“It doesn’t need a detective to tell that, Gramps. If you’re going to—”
“Wait a minute,” Gramps interrupted, “let me finish this thing. I say he was neat as a pin. He was orderly and methodical in his habits... Now, he wouldn’t have filled one oil lamp without filling both oil lamps. There was an oil lamp in the kitchen and one in that room where the body was found. The one in the kitchen was chock-full of oil and the chimney cleaned up so it was sparkling.”
“I don’t get it,” Duryea said.
“You wouldn’t,” Gramps said, “because you’re too young to know anything about oil lamps. You never had to use ’em. I’ve used ’em. I know all about ’em. Filling lamps and trimming the wicks and keeping the chimneys clean is a chore. Don’t make any difference how you figure it, it’s a chore... When a man fills one lamp, he fills ’em all. Ask anybody that ever monkeyed around with oil lamps.
“Now then, I figure that lamp in the kitchen was filled yesterday, sometime during the day, because it hadn’t been used any — and all the cookin’ would have been done out there in the kitchen. That would mean the oil lamp in the other room was filled at the same time. So I went down and bought me a lamp of that exact make and model, filled her up with oil, put her in my trailer, started her burning, and watched her burn... A lamp uses up just about so much oil every hour, and I was pretty careful to mark right where the oil was in the bowl of that lamp at the house when you was lookin’ at the body... Bet you and the sheriff never even thought of that, did you now?”
“No, we didn’t,” Duryea admitted. “It’s interesting. What did you find out?”
“The murder,” Gramps said, “was committed right around six hours before you got out there.”
Suddenly Duryea smiled.
“What’s the matter with that?” Gramps asked.
“The only trouble with that,” Duryea said, “is that you’ve overlooked one very simple factor in the case.”
“What?”
“The lamp in the living-room would be used more frequently than the one in the kitchen.”
“What do you mean?”
“Let’s suppose,” Duryea said, “that the lamps were filled two days ago, instead of yesterday. The one in the kitchen looks full because the man who was living there started cooking his dinner before it got dark. Probably used the lamp only for a few minutes in washing dishes and straightening the kitchen up. Then he went back and lit the lamp in the living-room, sat around reading until ten or eleven, turned out the lamp, and went to bed. That would account for both lamps having been filled at the same time, but there being considerably less oil in the lamp in the living-room than was in the kitchen.”
Gramps said positively: “That lamp in the kitchen hadn’t been used... At least, I don’t think it had. It looked nice and clean—”
“You’re making the same mistake all amateurs make,” Duryea told him. “You overlook the fact that the investigation of a murder is a cold, remorseless, logical routine. For instance, one of the first things we do is fix the time of death by an examination of the body. The autopsy surgeons have certain particular things they look for. Now, in this case, the autopsy surgeon says death occurred sometime after four o’clock in the afternoon and before eleven o’clock at night.”
“Don’t go thinking your autopsy surgeons are so darn infallible,” Gramps sputtered. “I can remember lots of cases where they got things all balled up. What did they do when it came to fixing the time of death in the Thelma Todd case? Tell me that.”
“I will admit it’s possible to make error under certain exceptional circumstances,” Duryea conceded, “but this particular autopsy surgeon is exceedingly careful. He fixes the time between four o’clock in the afternoon and eleven o’clock at night, and you can gamble on the accuracy of that... We know that the man was alive at five o’clock because that’s when True and Sonders called on him. They could hear him moving around in the house, and the fact that he wouldn’t come to the door and wouldn’t answer questions shows pretty conclusively that Pressman knew what they wanted and realized that his disguise had been penetrated... Now it got dark around seven o’clock war time. Perhaps not so dark a murderer couldn’t see what he was doing, until seven-thirty... The crime was committed after the lamp had been lit, which means after dark. We’ll fix the time the lamp was lit as somewhere between seven-thirty and ten o’clock. You’ll find the murder was committed somewhere within that two-and-a-half hour period.”
Gramps suddenly started chuckling.
“What is it?” Duryea asked.
“You talkin’ about those oil lamps,” Gramps said. “You don’t know anything about oil lamps. You’re reasonin’ right against yourself.”
“How do you mean?”
Gramps started to explain, then suddenly changed his mind. “Nope. I ain’t goin’ to tell you any more right now. Only remember this. Autopsy surgeons don’t know everything.”
Milred said, “Well, you men go ahead and thresh out your murders. I’m in between maids again, so I’m having to do the work myself. If you want a cocktail, that’s in the masculine department.”
Gramps said eagerly: “Say, I’ve got a new cocktail! How’d you folks like to try it?”
“No,” Milred said firmly. “I’m fully familiar with your cocktails, Gramps. I want my husband to be able to taste these steaks.”
“It ain’t got so much dynamite,” Gramps said.
“All right,” Milred surrendered with a sigh, “but make it mild. You’ll find the liquor closet in the pantry on the—”
“Won’t use your liquor,” Gramps said. “I’ll use my own. Give me a cocktail shaker. I’ll get some ice out of your refrigerator and fix the best cocktail—”
“It has to be mild,” Milred said. “Your cocktails are loaded with high explosive.”
“Sure, it’ll be mild,” Gramps told her. “That’s what I promised you, didn’t I? I got some new stuff to put in this, something you’ll really enjoy.”
Milred gave him a cocktail shaker, and Frank Duryea settled back with a sigh of complete contentment. Mildred moved over to sit on the arm of his chair.
“Lord knows where he gets the energy,” Duryea said. “Personally, I’m tired.”
“You have a lot of things on your mind he doesn’t have, dear.”
“I don’t work as hard as Gramps does. He’s been on the go all day, and now he’s as full of pep and enthusiasm as a bird dog when he sees someone reach for a gun.”
Milred ran the tips of her fingers across her husband’s forehead, down over his eyes, patted his cheek, gave him a quick kiss, said: “Sit there and relax, and forget about Gramps. I’m going out and get the steaks started. The potatoes have been baking just long enough so that the steaks should go on.”
Duryea glanced up admiringly at his wife. “You certainly do take things in your stride. Can’t you get someone to come in at least temporarily?”
“Oh, I can, but it’s more bother than it’s worth. I’ll have another maid within two or three days. Just quit worrying about it.”
She went out to the kitchen, and Duryea heard the sound of the oven door opening and closing, the rattle of plates, and the clink of glasses; then there was the sound of ice being violently agitated in a cocktail shaker, and the quick, trotting steps of Gramp Wiggins.
“Okay, Milred, here we are, and this is mild... Bet you never tasted anything like this before.”