“Marvin told us. He said you all had quite a day of it.”
Mae thoughtfully munched a piece of toast. “Are you certain Abe said that about the snake’s sister, Will? It’s so strange—almost uncanny.”
“I’m as certain as I can be. Of course, the man was dying, but that’s what I understood him to say.”
“So that was Harry Bartlett I saw the night before last—”
“It’s beginning to look that way, Celia. Anyhow, Pete said he was going to act quick—right or wrong. He said he had to find out where Abe got that counterfeit money—”
“Were they the same as the one Celia turned over to Pete?”
“He didn’t say, and I didn’t think to ask him. He evidently recognized them as being phoney right away. I see he took Buddy’s mule.”
“Early this morning, I heard his car, and got up.” Mae started to clear away the dishes. “I hope Pete doesn’t make a fool of himself—this ‘right or wrong’ business I mean—”
“I don’t think he’ll jump at things, Mae. He didn’t mention arresting anybody. Sanderson seemed rather afraid he might act hastily, too.” Celia left the room carrying the tray. “Pete also said last night that Mitchell might have left those Floridians.” I told my wife.
She put down a cream pitcher she was holding, and patted my pillows into place. “That’s true, he might have. One guess is as good as another, when you don’t know. Go to sleep now, and don’t play detective any more today.” The door closed softly behind her.
I nestled down comfortably in my bed, and immediately started on a most wonderful series of mental journeys to points of interest around Orange Crest. An auto trip to Lake Louisa was made in record time, and I got shot at all over again for my pains. I discovered a new route from the lake to Tiger Creek, but the going was not so good. I waded through endless swamps adroitly dodging a procession of moccasins and rattlers which persistently followed me. I found several new flues in the Simmons house, and unearthed some vicious looking knives, and endless neat packages of counterfeit bills concealed in canvas boats. It took twenty minutes of swishing about the country before I grasped the fact that sleep was out of the question. A lifetime of early rising could not be put aside in a single morning.
A few minutes later I was propped up in bed deeply immersed in the business of solving our local mystery with the aid of a pencil and a large pad of paper. I started out first by framing a short word picture of Celia’s father, and of the known facts about him which might have led to his death. After much alteration it read something like this:
DAVID MITCHELL (deceased)
Age. 55. Widower. One daughter—Celia. Bank President. Orange Crest, Fla. Special Game Warden: Arrested many illegal hunters. Motive of revenge: possible but unlikely. All suspects investigated by authorities.
Fanatical Prohibitionist: Caused arrest of Red Salmon (deceased) for making moonshine. Motive of revenge: possible. (Why was Salmon killed?)
Banking Interests: Refused many loans. Foreclosed on many people. Reputation of being a hard man. Motive of revenge: possible but very unlikely.
Private Fortune: Left considerable money and property. Interested parties: Celia, Marvin Lee, and possibly Forman Spence. Motive of personal gains: possible but unlikely. Connection with Counterfeits: Only connection is bill found in wallet. Very improbable that a man of wealth and high standing could be involved in a gang of counterfeiters. Therefore: Criminal motive very unlikely.
Robbery: Watch taken, but according to Cass Rhodes left where it would throw suspicion on someone else. Robbery motive: unlikely.
I read it over carefully, then remembered I had not included the old police slogan of cherchez la femme. I added:
Women: Daily life under close scrutiny in a small town. No whisper of a scandal. Women motive: out of question.
A summary of what I had put down indicated only that every motive was unlikely. I laid the dossier of David Mitchell to one side and started compiling one for possible suspects. When Mae looked in at lunch time to see if I was awake, I handed her the list to read:
MARVIN LEE: Motive: $25,000.00 left him by Mitchell. Last known person to have seen Mitchell alive. Satisfactory explanation for that, and for trip to New York. Unsatisfactory explanation about buried shotgun. Could have killed Red Salmon, i.e. if he had a boat. No. What about fire in shack which cleared Cass Rhodes? (Suppose some unknown person came to shack after Red was killed, put wood on fire, and left frightened.)
that would also implicate:
CASS RHODES: Motive: possible hatred for man who had caused Red’s arrest. Could have killed David Mitchell and Salmon. Motive for killing Salmon: because Salmon knew he was Mitchell’s slayer.
