HE rapid-fire development of the unusual in the last fourteen hours had brought Police Commissioner Hall to the belief that surprise had lost its edge for him; he had rather fancied that he could no longer be stirred from his mental equilibrium by any new developments in the Hamilton case.
The announcement that the missing butler was a detective on Carroll’s private and very efficient staff had merely ruffled his complacency. But Donaldson’s calm and triumphant accusation that Lefty Scammon was Hamilton’s murderer completely destroyed his aplomb. He sank weakly into a chair.
Nor was he more surprised than the others in the room—except perhaps Carroll. But, then, thought the commissioner, facial control was a vital part of Carroll’s stock in trade, and the chances were
Rollins had tensed rigidly. His eyes bored into those of the new suspect. Hall shifted his gaze from Rollins’ face to that of Lefty Scammon, and what he read there jarred him again.
For, beyond a question of doubt, Lefty Scammon was stunned with surprise. For perhaps fifteen seconds he tried to speak, opening his mouth and closing it again without uttering a sound other than a choked gurgle. Carroll strolled to the big doors and nodded briefly to Roberts, who entered the room, followed by the wounded Hartigan. The tableau would have been ludicrous were it not so fraught with melodramatic intensity.
And finally Scammon regained his speech.
“Wha-whadaya think of that!” he gasped. “Oh, my Gawd, whadaya think of that! Red—they got me for killin’ Hamilton!”
Hartigan’s poise was perfect. He merely shrugged.
“That’s a habit of theirs, Lefty. They got me for the same thing.”
The dry humour of his remark, and the fact that it was timed to break into a silence so tense as to be nerve-wrecking, brought involuntary smiles to the faces of all in the room. The terribly grim humour of the situation could not fail to appear to overwrought nerves. It was Rollins who broke in, roughly as usual.
“A lot o’ rot!” he raved. “Hartigan is the man who done it, an’ that’s all there is to it!”
Donaldson turned to Carroll.
“What’s that he’s sayin’, chief? Does he really think Hartigan done it?”
“So he says,” returned Carroll. “What do you think about it?”
“He’s wrong,” came back Donaldson respectfully. “Y’see, chief, I searched Hartigan before the burglary, an’ he didn’t pack a rod at all.”
“You are quite sure of that?”
“Positive.”
“How so?”
“I searched him. Y’see, I was in on it, and I wasn’t runnin’ any chances of rough stuff—which is just what happened.”
“The third man concerned; who was he?”
“A yegg they call Pal Conover; yeller as a dog. He beat it when the thing started—scared stiff. He didn’t have a gun, either. This here bird,” indicating Lefty Scammon, “was the only one who had one.”
Scammon whirled on it.
“That’s a damned lie, Donaldson, an’ you know it. Didja find a gun on me?”
“Not after I caught you, no,” returned the ex-butler. “But it wasn’t so hard to chuck it away.”
“Yeh!” gibed Scammon, with forced bravado. “Go look for it. Y’d know it in a minute. See if you find it; there ain’t no chancst of y’r missing it—one of the plates on the butt is cracked in an L shape. G’wan look for it; see if y’ find it.”
“Which means,” interjected Carroll quietly, “that he is quite sure you will not find it there.”
“Ain’t it pretty rough jackin’ this man up for murder,” butted in Rollins, “just because he had a gat in his pocket?”
“No-o,” negatived Carroll, “I can’t see that it is. He had the motive for shooting and he had the weapon. What more is needed?”
“Proof!” snarled Rollins. “Just proof, that’s all. An’ that’s th’ one thing you don’t seem to pay no attention to.”
“Perhaps not, perhaps not. Suppose,” turning to Donaldson, “you tell us just what occurred, from first to last.”
“Everything?”
“The whole business from the time you first came here to work for Mr. Hamilton.”
Donaldson seemed not at all averse to holding the centre of the stage. He started deliberately and talked clearly and distinctly throughout his story.
“About a month ago, the chief—Mr. Carroll here—sends for me; I’m working in Chicago then. He tells me that he’s been retained by this man Hamilton to gather evidence for some graft investigation directed against the police force. I’m to work in Mr. Hamilton’s house as butler, him, of course, knowing that I’m a ’tec.