The Penguin Pool Murder (The Hildegarde Withers Mysteries) Page 6

  With his pocket-knife he pried at the silver cap, which came away in his hand. Tilting the stick, which was hollow for a foot of its length, he let a handful of heavy shot roll out.

  “Lester loaded this himself,” pronounced the Inspector. “A regular workman would have used molten lead, and only about half as much. And the silver cap was only jammed loosely back on, not fitted.” He looked thoughtful.

  “Jerry Lester came down to the Aquarium with murder in his heart,” the Inspector decided.

  “Or else fear for his life,” interposed Miss Withers. “That could have been meant for defense, you know.”

  There still remained Hemingway and his assistant, Olaavson. Piper turned to the big Norseman.

  “You were working back of the tanks all morning, until you came down to bring the little man you thought was sneaking your invention?”

  Olaavson nodded ponderously. “In the morning I help feed the fish, and then move the little penguins out of the big central pool into the spare tank under the stair,” he told the Inspector. “Then about ten o’clock I go up the iron ladder and around to the west side, back of the balcony tanks. There is the main inlet for the water that goes through all the tanks, and there it is that I have my machine set up. I work there, testing my automatic device that keeps the water pure.”

  “You heard nothing … saw no one?”

  “Nothing. I was thinking of my work. I even forgot lunch.”

  “You also forgot to lock the door behind you,” put in Piper. “A man’s life might have been saved if you had.”

  Hemingway interrupted again. “That door locks only from the outside, Inspector. That is why we always leave it open when we are working on the inside. The latch works from both sides, but there is no key-hole on the inside.”

  “Okay,” said Piper. “Well, you’re last, Hemingway. How long have you known Gerald Lester?”

  “As I told you, I knew him for some time, but never intimately. I met Lester at a dinner of the Explorer’s Club, a big dinner given in honor of Chasmic, the Frenchman who flew over the Pole. Lester was brought by one of the members, though he himself had never done anything to win membership. We sat together….”

  “You’re a member?”

  Hemingway nodded proudly. “The Directorship of the Aquarium automatically carries that honor with it,” he explained. “We have to go collecting tropical fish, you know. Anyway, Lester and I got acquainted while sitting at that dinner, and we met for lunch once or twice, since his office is only a few blocks from here, and we both frequented the same eating places. And then once or twice we went out together in the evening, when he had an extra theatre ticket. He was generous that way, and his wife didn’t care to go out with him, I understand. It was that way I met her. She was just coming in one evening when I stopped in at their place after the theatre for a cocktail in Gerald’s study.”

  “You mean Mrs. Lester?”

  Hemingway nodded. “She is a very beautiful woman, Inspector. Lester liked to show her off to his friends. But she hardly noticed me. I think she was afraid to show any interest in men before her husband. He was a jealous type, Inspector. We were simply introduced, and we all had a drink together, and then she excused herself.”

  “That was the only time you met Lester’s wife?”

  “The only time until I saw her by chance talking to a young man in the door here this noon. Of course I insisted on their coming into the office and having a chat. I wanted to be hospitable, you see. And Mrs. Lester is a very beautiful woman.”

  “You never had a quarrel with Gerald Lester … about his wife, for instance?” Piper smiled as he asked the question. The idea of that gorgeous creature looking at Bertrand B. Hemingway was more than funny.

  Hemingway paused for a moment, long enough so that Miss Withers and the Inspector both noticed it. Piper put it down to vanity.

  “No,” he said reluctantly. “I … no, we never quarreled. But we hadn’t seen much of each other of late. You know how hard it is in New York to keep track of old friends, much less to cultivate new ones.”

  “Okay,” said Piper. “One thing more. Why was it that when Fink burst in on the three of you, shouting that there was a dead man in the penguin tank, why was it that you led the way out of the door at the far end here, instead of going through this office to the other end and out through the door at the foot of the stairs … the door that Olaavson entered by a while ago? That would have been the natural way, wouldn’t it?”

