I stood perfectly still, waiting, listening, hearing and seeing nothing. But I was pretty sure that some nocturnal activity was going on in the grounds — an activity which might be connected with the matter I was investigating, and which it would be dangerous to ignore.
I was looking toward the house when I saw it again, a flicker of light across the grass. And this time a tree cast a definite shadow, enabling me to determine the direction of the source of illumination.
I swung about to face the alley near where the body had been discovered, and moved around the shrubbery until I had an unobstructed view.
A few seconds later, I caught the gleam of a flashlight, and saw a moving pencil of illumination flit across the lawn, hesitate for a moment as it passed over the edge of a flower bed, swung over to one side, and played for a moment at the base of the tree. Then it snuffed out into blackness.
I ran as fast as I could without stumbling in the darkness or running the risk of crashing headlong into a bush. By the time the flashlight came on again, I was crouched down in the shadows, keeping well out of sight. Then, in the ensuing interval of darkness, I closed the gap until I was within less than twenty feet of the tree over which the light had played before it had been switched off. Bent almost double, I crawled noiselessly through the shadows.
The next time the light came on I waited until the beam had swung in the other direction, then straightened, and strained my eyes to catch a glimpse of the figure using the flashlight. I stood motionless, watching, adjusting myself to a development which I had not anticipated. The figure which was outlined against the beam was a woman, and, as nearly as I could judge she was young and attractive.
The flashlight beam swung around again, now high, now low, and then went out for the third time.
I satisfied myself that the woman was alone, stepped out from behind the bush, and walked quietly along the grass. She was so intent on what she was doing, that she neither heard nor saw me. The flashlight came on again when I was within three feet of her.
“Looking for something?” I asked.
She screamed, and jumped back, then spun around facing me, and started doing something with her hands. I couldn’t see just what, but I had no intention of taking chances. I covered the distance in two quick steps and circled her with my arms, holding her so that she couldn’t move her hands.
She struggled fiercely but silently. She stamped at my instep, kicked up at me with her knee, and twisted furiously to get her arms loose. She was young, lithe, and as resilient as live rubber.
I said, “Take it easy, sister. If you’ll act just a little more like a woman, I’ll let you loose.”
Her struggles subsided.
“I hate to do this,” I said, “but I have to make sure you haven’t a gun. Please understand that it’s business and not affection.”
I slid my hands along the outlines of her figure, patting the places where I thought she might have a gun concealed. I felt her stiffen indignantly, but she remained motionless.
“Sorry,” I said, releasing my hold, “but I had to take precautions. Now, what are you doing here?”
“What,” she countered, “are you doing here?”
“Looking around,” I said.
“I’m looking around,” she told me, “and unless you want to find yourself at police headquarters within the next thirty minutes, you’d better start talking now, and talk plenty fast.”
I realized she had me. I had to tell her where I stood, but I wanted to make certain what I said wouldn’t be something I’d regret later on.
“Look here,” I said, “you don’t think Layton Spred shot Dalton, do you?”
I heard her gasp. “The police say he did.”
“Were the police here?” I asked.
“No, but the police have recovered the bullet, and it came from Mr. Spred’s gun.”
“That,” I said, “makes it rather difficult, doesn’t it?”
“Of course it does,” she said.
“That,” I told her, “is why I’m out here looking around.”
“You mean you don’t believe the police?”
“I don’t believe Spred killed Dalton,” I said, being pretty certain of my ground now.
“Who are you?”
“I’m an investigator from the city, and please don’t turn that flashlight in my face, because I’d much prefer to remain entirely incognito.”
“I’m sorry,” she said simply, and stabbed the beam full in my face.
After a moment, the beam switched out, and she said, “I’ve never seen you before.”
“Under those circumstances,” I said, “perhaps you’ll tell me who you are.”
“I’m Edith Forbes, Layton Spred’s secretary.”
“Yes, you are!”
“But I am.”
“Tell me something I can believe. If you were his secretary, you wouldn’t be snooping out here in the grounds after everyone else in the house has gone to bed. You’d have gone into the house and talked with his daughter. You’d have told her what you had in mind, and the two of you would have been out here together.”
“Not with that daughter,” she said.
“What’s wrong with her?”
“She’s afraid I’m going to marry her father, and inherit half of the money.”
“Is there money?” I asked.
“The stars,” she said pointedly, “are unusually bright tonight, aren’t they?”
“Just the stars?” I asked.
“And investigators from the city,” she added.
I said, “We might help Mr. Spred, if we could quit swapping sarcastic comments long enough to get back to what we were discussing.”
Edith Forbes said, “Well, if you’re going to help him, you’ll never do it working through Millicent. Do you know what that little fool did? Instead of hiring one of the local lawyers with political connections and a chance to get at least a hung jury, she went dashing down to the city and retained Jonathan and Boniface.
“I shouldn’t have to tell you what that means. Everyone in town thinks she’s sure her father is guilty, and that the case is just about hopeless. This man, Boniface, is a stuffed shirt. He won’t be able to do anything with a local jury. God knows how he ever acquired the reputation he has.”
“I take it,” I said, “that Boniface has been questioning you. What did you tell him?”
“I told him that I thought his ability had been sadly overrated.”
I chuckled at that, knowing how Cedric L. Boniface would take it. “I suppose,” I said, “he didn’t see the joke.”
“It wasn’t a joke,” she said. “He didn’t like it. He said, as he left the office, that he would advise his client to hire a new secretary.”
“Makes it nice for you, doesn’t it?” I chided, a trifle sardonically, before I realized that she was crying. “Come, come,” I said, patting her lightly on the shoulder. “You’ve got to buck up. Giving way like this won’t help to clear up the case, and get Spred out of jail.”
I slid my arm around her waist, but she wouldn’t take advantage of my shoulder as a resting place. She pushed me away and said, “I’m all right, and besides I’m not crying. I’m just a little nervous.”
I said, “We’re both nervous. What were you looking for out here?”
“Evidence,” she said.
“Evidence,” I said, “is a broad word.”
She fished out a handkerchief.
“You must be looking for something, Miss Forbes,” I said gently.
“I’m not,” she said, “honestly. I’m just looking.”
“Haven’t the police searched the grounds pretty thoroughly?” I asked.
“I don’t think so,” she said. “I’ve a feeling the police are just going through motions. The case is so hot, and there are so many political risks involved in taking sides that the police are keeping right on the middle of the fence, carrying water on both shoulders.”