Puzzle of the Pepper Tree by Stuart Palmer Read Free Book Online Page B

swordfish, and the like, went the passengers of the Dragonfly, coming at last to the chief’s office, where that worthy awaited them in the only chair. Dr. O’Rourke stood by the door, still in dressing gown and slippers over his bathing suit.
    “Not going to take long,” Chief Britt promised them. He cleared his throat. “None of you saw anything out of the ordinary on that trip out here, did you?”
    Nobody ventured a reply.
    The chief nodded. Then he took a deep breath. “None of you noticed anything that’d make you think Mr. Forrest, the sick man, was anything worse than just sick?”
    “Not until he died,” Phyllis offered.
    “Exactly. Couldn’t have anybody—harmed him, so to speak, without the rest of you seeing, could there?”
    There was a general chorus of “No.”
    The chief turned triumphantly to Dr. O’Rourke. “There you are! It’s just like we figured. Now there ain’t a reason in the world why we shouldn’t put this case down as a natural death and let these people go about their business.”
    Captain Narveson fidgeted a little. “Ay never saw a faller die from being seasick before,” he put in. The blue eyes turned toward Ralph O. Tate. “Maybe that drink you give him to make him feel better was bad liquor?”
    Tate took off his beret and mopped his bald dome. The others were all staring at him. “Please,” he said. “You all know who I am. Why should I—I mean, I buy the best liquor that can be got. It’s smuggled in every week from a ship that comes twice a year from Scotland and lies offshore until it’s unloaded. No rotgut for me. Anyway—I took a drink after the sick man did. You all saw me!” He did not offer to display his flask.
    “That’s true,” burst in the girl with red curls. She had removed the sun goggles, and her lashes were long and curling.
    “Sure it’s true,” said Phyllis La Fond. But all the same she stared very hard and very thoughtfully at the great director, Mr. Ralph O. Tate.
    The young man with slick hair settled that problem at once. “No matter if somebody gave a man a swig of the worst wood alcohol, death wouldn’t follow in less than a couple of hours at the quickest. I know—I used to work in a drug store. So it doesn’t matter what kind of liquor was in the flask, it couldn’t have been the cause of Forrest’s death.”
    Chief Britt nodded and waved his hand. “All right, folks. Sorry to’ve kept yuh from your dinner. Mac’s place down the street has pretty good food. Tell him I sent you. …”
    They made a concerted rush for the door, but it was barred by a tall, spare figure.
    “Excuse me,” said Miss Hildegarde Withers, “but the party isn’t over.”
    As the others pushed past her with varying expressions of annoyance upon their faces, the schoolteacher drew from its envelope a blue-and-white square of paper.
    “Read this,” she told Chief of Police Amos Britt. “Read this—and then tell me again that you think Roswell Forrest died a natural death.”
    Britt looked at the message, and his lips moved slowly:
POSTAL TELEGRAPH
NEW YORK CITY NY 5:15 P
    HILDEGARDE WITHERS
    AVALON CALIFORNIA
    THOUGHT YOU WERE ON A VACATION WHY ARE YOU INTERESTED IN FORREST HIS DESCRIPTION FOLLOWS BORN AUSTRALIA AMERICAN PARENTS AGE THIRTYFIVE BROWN EYES DARK BROWN HAIR MEDIUM BUILD DRESSES VERY WELL NO PHOTO AVAILABLE BARNEY KELSEY FORMER BARTENDER NO POLICE RECORD SUPPOSED TO BE WITH FORREST AS BODYGUARD UNDERSTAND CERTAIN PARTIES HAVE OFFERED SPEND FIFTEEN GRAND IF FORREST UNABLE TESTIFY BEFORE BRANDSTATTER COMMITTEE WHATS UP
    OSCAR PIPER
    Chief Britt put down the message and whistled. “Musta cost two-three dollars to say all that,” he hazarded.
    “But don’t you understand?” Miss Withers stared at him, searchingly. “Don’t you see what it means?”
    “Mebbe I do, and again mebbe I don’t,” Chief Britt said. He turned toward O’Rourke, who was reading the message.
    “If you ask me,” said the doctor thoughtfully, “it