by Henry, Kane,
Jacoby: “The District Attorney will be here soon enough!”
Silvers: “But there are nonetheless complex problems here, matters of law…”
Fitzsimmons: “Which is why I demanded the presence of the District Attorney, empowered to act…”
Silver: “But you and I can certainly hassle out these matters of law in the meanwhile. Mr. Smith is here, Lieutenant Jacoby is here, the accused is here…”
Peter Gunn touched the arm of Sister Olympia and led her from the furor of the office to the stillness of the corridor. “They can go on like that for hours,” he said.
“It is quite confusing,” she said.
“And quite dull. Would you like a cup of tea, Sister?”
“Thank you.” And seated in a cafeteria, over tea, she said, “Are you a detective, young man?”
“I’m a private detective, Sister Olympia.”
“What is the difference, sir?”
“My name is Gunn, Sister, Peter Gunn.”
“What is the difference, Peter Gunn?”
“Oh, that’s a long story, Sister, and one that would be quite as confusing as that hubbub back there at the office. You realize you upset a massive apple-cart back there.”
“I have no knowledge of law or legal matters. I merely made a statement of truth, and that is all that concerns me.”
“Yes.” Gunn nodded very seriously. “But there are many aspects of truth, Sister, as even the Bible has shown us. What one may be believe to be utter truth may, in effect, not be truth: may be truth only as that one sees it.”
“I do not understand, young man.”
“I notice, Sister, that you do not wear a wrist-watch or a pendant-watch…”
She smiled, her round blue eyes crinkling. “Time, young man, is of no consequence to me. My duties commence when I awake, when the sun comes up, and end at night, when I am tired and ready for sleep. Our work is ceaseless and enduring and time, actual time as measured by the clock, does not matter to us. I, personally, consider wrist-watches or pendant-watches or whatever, matters of adornments and we do not believe in adorning ourselves. Of course, these are matters of personal opinion, young man. I can always ascertain the actual time, if I am interested, by asking or by looking at a clock, and there are always clocks all around us.”
“Sister Olympia,” said Gunn, “you said you had begun your duties of asking alms at eight o’clock yesterday morning…”
She smiled again. “Why so precise, you may ask? I had noticed a clock at that time.”
“Do you notice many clocks, Sister? Please don’t misunderstand me. I don’t wish to pry, and I don’t mean to be offensive. I too, just as you, am interested in the truth.”
“I don’t misunderstand you, Mr. Gunn, and you are not in the least offensive. I agree that truth has many aspects and I am not one to shrink from a test of truth, quite the contrary.”
“Thank you, Sister.”
“My answer to your question, Mr. Gunn—I do not notice many clocks. I am far too busy. But I did, as such coincidence may be, notice that clock in the domicile of Mr. Michael York.”
“I don’t doubt that for an instant, Sister Olympia.”
“Thank you, young man. You are very gracious.”
“May I go on with this line of inquiry?”
“Please do. By all means.”
“What is your means of transportation?”
Now she chuckled. “I have an old, ramshackle, rattling automobile which has served me long and faithfully.”
“And you were out from eight o’clock in the morning until…?”
“Quite late. I don’t know exactly until when, but it was quite late, quite dark.”
“A long and tiring day?”
“Yes, indeed.”
“And now, if you please, Sister Olympia, if you had not noticed that electric clock on the wall over Mr. York’s head—would you have had any idea of the actual time?”
“Not at all, young man.”
“It could have been eleven o’clock—or it could have been one o’clock—is that possible, Sister Olympia?”
“Very possible indeed, young man,” and now the clear blue eyes studied the intense, respectful, troubled expression on Peter Gunn’s face.
“Do you follow along with my line of thinking, Sister Olympia?” he said.
“You are contemplating the possibility of error.” And now her face grew troubled. “My reliance on that one particular clock.”
