"You are sure of the time?"

"Absolutely. I mind taking them home with me."

"What did you take them home for?"

"Well, bottles come in handy," said Mrs. Larkin with a grin that set the whole court roaring. "As for the paper I took that to wrap the bottles in. They had come in that paper because the creases just fitted. And the string."

"How about this pink ticket?"

"That's a sales ticket from the cut-price drug-store in the Stilson Building. I pick up a lot of them in the waste baskets. If you save them till you get a hundred dollars' worth they give you a dollar credit in the store."

"Who is the tenant in room 1014?"

"Dr. A. Cushack."

"Do you know him?"

"No'm. He's always gone home before I do my work."

"That's all, thank you," said Mme. Storey.

Mrs. Larkin stepped down, a little disappointed that her turn had been so brief.

"If Dr. Cushack is willing to testify as to these bottles..." Mme. Storey began politely.

He was already on his feet. "Sure!" he cried. "I want the court to know what was in them!" He took the stand with a truculent air. The word natty might have been coined to describe that little man. A day in jail had rubbed none of the bloom off him. He pretended to be swelling with indignation like a little turkey c.o.c.k.

"You admit, then, that these were your bottles," said Mme. Storey.

"I can't identify them," he said with a conceited laugh, "but if she says she got them out of my waste basket it's all right with me.... Tell the judge what was in them."

"Each bottle contained X," said Mme. Storey carelessly.

"Yeah, X!" he cried, thrusting out his chin at her. "I use it in my lab. work. I couldn't do anything without it. Everybody uses X for one thing or another. Thousands of bottles are sold every day. Is there any harm in X?"

"Why, no," said Mme. Storey. "... But a little goes a long way. I was just surprised that you used so much."

"Oh, I don't know how long I've had those bottles on hand."

That was his first slip. "I know," said Mme. Storey quietly. "You bought them the same day."

He stared at her speechlessly. She merely exhibited the sales slip.

"You can't prove anything by that!" he cried. "They don't enter the items on the sales slips. Only the amounts."

"Quite," said Mme. Storey. "The bottles are each marked thirty-nine cents. The slip is for seventy-eight."

"That doesn't prove anything. It's only a coincidence. Half the articles they sell are priced at thirty-nine cents."

"Well, what else did you buy that day?" She glanced at the slip. "February ninth."

He was dumb.

Mme. Storey gave him a brief respite. It was her way with a witness. "What's your idea of this case?" she asked confidentially. "Was Ram Lal poisoned?"

He rose to it immediately. "It's an open question," he said importantly. "As a toxicologist I aspire to do a little investigating myself when I get out. It's an interesting case!"

She returned to the charge. "What did you do with two quarts of X the day before yesterday?"

"I was conducting an experiment," he answered warily.

"Of what nature?"

"I refuse to answer. I make my living out of my experiments."

"No other drugs were found in your laboratory."

"Well, I used everything up."

"What did you do with the result of your experiment that day?"

"Poured it down the wash-basin. It was unsuccessful."

"Then why not tell me what other drugs you used; where you got them and so on."

"Why should I?" he parried.

"Ever hear of distillate of X?" she asked casually.

Some of the pink faded out of his cheeks. "Yes," he said. "Poisons are my speciality."

"You are familiar with its properties then?"

He hesitated briefly before answering. "I have read about it. Never experimented with it."

Mme. Storey started on another line. "Where did you go when..."

He interrupted her excitedly. "No, you don't! I perceive what you're after! You can't make an insinuation like that before the court without following it up!"

"All right," she said good-naturedly. "I'll follow it up. Did you make distillate of X in your laboratory the day before yesterday?"

"No!" he shouted. "It's false!" He wiped his face.

"What time did you leave the office that day?" she asked.

"I don't remember," he said sullenly.

"Now come," she said cajolingly; "only the day before yesterday."

"About six," he muttered.

"Where did you go?"

"Home."

"By the way, where do you live? I don't think I have been told."

"Hotel Shirley."

"Oh, the Shirley. Did anyone there see you come in?"

"I got my key from the desk as usual. It's not likely the clerk could remember that night amongst the others."

"Where did you dine?"

"At the hotel."

"Alone?"

"Yes."

"Do you always occupy the same seat?"

"Yes."

"With the same people more or less at the surrounding tables?"

He saw where these apparently innocent questions were tending, and turned scared and stubborn. "I won't answer!" he cried shrilly. "I won't answer any more. If you're trying to pin this thing on me I don't have to answer!"

"Why, of course not!" said Mme. Storey with undisturbed good humour. "You may step down."

She then called the man she had brought with her, a lean young fellow with a bright eye. His name was given as John Withy; his occupation, free-lance writer.

"Where do you live?" she asked.

"Number ---- West Forty-Seventh Street."

"What sort of building is that?"

"An old residence which has been rebuilt into stores, offices and small apartments. It's a walk-up building."

"Where are your rooms?"