  Hemingway turned a shade paler. “I … well, I guess it didn’t occur to me. Oh, I know why. He said a man was in the penguin tank, and naturally I thought of the big central pool where they are usually kept. It wasn’t till we got out in the main room that I saw the crowd clustered around the little tank under the stair, and ran there.”

  Piper stuck out his lower lip, but made no comment. “Go on,” he said.

  “That’s all there is. I recognized Lester in the tank, and it was the first time I’d seen him in months. Then you know the rest….”

  “All right,” Piper told him. “Now I want you to lead me through the place, so I can get an idea just how it is laid out.” He lit his fourth cigar for the afternoon. “Miss Withers, you don’t need to stay if you want to get home. It’s been good of you to stand by me with those notes, because I might have forgotten a point or two….”

  “Nonsense,” said Miss Withers. She had filled page after page of her little notebook. “I’ve had the time of my life. That’s why I came to New York ten years ago, instead of keeping on teaching school out in Iowa. I wanted a little excitement, though it’s little enough I’ve got at Jefferson School. This is great fun, and better than any detective story I ever read. Will you let me stay?”

  “Why not?” said Piper. And the strangely assorted pair followed Hemingway out of the office.

  The big rotunda was dark in the early winter twilight, though a few dim electric bulbs high above them cast a sickly glow. Hemingway’s nervous, squeaky voice echoed through the empty place as he led the party on a tour of inspection. It was the third that day for Miss Withers. She was getting sick and tired of the Aquarium.

  Fink and MacDonald were discussing the exciting events of the day in their little cubby to the left of the main entrance, where the check room was. Olaavson took a noisy leave of the entire affair, disgusted with the interruption to his labors.

  Miss Withers wanted to know if there was some sort of a guard at the main entrance, which of course had been closed to visitors since the tragedy. Piper shook his head.

  “Not necessary,” he told her. “I had them put it on a night latch, so that nobody can get in but any of us can get out. And I’ve got two uniformed men at the penguin tank.”

  As they went, Miss Withers filled one page of her notebook with a scribbled sketch of the important end of the building, which centered now in the little glass-enclosed tank at the end of the line, under the stair. This was the sketch she made:

  At last Piper had the place clearly in his mind, he said. “Except for the runway behind the tank. Let’s have a look in there.”

  Hemingway hung back.

  “Don’t worry,” Piper told him. “The body has been removed, and by this time Doc Bloom is making the complete autopsy. We’ll just have a look-see back there….”

  The two stalwart policemen moved aside to let the Inspector pass. He stopped suddenly.

  “Casey, I want you to do something for me.” He drew one of the men aside, and gave him swift instructions. “… bribe her or make love to her or chloroform her, but get me those stockings tonight!” Miss Withers caught only the last phrases. Casey left with ill-concealed elation.

  “Shall I stick here?” asked the other cop. Piper looked at him.

  “Those were your orders, weren’t they? What’s the matter, are you afraid of ghosts or something?”

  The policeman shook his head. “It’s only that … well, I’ve got a strange feeling that there’s somebody here who doesn’t belong
here. Me and Casey, we both felt it, sir. Just a rustling and whispering and soft footsteps that don’t belong anywhere. And then when you look, there’s nobody there, but you hear a door closing.”

  “Fiddlesticks,” said Piper. “It’s echoes in this old barn, that’s all. You stay here on the job.”

  “Yes, sir. I thought it my duty to tell you, sir….”

  “There’s no need for you to stand there like a statue,” put in Piper. “Get a chair, man, and sit down. This must be your first job on the Homicide Squad, isn’t it, Rollins?”

  “It’s my last one, too, I hope,” said Rollins sincerely. But he brought a chair from the guard’s office and leaned it against the wall.

  The three of them passed through the door and up the short flight of steps. “I wish we knew what happened here five or six hours ago,” said Piper reflectively. “Can’t you give us some light on the subject, Hemingway?”

  The Director fumbled for a cord that hung from the ceiling twenty feet above their heads. There was a click, and then a ghostlike glow that only served to make the place more strange and unearthly than ever.

