Feet made noise on the closet floor as a heel was dragged along the boards, then a figure materialized from behind the long row of clothes which stretched from hangers on a rod running across the closet.
“Come on out,” Moraine said.
A white-haired man, very erect, with eyes that were deeply troubled, and a dead-white countenance, stepped into the light.
Moraine took one look at him, then turned to look at Natalie Rice.
“Your father?” he asked.
She nodded.
The older man walked over to the couch and sat down. He said no word. He placed his elbows on his knees. His shoulders bowed forward.
“When did you get out?” Moraine asked him.
“He knows about you, father,” Natalie Rice said quickly.
“Yesterday,” the man said, in a toneless voice.
Moraine sat down on the edge of the bed. His eyes stared from father to daughter.
“Now let’s see,” he said, “there was some connection between you and Pete Dixon. You figured that Pete Dixon railroaded you to jail, didn’t you?”
The older man said nothing.
“Isn’t that right?” Moraine asked, turning to Natalie Rice.
She avoided his eyes.
Moraine got to his feet, walked to the window and stood with his back to them, staring moodily out at the blank wall on the opposite side of the court. A moment later he pulled down the window shade, turned to them and lowered his voice.
“All right,” he said, “tell me.”
No one said anything.
Natalie Rice broke that silence.
“Father,” she said, “I’m going to tell him.”
The older man looked at him. His face was gray and haggard.
Natalie Rice came straight to Sam Moraine, put her hand on his arm.
“I’ve felt awful about this ever since it happened.”
“Ever since what happened?”
“Ever since I lied to you.”
“You lied to me out there?”
She nodded.
“I wondered about that,” he said. “Somehow you gave me the impression of protecting someone. Now go ahead and tell me what happened, and tell me exactly what happened.”
She said, in a low voice, “I guess I left the office about nine forty-five. It took me about ten minutes to get out there. I went directly to Mr. Dixon’s residence, just as I told you, followed the butler upstairs, just as I said, and heard Mr. Dixon say he was expecting a young woman to call on him, and to see that the side door wasn’t locked.
“I tip-toed back down stairs, just like I told you, and, when the butler showed me out, I turned to the left at the gate and walked rapidly down the street. I heard a car stop down near the boulevard and then the car door slammed. A man’s voice called something and a girl answered him with a laugh. I didn’t want anyone to see me, so I stepped into a little area-way near the far corner of Dixon’s fence. A young woman came walking down the street toward the railroad track and turned in at Dixon’s place.”
“Did you get a good look at her?” Moraine asked.
“No, I kept my back turned. She had on a tight-fitting hat and a fur coat.”
“Was it a brown fur coat?” Moraine asked.
“It’s hard to tell color at night, but my impression is that it was a brown fur. She walked almost directly under a street fight and I remember giving her a swift glance and noticing how rich the coat looked in the street fight. I think it was brown. Why did you ask?”
Moraine shook his head and said, “Never mind that now. Go on with your story.”
“At first I had thought it might be better to burst in on Dixon and this young woman whom he had been expecting. Then I realized it might be a business visit. If that were the case, I figured she’d leave within a few minutes, so I waited.”
“Where did you wait?”
“Down by the railroad track.”
“Do you know exactly what time that was?”
“There was a freight train coming along about the time I got to the railroad track,” she said. “We might check up on the time from that.”
“Did the engineer or fireman see you?”
“No. I kept in the shadows by the corner of Dixon’s hedge. It seemed to take an interminable time to pass.”
“Then what did you do?”
“I stood there, watching the house. But it was frightfully cold in the wind. I decided I’d walk a little while.”
“So what?”
“So I walked up the street.”
“That was away from the railroad tracks?” he asked.
“Yes, why?”
“I just want to get it straight,” he told her. “Go ahead.”
“All of this really doesn’t make so much difference,” she told him, “it’s what I’m coming to...”
“Let’s keep it straight as we go along,” Moraine told her grimly. “It may make more of a difference than you realize.”
“Well, I walked up to the comer and then I turned the comer.”
“To the right or left?”
“To the right. I walked for a minute or two, and then realized that perhaps when the young woman came out she might walk down toward the railroad track instead of up toward the street intersection I was watching, so I walked back.”
“Did anyone see you?”
“An automobile was making a turn down by the railroad track just as I got to the comer. There wasn’t a very good place to hide, but there was a telephone pole there and I stepped in close to the telephone pole, and as the car went past, I kept moving around so that the pole was between me and the car. I’m satisfied no one saw me.”
“Go on,” he said.
“I kept walking up and down, waiting for the young woman to come out. She didn’t come out, so finally I decided to go in. I went through the gate, walked around to the side of the house and tried the side door. It was open, just as Mr. Dixon had said it would be. I went up to the room, and then things happened just as I told you. Only, after I’d telephoned you and gone back downstairs, I... I...”
“You what?” Moraine asked, as she ceased talking and seemed to be fighting back tears.
“I saw father,” she said.
“Where was he?” Moraine asked.
The white-haired man arose from the couch, with some semblance of dignity.
“Let me tell it,” he said.
Moraine turned to him.
The man’s voice was lifeless, and yet in contained a certain vibrant timbre as though at one time it had been accustomed to command. Now all of the command had gone from it.
“I was there,” he said.
“Where?” Moraine inquired.
“I was in the room, when I heard someone coming up the stairs. I slipped through the door and into a bedroom. I heard her come in. I heard her striking matches. Then I heard her dial a number on the telephone. I opened the door so I could hear whom she was calling.
“You can imagine how I felt when I heard my own daughters voice. I hadn’t heard it for months. The last time was when she came to visit me in prison, and I told her not to come back any more. I didn’t want her to be associating with criminals. I didn’t want her to get the stamp of the Big House on her. I’ve had it on me. I didn’t think it would ever get me, but it has. It’s ground me down, a bit at a time, like water wearing off the corners of a stone.”
Moraine nodded sympathetically.
“You spoke to her?” he asked.
“Not there. I followed her downstairs. I spoke to her in the yard.”
“Then what?”
“She told me you were coming out. I knew, because I’d heard her talk over the telephone.”
“Why did you kill him?” Moraine asked.
Moraine stared steadily and silently, but Alton Rice met his stare calmly.
“No,” he said, “I didn’t kill him.”
“What were you doing there?”
“I wanted to see him. I knew he wouldn’t see me unless I made him, so I decided to call on him unannounced.”