"I have a one-room and bath apartment third floor rear."

"Have you ever before seen the man who last testified here, Dr. Cushack?"

"Yes, ma'am. Saw him in my building day before yesterday. That was Wednesday. About six-thirty p.m."

"Under what circ.u.mstances?"

"Well, I was coming home to wash up for dinner and I found him standing in the hall outside my door. Seemed funny, hanging around like that. So I left my door open when I went in to sort of keep an eye on him. My friend who lives in the front is out of town, and I thought maybe he aimed to get in there. But another fellow came upstairs in a minute or two, and it seemed this one was just waiting for him. The second fellow was the man who rents the hall room next to mine. Alfred Somers is the name in his letter-box downstairs."

"Did you hear what they said to each other?" asked Mme. Storey.

"Just a word or two. Somers says: 'Have you got it?' and this man"--he nodded in the direction of Dr. Cushack--"says: 'Yeah.' Somers says: 'Come on in,' and they went into his room. This sounded kind of mysterious to me, and I wanted to hear more. There is an old door between my room and Somers' which is locked now and the cracks stuffed with paper. I put my ear to the crack and I hear Somers say: 'How can I fix the wafer with this?' And this man said: 'Just pour a few drops on it and let it soak in.' That was all I could hear, and I thought nothing of it at the time."

"Mr. Withy," said Mme. Storey with delicate impressiveness, "I want you to look around this courtroom and see if you can pick out the man you know as Alfred Somers."

I jumped, her move was so absolutely unexpected. A breathless silence fell on the courtroom as young Withy's eyes pa.s.sed from face to face. It was apparent to all that this Somers must be the actual murderer of Ram Lal.

Withy's eyes travelled slowly along the front bench, came to Bunbury and stopped there. "Why," he said in a surprised voice, "why, that's the man!"

Court and spectators were held in a spell. Bunbury jumped up with a face as grey as ashes; then dropped back in his seat laughing. From the end of the bench Jim Shryock laughed loudly to create a diversion. As for me, I was stony with astonishment.

Shryock was quickly on his feet. "Your Honour, I must protest!" he cried. "This accusation is laughable, but is likely to do serious harm to a faithful servant and an honest man! Why, Bunbury has been working for Mrs. Julian for eight years. What possible motive..."

"I beg your pardon," interrupted Mme. Storey with a wicked smile, "are you representing Bunbury too?"

She had him there, but he didn't care so long as there was no jury present. "No!" he cried theatrically. "My words are dictated by motives of humanity."

She enjoyed a little private laugh at the notion that Jim Shryock had taken a case out of humanity.

"Mr. Bunbury, may I have the privilege of representing you here?" asked Shryock with a bow.

"Please do," mumbled the butler. He was a wretched figure then.

"Then I ask again," shouted Shryock, "what possible motive could this man have had for committing such a crime?"

"This is only a preliminary hearing," said Mme. Storey, "and it's not necessary to try the whole case. However, I am perfectly willing to give you the information. It is true that Bunbury has been working for Mrs. Julian for eight years. During that time a whole procession of fakers and charlatans has succeeded in wheedling great sums of money out of his mistress. Naturally, it made him sore to see all that going out of the house. He began to wonder if he couldn't divert the golden stream in his own direction. The knowledge of Mrs. Julian's character that he had gained, and his familiarity with every detail of her life and affairs gave him a special advantage. Naturally, he couldn't swindle her in his own person, so he engaged catspaws as they came along, Mrs. Bracker, Dr. Cushack, Ram Lal, and taught them how to do it."

"We have only your word for this, Madame," said Shryock sarcastically. "And you still haven't answered my question. If Ram Lal was Bunbury's own man, why in heaven's name should he murder him?"

"Because Ram Lal held out on him," said Mme. Storey sweetly. "It was partly out of revenge, and partly as an object lesson to the other faithful workers. Mrs. Julian has furnished me with a list of all the sums she has given these three people with the dates. On the other hand my operatives have secured lists of Bunbury's deposits in his several bank accounts.

"These lists will be offered in evidence, of course, and we will show that for every payment made by Mrs. Julian, Bunbury deposited half the amount next day. With one exception. Mrs. Julian gave Ram Lal one hundred thousand dollars two weeks ago. Bunbury got none of that."

Shryock shrugged elaborately. It was all he could do. "Well, when I see your evidence," he said with a sneer, "I'll meet it."

"It is sufficient," said Magistrate McManigal. "I will hold these two persons as accessories before the fact. Inspector, I presume you will take care of Bunbury."

"I will, your Honour," said Rumsey grimly.

Bunbury had already recovered himself by the time they came to lead him out. He was a very remarkable man. His vanity was hurt by the recollection of that moment of weakness, and he was bound to make a good exit. He walked to where Mrs. Julian sat, and made a low bow.

"My keys, Madam," he said, handing them over: "I trust you will find everything in order at home."

Mrs. Julian was too much overcome to say a word.