  Ahead of them curved the narrow cat-walk, above the shimmering squares of the fish-filled tanks. The curved and jointed lines of pipe cast weird shadows on the water and on the faces of the three who stood there above the penguin tank where a few hours before Gerald Lester had lain.

  “Well, now you see it,” said Hemingway. “Suppose we go back?”

  “Why all the fuss? A person would think that you didn’t want me poking around back here!” Piper stared at the Director, who tried to laugh it off.

  “It’s just that it’s a bit creepy….”

  “Tosh, man. Don’t tell me that you, who’re used to this place, feel that way. Come along, now. We’ll have a look at the upper level.”

  Miss Withers lingered above the murder tank, staring down into the murky obscurity of the water as if the secret of the murderer were hidden there. Suddenly she ran dizzily along the cat-walk, and caught at Piper’s sleeve.

  “I’m trying not to scream,” she said softly. “But a … a hand just clutched at me from the murder tank! A hand that rose up out of the water!”

  6

  One Hat and Seven Cigarette Butts

  THERE WAS A SILENCE during which one might have counted ten. Piper looked at the woman in ill-concealed disgust.

  “You too? And I took you for a steady one. I didn’t think you’d go to pieces like that silly flirt of a Lester woman. I’m disappointed in you.”

  Then it came again, and Miss Withers clung to the Inspector’s arm instead of answering. But it wasn’t a hand. It was nothing human, nor superhuman either.

  There was a swirling of the waters, and the sleek black head of a penguin rose inquiringly into the air, to subside again with a plop. Miss Withers could laugh now, along with the Inspector.

  “Nox and Erebus just wanted to see what was going on here, what with the lights and the excitement and all the people,” explained Hemingway. He leaned over the narrow square of water and extended his fingers for the two friendly birds to nip.

  Miss Withers was perturbed. “You mean that you didn’t take the penguins away? They’re still in the tank where Lester died? I thought of course that you’d drain it.”

  “I didn’t insist on it,” said Piper. “But maybe it would be a good idea.”

  “Draining the tank is a big job,” explained Hemingway. “And besides, we haven’t any other place to put the penguins. So after the police had taken the body away, I suppose Olaavson came back and put the penguins where they belong. The water keeps fresh, you see, through circulation….”

  “Well, first thing tomorrow I’ll have a couple of men here, and you can drain that tank,” ordered Piper. “There might be a clue of some sort. I wish murderers would always leave an initialed cuff-link about the scene of the crime, but they usually don’t. It would make things much easier for us. Well, let’s be getting along. Careful of your head, Miss Withers, these pipes are everywhere. I’m lucky if I don’t knock my hat off.”

  The three of them walked along the runway to the iron ladder, and then climbed to the top level. “Here,” said Hemingway, “is Olaavson’s precious invention. It’s a device for purifying the Aquarium water so that we have to get new sea water only once or twice a year. There’s an automatic business that dumps the right percentage of the right chemical combination, whenever the place needs it, into the stream at the source. I don’t understand it, but it works. He’s thinking of nothing else, Olaavson isn’t.”

  “Interesting,” said Piper, “but hardly productive of any results in this business of who exterminated Gerald Lester. Let’s be moving back. We can’t do anything here in pitch darkness.”

  “There’s a flashlight in my office,” offered Hemingway. “Shall I get it?”

  Piper nodded. “A good idea. Then we can look-see. Run on ahead….”

  And Hemingway was gone. “I wanted a chance to talk with you anyway,” said Piper to Miss Withers. “Did you notice the splotch on Hemingway’s coat? It’s nearly dry now, but it showed fairly plain when I first arrived. I’d give anything to analyze that.”

  Miss Withers nodded. “I saw it, all right. You think it might be …?”

  “I think it’s water from the penguin tank,” Piper told her. “I can’t be sure without analysis. And it wouldn’t necessarily prove anything.” He paused above the iron ladder that led downwards. “I forgot that the cop at the door doesn’t have orders to let Hemingway through without me. He may be held up there.”