FORMAN SPENCE: Motive: $50,000.00 which he owed to Mitchell and for which he was being pushed. Suspicious reticence about loan from Mitchell. In his store on afternoon of Mitchell’s death. Witnesses to prove it. (Who?) Then how could he be murderer?
TIMOTHY REIG: Motive unknown. What about connection with counterfeits? Reig is an engraver. Apparently has an alibi through Harry Bartlett. Why did he leave dining room when he saw Bartlett at window? Where was he Sunday afternoon when Salmon was stabbed?
HARRY BARTLETT: Motive unknown. Admitted playing races in Miami. Counterfeit money received by bank in deposit of Miami bookmaker. If Reig’s alibi is good then Bartlett could not have killed Mitchell. What did he use boat for? What was he doing outside my house at night? Where was he when Salmon was killed; when I was shot at in the Simmons house? Might not he and Reig be in it together, and neither of the alibis any good?
“You’ve covered them pretty thoroughly, Will. Where are the rest?”
“That’s all. Have I left anyone out?”
“Several. Put these down.” I listed them as she named them.
DEAD.
RED SALMON: Motive: Revenge. If he killed Mitchell then why was he killed, and by whom?
ABE NIXON: Did he get the counterfeit bills the day he was killed, or did he take them from Mitchell’s body the day Mitchell was killed? No check up, but he could have killed both Mitchell and Salmon, also done the attempted shooting, and the attempted robbery of the papers at night. Could hardly have taken the papers from the Sheriff’s safe. What did he mean by the “snake’s sister”?
“Good heavens, Mae! You certainly complicate things by thinking Nixon might have found that bum money on Mitchell. Why—”
“Go on listing, Will. I’m not through, and I’m not saying I think the money was found on Mr. Mitchell. I’m merely asking hypothetical questions that should be answered.”
At her request I headed the remainder of the list:
PERSONS WHO WERE RECENTLY IMPLICATED:
(on account of theft of Miami papers from safe)
PETE CROSSLEY: Motive unknown. No check up made on possible alibis. Fire alibi exists on Salmon killing.
ED BROWN: Motive unknown. No check up made on possible alibis. Saved Dr. Ryan from being shot in Simmons house.
LUKE POMEROY: Motive unknown. No check up made on possible alibis. Fire alibi exists on Salmon killing.
MISS PHILLIPS: Motive unknown. Unlikely that any girl could have committed murders. No check up made on possible alibis.
“Oh, come, Mae. That’s going a bit far, isn’t it?” I protested.
“Why? She had the same chance of getting those papers as any of the others. Better, in fact. It’s common knowledge that she runs around with Harry Bartlett. It isn’t absolutely necessary that the murderer took those papers himself.”
“Why don’t you list me?”
“From the Sheriff’s point of view, Will, you’re an excellent prospect.” She smiled. “But I don’t think you’re guilty.”
The phone by my bed rang and she picked it up before I could answer it. “Hello. Oh, hello, Marvin. Will’s resting. Can I take a message?” There was quite a pause while Marvin’s voice clicked metallically in the ear phone. “Why don’t you come for dinner?” Mae asked finally. “We’d love to have yo
u. I’m dying to hear all about it. Fine. Goodbye.” She picked up the papers covering my morning’s work. “Shall I put these away, Will? Bartlett is in the County Jail charged with the double murder of Mr. Mitchell and Red Salmon!”
22
Dinner time found me up and dressed, much rested and refreshed by my day of idleness. When our local afternoon paper was delivered I found that Pete had kept a lot of things to himself. I eagerly pored over every word of the front page feature—the biggest news break our modest daily had had since the big freeze. The editor, a former member of the staff of a large metropolitan daily, had let himself go and imbued the story with all the dignity of a feature in the New York Times.
BARTLETT ARRESTED BY
SHERIFF’S OFFICE FOR
MITCHELL-SALMON MURDERS.
CLERK IN FORMAN SPENCE’S JEWELRY
STORE SEEN WITH DECEASED BANKER
A YEAR AGO.
