Argosy All-Story Weekly, December 2, 1922 — page 107: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

ABOVE SUSPICION. concerning her real estate investments— she’s got ’em, too; that’s what most of her money is soaked away in—but she had not seen him for several months, and knew nothing about the murder until she was shocked by the account of it in the news- papers. He had never discussed his busi- ness affairs with her in any way, and she could not imagine what enemy he might or might not have had.” “Did you ask her about Lane?” The doctor had taken up his stand by the fire- place and now he began to polish his spec- tacles on the ancient lambrequin which cov- ered the mantel. “Sure I did!” Lyons nodded. “ She ad- mitted knowing him through Benkard’s in- troduction, but couldn’t recall when she had seen him last. She remembered fast enough, though, when I put her next that we were wise about Lane’s car being outside Wednesday and had witnesses to prove the time he entered her house and left it. “ She’s a clever woman—lI’ll hand that to her. I can see how easily she turned the heads of those politicians and diplomats in Washington when she laid herself out to fascinate ’em, without any of this vamp stuff, either. Was she feezed when she found we had her cornered and she’d made a slip? Ill say she wasn’t! She just laughed that low, tinkling laugh of hers and held out her hands in a helpless sort of gesture. “*Mr. Lane was here that night, and I did not care to mention it because of the lateness of the hour, although his call in itself was conventional enough,’ she says. ‘He telephoned from somewhere in the suburbs just before twelve and asked if he might drop in for a few minutes on his way home. I was lonely. I sometimes find him amusing, and on an impulse I granted him permission to call. We had a little supper, and during the course of the conversation which followed he remarked casually that he had dined at the country home of Mr. Benkard’s sister on Long Is- land, and I remember observing then how long it was since I had seen him. That was the only time his name was mentioned, I think.’ “<What was it Mr. Lane had to see TA 577 you about that was so important it couldn’t wait till morning?’ I asked her point-blank. She opened her eyes wide. “* Nothing in the world. He was just restless—didn’t feel like going home, and wanted a friendly chat. I have known Mr. Lane for several months, and I understand his moods. They are typical of men of large affairs who are under a continuous nervous strain. There must be a let-down, an hour or two now and then of complete mental relaxation, when they can forget the huge plans and problems which almost per- petually engross them in the congenial com- panionship of some one who is sympathetic, who comprehends. We talked about doz- ens of trivial, impersonal things until an ungodly hour, and I was really forced to send him home at last. He told me that I had done him a great deal of good.’ ‘“* Zoe Dawn had the nerve to tell me that, doctor, with an air of perfect frankness. I couldn’t shake her story, though she must have been wise that we had the dope on her from Washington, anyway, even if we don’t know yet just how serious the affair had been between her and Benkard. It was the bunk, of course, but I pretended to fall for it, arranged for her to be tailed wherever she went, and came down here to report to you. She hasn’t tried once to get in touch with Lane nor he with her since I communi- cated with the secret service when I reached town and they began cooperating with us.” “Lane returned to the city late yesterday afternoon,” the doctor observed thoughtful- ly. “ At what time were the Dawn wom- an’s phone wires first tapped and the house placed under observation?” “ By six o’clock this morning, before I’d > even established from the private watchman on the block that any car had been stand- ing in front of that particular house most of last Wednesday night from before one o’clock on. He’s not so dumb, but he is an old man and afraid of losing his soft job. When I finally convinced him, though, that he wouldn’t get in wrong he showed me a little notebook where he’d taken down the numbers of every car left out late at night on his beat, together with the date and the number of the house before which it stood. There was Lane’s, right enough!”’ Gomichbooks.com