yet the task of holding that leg up long enough to kick the square from under it doesn't appeal to me. And, remember, he had to do the same with both the front legs."

Val Sheldon frowned. "But what's the idea of it?"

Jeffery, hands in pockets, came forward. "Perhaps my mathematical training may help," he suggested drolly. "You see, one of the first things we learn concerns Marteen's law of compensation. That when an article of a given dimension is moved across a flat plane of a larger area, it must necessarily cover an area of similar proportions to that which it automatically reveals." He grinned as the elder man's moustache began to bristle. "All right—don't bite me, Chief. In simple language that strip of carpet has been moved for only one logical reason. To cover something on the left side of the room that the murderer wants to hide!"

"It's sense," Read admitted gruffly. "Even though you had to make a dashed mathematical problem out of it." He broke off to call to the detectives, who came forward. "I want you to lift that desk so that the legs clear the carpet," he ordered. "We're going to drag that strip back into position. Now, you take this corner, Jeff, and I'll manage the other." He waited while the men took their place. "Right? Then—away with her!"

The square of the carpet was jerked suddenly from the wall, leaving a wide patch of polished boards clear. But those in the room had eyes for only one portion. They were focused on a smeared patch that lay directly in front of the shattered door—a dark stain which straggled blurred tentacles where the carpet had dragged across it. The Inspector and Blackburn released the carpet, while the detectives dropped the desk with a thud that set the floor trembling. Read spoke briskly, rubbing his hands.

"A bloodstain, eh?" There was pleased satisfaction in his tone. "So that's where the Judge was killed! No wonder Conroy was puzzled about the paucity of blood on his clothes."

Jeffery nodded soberly. Together with the plain-clothes men, they crossed to the spot and stood looking down at the stain. It was an irregular patch about eighteen inches square. As the Inspector came up:

"Here's a find, Chief!" O'Connor announced.

It took but an instant to comprehend the detective's jubilance. On the outer rim of the stain were the prints of two small shoes, the narrow toes pointing into the room. A more perfect pair of prints could not be imagined. Even the worn patches in the soles were visible. Miss Sheldon gave a soft exclamation that held an undercurrent of mockery.

"Ah-ah! Cherchez la femme!" And as Read's eyes dropped to her shoes, she added: "My dear Inspector—how you flatter me! Although I have previously blushed to admit it, I am now most thankful to inform you that I could barely get my toes into those shoes. They are twos—or two and a half, at the outside. Fortunately for my neck"—she patted it fondly—"I've never been able to don less than a five!"

Read did not answer. Jeffery said slowly: "Size two—or two and a half."

"And pretty worn," added the girl. She began to pull on her gloves. "Without appearing too Holmes-ish, may I suggest that you look for the owner of those shoes in the theatrical world—a dancer presumably, and one pretty much down on her luck?" She nodded to the men. "Will you be wanting me any more, gentlemen?"

The Inspector stared at her, almost speechless by her cool insolence.

"Where are you going?" he barked at length.

The girl turned back a furry driving-glove to reveal a tiny gold wrist-watch. "It's twelve o'clock," she told them. "I have an important luncheon appointment with an editor. If I can't help you further, I'm sure you'll excuse me..." Her voice trailed away confidently.

Read looked at Jeffery, who shook his head, then back at the girl. She stood tapping one foot impatiently, but the Inspector was obviously reluctant to let her go. Yet he could think of no reason for detaining her. Slowly he nodded.

"Yes, Miss Sheldon. You may go now. But please understand that you are not to leave town without first communicating with us." He turned away. "That is all."

Valerie Sheldon inclined her head, slipped her glove back on her wrist, and without a word, moved through the shattered door. They heard her moving about in the other room, picking up her purse and belongings; then the sound of her footsteps echoed in the silent corridor.

Inspector Read turned to Jeffery.

"So that's Sheldon's daughter." His tone was not appreciative. "Self-possessed little puss—and a bit too casual for my liking." He stared dawn at the shifted carpet square. "Still, she gave us some interesting news."

Jeffery's eyes were very thoughtful. A queer smile shadowed his lips.

"She gave us information on everything save the most important point," he drawled.

Read glanced up sharply.

"What do you mean, son?"

The young man paused in the act of lighting a cigarette.

"I wonder why Miss Valerie Sheldon really came here this morning. She is too intelligent to be merely inquisitive; she bore her stepfather no love, so the visit was not one of sentimental attachments, and nobody ordered her presence in this room. Yet, of her own free will, she came here."

"Well...?" Read demanded.

"Why was it?" Jeffery asked. "Did she come here to find just how much we had discovered—or was it for some other reason?—a reason that would help us far more than all the other evidence that she so willingly gave."