"Web," I said, after we'd talked for a while, "what do you think about the fire? About Elizabeth's death?"
"I don't think you need to ask me that, Joe," he said. "She was an irreplaceable loss to the entire community. I grieved with you."
"I appreciate that, Web," I said. "What I'm asking is, do you think Elizabeth could have been murdered and that the fire was used to cover up the crime?"
A slow flush spread over his face. He lit his cigar and dropped the match into his coffee cup.
"You don't think my investigation of the case was sufficiently thorough?"
"Now, Web-"
"You're a friend, Joe. I knew-I believed-that you trusted me, and I wanted to spare you all the pain that I could. Now, I'll tell you something; something that only Rufe and I have known up to now. Before that fire was cold, before that whippersnapper Appleton got here, I had a man here from the state bureau of criminal investigation. He went over the ground thoroughly, and found nothing of an incendiary character. It was his theory that the fire must have been started by rats."
"But-"
"I know. We don't see how it could have been. But if it wasn't for the impossible and improbable we wouldn't have any accidents. Do you recall reading, a few years back, about the hardware clerk who was killed while unpacking a shipment of rifles? The gun had never been out of the packing-case, but it was loaded. It couldn't have happened at the factory. The chief inspector had examined it and sealed the breach with his tag. It couldn't have happened at the store because it had never been out of the box. But it did happen, Joe."
"I remember the case," I said. "Well, suppose, then, that the fire was an accident-and I've felt like you that it must have been. But-"
"The two things go together, Joe. Elizabeth's death was undoubtedly caused by the fire. It's true that the post mortem, such as it was, was not very revealing. The body-excuse me, Joe-was pinned beneath the remains of that metal table and other wreckage. But we were able to ascertain that the fire and nothing but the fire caused her death. That's all we need to know."
"I see," I said.
"She actually died of the fire, Joe. Therefore, in the absence of any incendiary materials or mechanism, we know that her death was an accident."
"Yeah-yes," I said.
He spread his hands. "Well, you see, Joe? I didn't take the case as lightly as you seemed to think I did. I didn't go around with a lot of fuss and bluster-"
"Now, Web," I said. "I wasn't criticizing."
"That's all right. I know this man Appleton has got you all stirred up. We may as well talk the thing out now that we've started. When I say that the fire caused Elizabeth's death I'm not overlooking the possibility that she could have been stunned and left to die in the fire. You were going to ask me about that, weren't you?"
"Well," I said, "it did occur to me that-"
"But where is your motive, Joe? You've got to have a motive, haven't you? Now, you-excuse me-profited by the death. But you weren't there, and, as I've said, there was no trace of a delayed-mechanism device; tallow or anything of that kind. And there always is some trace where anything of the kind has been used. Could she have been the victim of robbery or assault by some person unknown? We know that she couldn't. There wasn't time for it. The fire broke out almost as soon as she got home.
"Then there's-what's her name?-Carol Farmer. She was the last to see Elizabeth alive, and she was on the grounds. But what do we find there? Why, she and Elizabeth were on the best of terms. Elizabeth had taken her in and given her work. She'd just treated her to a holiday. She'd driven all the way to Wheat City to bring her home.
"We're friends, Joe, but I've always put duty ahead of friendship. I even considered the possibility-ha, ha-the impossibility, I should say, that you were attracted to Miss Farmer. Ha, ha. I'd hate to go before a jury with a theory of that kind. One look at her, and they'd lock me up. They'd send for a straitjacket-ha, ha, ha!"
I laughed right along with him. I think I've already said that no one saw in Carol what I saw. It suited me fine if they never did.
He went on talking while late, working himself into a good humor. As we were leaving the place we ran into Rufe Waters. Appleton had been in to needle him about something or other, and he was hopping mad. He was threatening to punch him in the nose if he came near him again.
I told Web and Rufe so-long, and drove over to the show. I parked in front of Bower's old house, feeling fairly good. Appleton was getting nowhere fast. In a few days he'd probably decide to pay off and clear out.
I got out of the car and started across the street. Then something nailed to the box office of Bower's old place caught my eye, and I turned around and went up on the sidewalk. It was one of Andy Taylor signs. It said:
FOR RENT
Taylor Inv. & Ins. Co.
I was standing there staring at it, not knowing whether to laugh or get sore, when Andy came up. I guess he must have been standing a few doors down the street, waiting for me.
"What's the idea, Andy?" I said. "You know you can't rent this building. I've got it under lease."
"But not the right kind of lease, Joe." He waggled his head. "That twenty-five a month don't hardly pay my taxes."
"I can't help that. I-"
"How's your hand?"
"What?" I said. "Why, it's all right."
"Looks like a pretty bad burn. How'd you get it?"
"Oh, hell," I said, without thinking. "When you're working around motion-picture equipment you're liable to-"
"Got it over to the show, huh?"
"Where else would I get it? Now, dammit, Andy get that sign-"
"You could have got it up to your house. Out there in the garage. There could have been something wrong with the machinery out there. Somethin' that you let go without fixing an' that started the fire."
"And wouldn't that tickle you pink?" I said. But my heart began to beat faster.
"You didn't get that burn at the show, Joe."
"The hell I didn't!"
"Huh-uh. I saw you that night when you were hangin' out around the front of the Barclay, and you didn't have nothing wrong with your hand. But you did the next morning when I talked with you up at your house. Reckon you remember, all right. You told me then that you'd cut it on a bottle."
"Well," I said, "maybe I-" But what was the use lying about it? With my hand unwrapped anyone could see that it was a burn.
"Still want to take the sign down, Joe?"
I hesitated and shook my head. "To tell the truth, I don't care either way. If anyone wants to try to compete with the Barclay in this rat trap they can hop to it."
"I'll take it down."
"Suit yourself," I said.
"I'll take it down. I just wanted to see how you felt about things." He pulled the sign loose from its tacks and crumpled it, grinning. "I reckon you and me had better have a good long talk, Joe. Private."
"I'm busy," I said. "I've got a lot of business to catch up with."
"It ain't as important as mine. Think it over, Joe." He let out a mean cackle and shuffled off down the street. And I let him go. I didn't give him the horse laugh or tell him to go to hell, as I should have. I couldn't. If you're a poker player you know what I mean.
You're holding, say, kings full in a big pot and everyone has laid down but you and one other guy, a guy with a big stack. And he gives your chips the once-over, counting 'em, and antes for exactly that amount. Well? You'd bet your right arm he couldn't beat your full house, but they're not taking right arms; just chips. And if you're wrong you're out of the game. So you lay down, and the other guy wins- with a pair of deuces.