Murder on Wheels by Stuart Palmer Read Free Book Online Page B

aren’t even ‘getting to foul ball,’ as the boys say …”
    “You probably mean ‘first base,’” put in the Inspector mildly. “But I don’t see why I’m not getting anywhere. This is all part of the routine.”
    “Routine fiddlesticks,” said the school-teacher. “Why don’t you find out where Laurie Stait was bound for when he borrowed his brother’s car and started down Fifth Avenue? Why don’t you find out that?”
    “But—”
    “Somebody knew,” she reminded him tartly.
    “Maybe the old lady will tell us,” suggested Piper thoughtfully. “I sort of look forward to the chat with her. She sounds like something out of Godey’s Book. Here goes—”
    The telephone in the hall broke into a shrill crescendo. Sergeant Taylor moved swiftly from the front door to answer it, but the Inspector halted him.
    “You go, Miss Withers,” he said softly. “It would seem more natural for a woman’s voice to answer at this house than a man’s. We might just possibly learn something.”
    She went. For a moment she held the receiver against her ear. Then she said hello in a low voice.
    “Is Mr. Lew Stait there?”
    It was a girl’s voice, a deep, warm mezzo-soprano. There was a thin note of worry somewhere, buried deep.
    Miss Withers knew what she was supposed to say. “Who is calling, please?”
    “Oh, is that you, Aunt Abbie? This is Dana. Is Lew there—or Laurie?”
    “They’re out just now—is there any message?” Miss Withers hated to tell the lie, even though it was regular procedure in such cases.
    “Oh … I see.” The voice was disappointed.
    “Shall I have him call you back when he comes in? Where are you now?”
    The girl at the other end of the wire wasn’t suspicious. “Where should I be? Here at home, at the apartment, of course … where I’ve been waiting for Lew hours and hours … has anything happened?”
    “You say you’re at the apartment where?” Miss Withers made a good cast, but the trout didn’t rise to the fly. There was a long silence, and then the receiver clicked softly at the other end of the line.
    Miss Withers left the phone and rejoined the Inspector. She told him what had happened.
    “A dame with a soft, sweet voice asking for Mr. Lew, huh?” The Inspector permitted himself the luxury of a fresh, unchewed cigar and a smile. “Strike up the chamber music, boys. Hearts and Flowers from now on in this case, we’ve found our love interest. I was hoping that we could do better than Gretchen.” He cast a glance at the school-teacher. “Just like the Aquarium Murder, Hildegarde. Still looking for the happy ending?”
    “I’m off romance for the present,” Miss Withers told him stiffly. “I suppose you’re all full of ideas about how to track down the poor child who just talked to me, yes? It’s comparatively simple, of course.”
    “Yeah?” The Inspector stopped dead in his tracks and looked at her. “How is it so easy? It’ll be no cinch to trace that call—most of the phones are on the dial system now anyway, and there’s not a chance to trace a call from one of those jiggers.”
    Miss Withers shook her head. “You don’t need to trace that call. That girl who called herself Dana hung up when she realized I was a fraud as Aunt Abbie—and she knew I was a fraud because I asked where her apartment was. Which means that Aunt Abbie, and probably the rest of the household here, know her pretty well and where she lives.”
    “Right. I’ll put the screws to Aunt Abbie.” He went toward the hall. “Taylor, hop up those stairs and get me the dame who was down here a minute ago. Hurry up!”
    The detective’s heavy tread mounted the stairs, and died away in the upper hall. “My theory about this case—” began the Inspector heavily. “Good God!”
    From somewhere in the rear of the house there came a crash, of such proportions as to suggest a young earthquake.
    Voices, dim and muffled through the intervening doors, rose in furious altercation,