“Exactly,” he said. “I’m not saying that’s the case, but the possibility exists. You realize that your statement has destroyed the time-table of a murder. The police—and I—were certain we had caught a murderer—but now—if yours is not the mistake—ours is a colossal mistake…”
“But how do we find out, young man?”
He was silent. He sipped tea which had grown cold. “Let’s give it a try, Sister Olympia. Now. You and I. Let’s give it a try before there can be any interference…”
“Try?” she said. “Interference?”
“Let me try to explain. Sooner or later, after that wrangling ceases up there, the police will take you to the scene, and rightfully so, in the proper process of their investigation. You can understand that, Sister?”
“Yes, of course.”
“On the other hand, there is Mike York, a thug, a criminal, with powerful friends, powerful influences—and a man right now in the major crisis of his life. Suddenly an unexpected witness appears in the person of Sister Olympia. If there has been a mistake on your part, if there is any margin for error—interference on the part of Mike York’s powerful hosts would diminish any margin of error.”
“And how can we prevent such interference?”
“By doing the check ourselves. By going to the scene right now. Are you willing, Sister Olympia?”
“More than willing.” She stood up, smiling. “What are we waiting for, young man?”
Peter Gunn drove westward through the hot afternoon along Pico and, though his speed might be described as slightly hair-raising, the black-robed lady beside him remained remarkably unperturbed, which gave rise in Gunn’s mind as to the velocities with which the said black-robed lady propelled the ramshackle car to which she had earlier alluded. Upon arrival near Santa Monica, he said, “Am I going too fast?”
“You are an excellent driver, young man.”
“Would you direct me to Seaview?”
“Turn to your left,” she said.
And at Seaview Boulevard she pointed out the house. Gunn parked and ran around and opened the car-door for her and they walked side by side up a flagstoned pathway to the door and Gunn rang the bell and there was no answer. Gunn said, “Please wait,” and he went around to the rear and pried loose a screen and climbed through and ran through the house and opened the door for her.
“Now where was this clock?” he said.
“The study was this way,” she said.
She led him to a well-furnished room and on a wall above a polished oak desk she pointed out a round, glassless, ornate, modern electric clock and then her hand fell and she turned to him and they looked upon one another in amazement.
chapter 24
Excitement had grown even hotter in Jacoby’s office upon the arrival of the District Attorney and when Peter Gunn and Sister Olympia returned their return was hardly noticed.
“Gentlemen! Gentlemen!” shouted Gunn and some of the din abated. “Gentlemen, I have an object!”
“Out of order,” answered Fitzsimmons. “Objection overruled. You have no status here. No right to object.”
“I am not objecting. I have an object.”
“What is it with him?” snorted Fitzsimmons.
“Quiet! Please!” shouted Gunn. “I have an object that will interest all of you…” and suddenly there was absolute silence and Gunn was shouting, which embarrassed him, and he smiled, shrugged, and continued in lower tone. “Whatever I am going to say can be verified by Sister Olympia who has requested me to
state that she withdraws the affidavit she made in Mr. Fitzsimmons’ office and will make a new affidavit right here.”
“Now what the…?” said Fitzsimmons, looking toward Sister Olympia.
Sister Olympia smiled and nodded.
“Sister Olympia and I have been to the home of Mr. York in Santa Monica. We have been together every moment. She will verify all I have to say and she has consented to my procedure now.” Gunn looked about. He went to a picture which hung near an electric outlet on Jacoby’s wall. He removed the picture, tested the nail, nodded.
“What’s gotten into him?” demanded Fitzsimmons.
“Sister Olympia and I,” said Gunn, “in order to correct a perfectly human error, have taken the liberty of bringing Mr. York’s electric clock to this office, the very clock upon which she based her belief of the time. We wish to demonstrate the error. Please bear with me.”
He went out and brought back the clock from the anteroom.
York gasped. All the rest were attentively silent.
Gunn hung the clock upon the nail, inserted the plug into the outlet, whirled to Jacoby, said, “What time is it?”
“Twelve o’clock.”
To Alice Bain: “What time does it show?”