  “Wait a minute,” said Miss Withers. “Why do you go to all this trouble if you know that the Seymour boy killed Lester?”

  “My dear woman, I don’t know that he did. Anybody might have killed Gerald Lester. Maybe you did it yourself, you had time enough while your pupils were hunting for your hatpin. You could have slipped in there and done him in. Only we don’t know yet how he was bumped. It might be heart failure caused by the crack on the chin that Seymour gave him.”

  Piper saw the look of alarm on Miss Withers’ face. “Mind, I don’t say that I really believe that you did bump the man,” he told her. “You haven’t got motive, for one thing. And it’s motive, and not opportunity, that makes crimes. Everybody had an opportunity to kill Lester. The pickpocket, Chicago Lew, might have done it. But why? He was hiding in the runway to escape pursuit, and would hardly stop to murder a man. Maybe Olaavson did it, because he thought his invention was endangered … though it’s not likely. Hemingway could have slipped out of the farther door of his office, done the job, and still had time to be cordially boring to Mrs. Lester and Seymour at the main exit.”

  Miss Withers grasped his shoulder. “Then you believe that Seymour didn’t kill Lester? You agree with me that his confession was a fake, to save Mrs. Lester?”

  “Possibly, but I doubt it. No, I still think that Seymour was giving us a phony confession to a crime he did commit. Maybe Mrs. Lester was mixed up in the actual killing. Maybe she did it, and he was just an accomplice. There was time for her to slip into the runway and pull the job while he waited for her at the door.” Piper shrugged his shoulders. “But both Mrs. Lester and Philip Seymour had a good old-fashioned motive for the killing, and I’m holding Seymour for trial. But that shouldn’t keep me from digging deeper and deeper into the thing, and it won’t.”

  “Then you haven’t really got any definite idea about the murderer at all?” Miss Withers was surprised.

  “My dear lady, if I did I’d have him in a chair at Police Headquarters with seven detectives and the Commissioner himself asking questions till tomorrow night … and later if need be. All I know is that a man has been killed, and a mess of threads lead off into nowheres. I’ve got to satisfy the papers, I’ve got to have an arrest. The logical arrest is Seymour.”

  “It’s tough on him if he’s innocent,” Miss Withers pronounced.

  “It’s tougher on him if he’s guilty,” Piper told her. “Let’s be
going.” Suddenly he caught her arm, and they listened in the semi-darkness. From far below there came the sound of a splash.

  “The penguins again, or a fish jumping,” Miss Withers decided aloud. But Piper motioned her to hush.

  Then for a moment the pencil streak of a flashlight played over the tanks below them, flying off at a tangent on the beams overhead … and was gone. They heard the runway door close softly. Then all was still.

  “Hemingway!” Piper called. “What are you doing? Bring the flash up here.”

  But there was no answer. Swiftly the two of them slid down the ladder and ran along the runway to the pool of the penguins.

  There was a dark puddle on the top step. It was water, Miss Withers found, and not blood. The penguins were agitated, and one of them was trying to get out of the pool again.

  Piper swiftly led the way down the steps. There were drops of water here, scattered. He flung the door open and called aloud, “Rollins!”

  No one answered. “Rollins, why did you leave your post? I say, Rollins!”

  The Inspector’s voice made the echoes ring, but no answer came. “Has the fellow bolted?” asked Miss Withers.

  Then the office door opened and Hemingway stuck his head out. “I say, Inspector, I’ve looked everywhere for that flashlight, and it’s gone. I know it was there this afternoon.”

  “Never mind that flash now,” ordered Piper. “Quick! Was Rollins, the officer, here when you came down after the flash?”

  Hemingway hesitated. “Why … no! He wasn’t here at all. I remember wondering if he’d gone to join Fink and MacDonald in the cubby. But I didn’t think anything of it.”

  “You didn’t think anything of it! When you hear me put a man on duty, and then in ten minutes he’s disappeared, you don’t think anything of it! You’re a fool, Hemingway!”

  Piper bent over the floor, just outside the door. There were more dark spots, and these were not drops of water. His fingers came up dark at the tips.