USED FOLDING CANVAS BOAT.
Sheriff Crossley Finds Guns and Boat
Hidden under Floor of Suspect’s House
on Louisa Road.
An athletic, soft-spoken, young man who has worked as a clerk in Spence’s Jewelry Store since last August, and who admits he had a fondness for playing the races in Miami, is in the County Jail this afternoon charged with the murder of David Mitchell, and John (Red) Salmon because an intelligent officer of the law attempted the formidable task of tracing every canvas boat shipped into this State.
The prisoner, who has gone under the name of Harry Bartlett, and whose twenty-nine years have included two years in College and two years in the army, was held without bail for a hearing next Wednesday, at which officers hope to identify him with two recent attempts on the life of Dr. William Ryan, and the theft of papers from a safe in the Sheriff’s office. Meanwhile Sheriff Crossley was receiving the congratulations of State’s Attorney Sanderson for making an arrest which involved both physical courage and unusual headwork.
Connection with Banker Withheld.
Bartlett, with quiet hauteur, refused to tell the officers anything about his family or his personal life, other than that by occupation he was a goldsmith, and an expert carpenter. His former connection with the murdered President of the Bank of Orange Crest was not disclosed. It was learned on good authority that a few weeks before the prisoner started to work for Mr. Spence, he was. seen shaking hands with the deceased banker as the latter was alighting from the 10:35 p.m. train in the local station. Beyond admitting that this fact was in their possession, local authorities had no comment to make.
Snapshot His Undoing.
It was only through astute detective work that Sheriff Crossley was able to uncover the facts which led to this important arrest. Miss Dale Phillips, the officer’s clever and attractive Secretary, managed to secure a snapshot of the accused without his knowledge. An enlargement was sent to two New York jewelry houses, and to the manager of a bankrupt Miami company, where the prisoner claimed he had been employed. All three acknowledged giving references to an employee named Harry Bartlett, but denied emphatically that the prisoner was the same man. A description was sent out to the Jewelers’ Association so that the real Bartlett can be held for questioning.
The prisoner proved an uncommunicative witness.
“How long have you known David Mitchell?” a Deputy asked him.
“Only since he died,” he was quoted as replying.
“Why did you hide your boat and guns so carefully?”
“So they wouldn’t be stolen. I never locked my house. I had a crazy idea that the police around here were competent,” he answered.
The officers examined with interest the formidable Luger automatic pistol he had carried in an armpit holster, and asked him if he would have shot a man with it.
“Certainly not,” he answered nonchalantly. “I used that to shoot rabbits for dinner.”
Used Boat for Fishing.
When queried about the 30-30 rifle, the twelve gauge shotgun, and the folding canvas boat found in his house, he was equally uncommunicative. The authorities said they learned, however, that Bartlett (?) had bought the boat through a sporting goods store in Lakeland. The guns, he claimed had been given him by his father. He flatly refused to reveal his father’s name or address.
There was much more, of course. The two murders were rehashed in detail. A long editorial eulogized the County officers for their efficiency. My part in the affair received a column to itself. I blush today when it is mentioned. We learned the rest of the particulars from Marvin at dinner.
The Sheriff had become suspicious of Bartlett the day after Mitchell was killed. The station agent, Nate McCormick, a regular old woman for gossip, had recalled seeing Mitchell get off the 10:35 train from Jacksonville one night about a year previous. The banker had talked with a man in the vestibule of the Pullman car while the train was in the station. When the banker got off the man went back in the car and sat down by the window in the smoking compartment. McCormick had been trying since Bartlett came to town, to think where he had seen him before. On the sixteenth, with the papers full of the crime, he suddenly remembered him as the man with whom Mitchell had spoken on the train. He took his information to Forman Spence, who carried it to Pete.
It was a small thing to work on, but old Nate’s remembrance of unimportant happenings had helped the Sheriff before. With plodding pertinacity Pete had started making casual inquiries about Forman’s employee from the farmers and loggers of Manasaw County. He was rewarded by finding three people who were ready to swear they had seen Bartlett in the vicinity of Orange Crest several times before he went to work for the jeweler.