“Twelve o’clock,” said Alice Bain.
“Wrong,” said Gunn.
“But that’s what it shows,” said Jacoby, frowning. “Twelve o’clock.”
“Wrong,” said Gunn.
“What time?” said Jacoby.
“No time,” said Gunn and went to the clock and with a finger moved the long hand and demonstrated that there was no small hand beneath it, there was no small hand on the clock.
Now there were gasps from others aside from York.
Gunn dug into his pocket and came up with the small hand. “Sister Olympia and I found this on the floor beneath the clock, the small hand, the hour hand.” He brought it to Jacoby. “Note,” he said, “the erosion that split the circle of metal that held it to the prong of the clock. Erosion of metal is frequent at the ocean side and if there is any weakness in a strip of metal, it will eat through.”
“Well, I’ll be…” said Jacoby.
“I have demonstrated the perfectly honest error made by Sister Olympia. When the minute hand is at twelve, and the hour hand cannot be seen, we all assume the hour hand is beneath and parallel to the minute hand—that it is twelve o’clock. You all here made that very mistake. Sister Olympia does not wear a watch, she had been at work since eight o’clock in the morning, she had no actual idea of the time, the sun was shining brightly. She will explain it all in detail and—”
“Now you look here!” began Fitzsimmons.
“I suggest,” said Gunn, “that the matter stand as before; that the conspiracy outlined by Willie Koko was actually such conspiracy; that the identification by Sam Lockwood was an actual identification; that York was at Bain’s place at Bel Air at twelve o’clock; and that it was one o’clock or so when he came out of the sea and was met by Sister Olympia.”
If there was excitement before, there was pandemonium now; but at upshot, upon the order of the District Attorney and over rather feeble objections of Alonzo Fitzsimmons, Mr. Michael York was marched back to his jail cell.
chapter 25
Peter Gunn, very hot, came home to Edie Hart, even hotter, because of cooking in the small confines of a bachelor’s kitchen. Edie was beautifully glistening in the sheen of perspiration and she was wearing one of Peter Gunn’s linen bathrobes, its sleeves folded back and its sash tied around twice, and she was wearing nothing else. “Hot,” said Peter Gunn. “I go for a shower, now, immediately.”
“Hungry, my liege lord?”
“I could use a drink.”
“A splendid idea.”
And when he returned from his shower, attired in a basque shirt and Jamaica shorts, there was a full shaker and Edie poured for both of them (with much remaining) and Gunn tasted and said, “Delicious. What is it?”
“Your ingredients, my liege lord.”
“My ingredients never had your magic touch. What is it?”
“Vodka stinger.”
“What’s a vodka stinger?”
“Vodka and white crème de menthe in proper proportion.”
“Proper proportion, just like you.”
“You see, already it brings forth a compliment.”
“Delicious,” said Gunn.
“Intoxicating,” said Edie.
“More,” said Gunn, holding out his glass.
“Hard day?” said Edie, adding to both their glasses.
“Yes.”
“The Bain thing?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me. Pick it up where you left off.”
“Where did I leave off?”
She told him. He told her.
“Wow,” said Edie.
“How goes the dinner?”
“Cooking. Practically ready. What happened to the company?”
“They’re coming.”
“No!” Edie jumped. “And me dressed like this! You said you’d call.”
“Easy. There’s lots of time.”
“Who’s coming?”
“Alice Bain, Sam Lockwood, and the lawyer Harold Smith. I didn’t mention dinner, figured we’d surprise them, but I did mention drinks. Smith is taking them over to his office first, there are some papers for Alice to sign, then they’ll all be along here. There’s lots of time.”
But there wasn’t. The bell rang and the company came.
“We decided to come here first,” said Smith, “before going to the office.”
“Oh, my!” Edie gasped. “And look at me!”
“Never saw you looking better,” said Lockwood.
“Well, I was cooking,” explained Edie.
“On all the burners,” said Lockwood.
“Mr. Smith—Miss Edie Hart,” said Gunn.
