The Luminous Face

“Not likely. Then you assume the second shot was the fatal one?”

“How can I, when the doctors say otherwise?”

“What, then, do you think about it?”

“I don’t know what to think. If any other nurse had taken that message I’d say she dreamed the thing. But I took it myself, and I know. The only possible explanation I can think of, is that the murderer stood there ready to shoot, but hadn’t yet fired. The victim somehow managed to get the telephone call – ”

“How could he? Why would the murderer let him?”

“I don’t know, I’m sure. But, say the murderer threatened him, and say the victim made some plausible plea that made the murderer grant him a moment’s respite to telephone – ”

“Oh, I see. Or, say, the murderer was threatening Gleason’s life unless he telephoned a certain party – not the doctor. Then say, Gleason called this number as a last hope – and shouted that he was already shot, when he was merely anticipating the deed, and in his frenzy of fear, hoped that to tell the doctor that, would be to stay the murderer’s hand.”

“That’s a way out,” Nurse Jordan said, musingly. “And that’s all I can think of – that it was something of that sort. As I say, the voice was husky and scared, but it would be that if he was threatened. Still, it certainly sounded like the voice of a suffering, dying man. It was short, gasping – as if strangling.”

“In that case, if he were already shot when he called up, I mean – the death shot was not instantaneous, as is supposed, but the victim lived a few moments. Might that be so?”

“I can’t say. I’ve never known Doctor Davenport to make a false diagnosis and, too, the other doctors agree the shot in the shoulder was fired after the man was dead.”

“That seems to be inexplicable.”

“It’s all inexplicable. There’s Doctor Davenport himself – talk to him.”

Prescott blessed his luck that the doctor came in just then, and eagerly began to question him.

“I was at Mrs Ballard’s,” the doctor said; “up on Ninetieth Street, near Fifth Avenue. After I got the nurse’s message, I hurried down to the Gleason place as fast as I could. I didn’t know the exact number – ”

“You didn’t!” Prescott felt sure this was meant as a blind, to indicate the doctor’s slight acquaintance with Gleason.

“No; I didn’t. I had to telephone some one to find out. I tried the Lindsays first, but the wire was busy, so I called up Manning Pollard.”

“And he told you?”

“Yes, I didn’t get the call, but the Ballards’ butler did, and Pollard gave him the address. Of course, the man told Pollard I wanted it.”

“I see. Then you went right down there?”

“Yes; and the rest is public knowledge. Look here, Prescott, what are you getting at?”

“Only the truth. Go on, tell the story. I have to get these details.”

“What details?”

“Of what happened before the police came.”

“Oh, you know it all. How I got help and broke in the door, and found Gleason on the floor, dead.”

“He was dead when you entered?”

“Of course he was.”

“With two shots in his body.”

“Yes; why go over these things with me? I’ve made my report.”

“I know! but I want to find out about the telephoning. How do you account for a man telling of his own death?”

“That’s the puzzle. It’s the queerest thing I ever knew, Prescott, but it isn’t my province to ferret out the truth. My duty in the case is done, and you know it. Now good-by.”

“One minute, Doctor. Will you tell me where you were that afternoon – the afternoon of the murder?”

Davenport stared at him.

“Meaning that you suspect me of the crime?”

“I haven’t said so. Are you one of those people who think every question a detective asks implies an accusation? There might be a dozen reasons for my asking you that besides suspicion of you as Gleason’s murderer.”

“Well, of course, I’ve no reason for not telling. I left the Club with Dean Monroe. I set him down at his home, in West Fifty-sixth Street, and then I made a short round of calls. Not more than three or four, special cases. And while I was at Mrs Ballard’s the message came from Nurse Jordan. Satisfied of my alibi?”

Davenport’s tone was sarcastic, and his smile was not pleasant. But, as Prescott reflected, nobody likes to be wrongfully suspected.

A fleeting thought went through the detective’s mind that if Doctor Davenport had killed Gleason he might have done so when he went down there at seven o’clock. But that would mean that Nurse Jordan told a string of falsehoods, and the whole affair would have been a most complicated proceeding. No, if the doctor were the murderer, he would not have called up Pollard to get that address.

But did he do that? Prescott went away and went straight to a telephone booth and called Pollard.

“What?” Pollard said as he heard the query. “Called me up to ask Gleason’s address? Why, no – oh, yes, he did. I remember now. He did, and I gave it to him. Why?”

“Tell you some other time,” said Prescott. “Good-by.”

CHAPTER IX – Ivy Hayes

“I’ve no faith in the police, no faith in detectives and no faith in anybody!”

This wholesale skepticism was voiced by Millicent Lindsay, and addressed to her small audience of friends gathered in her library.

“It’s outrageous,” she went on, “nearly a week has passed since my brother’s murder, and no real step has been taken to find his murderer.”

“Steps have been taken,” said Louis, “but they all seem to have been taken in the wrong direction.”

“At any rate they led nowhere,” Millicent went on. “Nobody knows anything; nobody can explain the mystery of the two shots. Nobody knows of any motive for the crime.”

“You’ve ceased to suspect Phyllis, then,” Philip Barry said, his smile a little forced as he eagerly awaited the answer.

“I have and I haven’t,” Millicent returned, speaking slowly. “Of course, it seems absurd to think a young girl like Phyllis would do such a dreadful thing – but – she won’t tell where she was, and, too, she didn’t like my brother – at least, she didn’t welcome his offer of marriage, and if she knew of his will, and I think she did, why shouldn’t I suspect her?”

“Well, quit suspecting her,” Louis growled. “Phyllis is as innocent as a baby. You’re off your head, Millicent, to dream of such a thing.”

“All right, why won’t she tell where she was at the time of the crime, then?”