Ed Brown and Luke Pomeroy were given the job of interviewing all the purchasers of hunting licenses to obtain a list of those who had been out on the last day. Again a stroke of luck favored the officers: a hunter was located who had seen Bartlett’s Ford on the fifteenth. It was parked near the Cow Pasture across Lake Louisa from the Simmons house about five in the afternoon. The man had been out hunting with Bartlett, and knew his car. The information appeared reliable.
New developments tumbled over each other. The clerk’s references were proven false when his photograph was sent to his supposed prior connections. His purchase of the boat in Lakeland was uncovered. The culmination came with our search of his house, and Crossley’s finds. The Sheriff had laid all his information before Sanderson, and together they had returned to Bartlett’s house after leaving me at home. When Bartlett came home, about one in the morning, he was placed under arrest.
“Do you think they will be able to convict him, Marvin?” Mae asked.
“That’s very hard to say. He has refused to talk to anyone. Doesn’t want a lawyer. Says he just wants to be let alone.”
“But what could Daddy have been doing on the train with a man like that?” Celia asked.
“Carl and Pete are both close-mouthed about that phase of it. They must know something. As I told Doc, Tuesday night, that counterfeit bill may have been the cause of his death. What I had in mind was that he might have stumbled onto a gang of counterfeiters through information which he picked up in the bank. If Bartlett happened to be a member of such an outfit—”
“Then he wouldn’t have been coming from Jacksonville with Celia’s father.”
“That’s true, Mae,” I agreed. “If Mr. Mitchell knew the facts. But suppose Bartlett had deliberately set out to scrape up an acquaintance with Celia’s father. If he’s a member of a gang circulating bad money in this State, he may have been sent here to watch. He may have been following Dave Mitchell in Jacksonville, and taken the same train to see what information he could get. It’s easy to start a conversation in a smoking room of a Pullman. You never heard your father mention that he knew Bartlett, did you Celia?”
“Never.”
“There you are! Bartlett probably talked with him on the train that night, and your father never remembered it. It looks air-tight to me.”
“One thing I don’t understand,”
Mae remarked, “Is how Bartlett knew that Tim Reig was hunting out on Road No. 2 on the fifteenth if he didn’t actually follow him. You said his car was seen near the Cow Pasture, didn’t you, Marvin?”
“Yes. Pete thought of that, too, but Bartlett just laughed when he was questioned about it this afternoon. We decided that he must have been on the porch of Pete’s ‘ house when Sanderson was questioning Reig Monday night. We tried it ourselves, and he could have overheard through an open window.”
“That seems to fit in nicely,” I approved.
“Everything fits in nicely, Doc. I can hear Carl summing up now.” Marvin lowered his head and looked out of the top of his eyes at an imaginary Jury. “This cold blooded slayer—this creeping menace—sheltered and supported by the people of this fair State—murderer of the President of our great institution, the Bank of—“ He noticed Celia’s expression, and hastened to apologize. “That was careless of me, darling. But I can’t help feeling sorry for the poor devil. The whole town is up in arms, and ugly whispers about lynching are going the rounds. Pete has sworn in five more deputies—our friend Cass Rhodes among them. Guess he feels better to have him where he can keep an eye on him. I’m afraid there is going to be trouble if Pete doesn’t move Bartlett to another jail.”
Something in the tone of Marvin’s voice caused me to remark: “In spite of all the facts against him, I don’t believe you think he is guilty.”
“It’s a nice case.” He rested his elbow on the table, cupped his chin in his hand, and gazed pensively at a picture on the wall. “Sanderson won’t have any trouble proving that Bartlett could have committed both the crimes. Why, hang it all, he wasn’t even in the store Tuesday when you and Ed were at the lake. Said he was home. Bad headache, or something. Furthermore he hasn’t a witness to prove what he did the Sunday Red was killed. On the surface the motive seems to be the only weak link, and you have succeeded in thinking up one that is as good as any. The really inexplicable points that exist will be glossed over with great skill by our eminent prosecutor.”
“And they are?”
Blood on Lake Louisa Page 14