“Pleasure,” said Mr. Smith.
“I’ll go change,” said Edie.
“Don’t be silly,” said Alice Bain.
“It would be criminal if you did,” said Smith. “We all envy you your garb this hot day.”
“How about some drinks for our guests?” said Gunn.
“I warn you, it sneaks up on you,” said Edie. “I feel a lift already.” And she went to the liquor cabinet, and splashed vodka and crème de menthe and shook with ice and got glasses and played hostess and everybody drank.
“Mr. Gunn, my compliments,” said Harold Smith. “You were absolutely magnificent this afternoon.”
“He can be magnificent in the evening too,” said Edie.
“Well, now,” said the handsome Lockwood with a handsome smirk.
“I agree with Mr. Smith,” said Alice Bain. “Truly magnificent.”
“Somebody should pay you a large fee, Mr. Gunn,” said Smith, looking meaningfully in the direction of Lockwood.
“I’ll tell a tale out of school,” said Gunn. “I’ve been paid a large fee. Two large fees, as a matter of fact. The first was from Mr. Bain to do a certain check-up—”
“How’d you make out?” said Lockwood.
“And the second was from Mr. Mike York to investigate the murder of Mr. Bain.”
“York?” said Harold Smith.
“Why should he retain you?” said Lockwood.
“Mostly, I believe, to put me on to you. He had planned a job of implicating you with the gun, and he wanted to use me to put the finishing touch on it. Most casually, he mentioned something about a guy that Alice was running around with and mentioned that Bain disapproved and that there was some kind of hassle going on. Didn’t know much about it—not much he didn’t—but I’m certain that that’s the reason I was hired, to bring it around to you.”
“I’m a lawyer,” said Smith, “and a business man. I still say there’s a fee owing to you—from Mr. Lockwood. You did a miraculous job on his behalf.”
“Perhaps I’ll pay it when I can afford it,” said Lockwood. “And I hope that’ll be ve
ry soon. After all, they tell me the girl I’m to marry is now exceedingly rich.”
“Who’s the girl?” said Alice Bain.
“Pardon?” said Lockwood.
“When did you ask her?” said Alice.
“Pardon?” said Lockwood, a flush beginning.
“Sammy,” said Alice, “if you’ve jumped into a conclusion, maybe this is the time to jump out of it. You’re nice, you’re fun, and I adore you. But marriage? You’re not the man for me for marriage, and I don’t have the slightest intention of getting married for a long, long time.”
“Bravo.” Harold Smith set his glass away and applauded.
Lockwood rushed at him, grasped at his lapels and almost pulled him off the floor. “What is it with you? Was it you that put the boot to me with Bain? What the hell goes?”
Gunn pulled him off and held him away. “Temper, temper, Sammy. I think you owe Mr. Smith an apology.”
Lockwood shrugged away. “I don’t think I owe a damned thing to anybody around here.” He went to the door, opened it went through and slammed it shut behind him.
“Wow,” said Edie, pouring stingers into glasses.
“That can be a dangerous young man,” said Smith.
“Perhaps that’s why I liked him,” said Alice.
“Do I detect the past tense?” said Smith.
“I admit it was beginning to pall,” said Alice.
“Then why all this to-do with your father?”
“One thing has nothing to do with another. I was running around with Sam, doing quite a bit of running around, true; but I was old enough to know what I was doing and my father had no right to try to interfere in my private life. Sure, it created a hassle, but it was a hassle that had to be fought through once and for all.”
“But you stuck with Lockwood all through this,” said Smith.
“Look, please don’t get me wrong. I didn’t say I didn’t like him. I was crazy about him at the beginning. The shine was beginning to come off the affair, and his actions since my father’s death, since my father retained Mr. Gunn, as a matter of fact—didn’t add any shine. But I couldn’t let him down, could I? He was in terrible trouble, and I was convinced that he didn’t do this thing; well, I’m not one to turn on a person, to turn on anybody, at a time like that.”
