Tell Me, Pretty Maiden (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #7)

“We would just like to hear exactly what happened that night,” I said. “We’ve interviewed John Jacob’s friends, and according to them, he was bound for the theater. Could you tell us whether he changed his mind?”


“No, he went to the theater all right. He telephoned me about ten thirty, I suppose it was, or maybe a little closer to eleven. How would I like to make up a party and go out for a late supper with him, he asked. At first I refused. It was a beastly cold night and I was tired. I’d been at the factory all day, working on a rush order that had to go out. I told him it was dashed late for supper and on a weeknight, too. But JJ wouldn’t take no for an answer. He said I’d regret it if I didn’t come with him and he’d already booked at table at Angelico’s and I’d be in for a pleasant surprise.”

“Did he say what that surprise was?”

“I rather took it that he had a young lady set up for me. He said we’d be a jolly party. He even offered to drive out in his new automobile and pick me up. So I relented and went upstairs to change into my black tie and tails.”

Harry Silverton perched on the chair opposite me and talked on, looking down at his hands. “I finished changing and he didn’t show up so I was feeling seriously miffed, I can tell you. Then I heard the sound of an automobile engine revving up outside. I went to my bedroom window. It was dark out there but I recognized JJ’s vehicle—well, that wasn’t hard considering he’d splashed out on a spanking new job called a Cadillac, and had it painted bright red. And the strange thing was that it was driving out of our gates and took off like a bat out of hell, heading away from town toward Bridgeport.

“Well, I damned him soundly to hell for putting me through all that trouble and then not even bothering to wait for me. I got undressed and went to bed. The next thing I knew it was morning and someone was screaming. I rushed downstairs to find one of our maids in hysterics. She had gotten up to light the fires and had discovered our butler, Cranson, sprawled on the floor in the servants’ quarters, outside the butler’s pantry. Naturally we thought he’d had a heart attack or a stroke. But when we turned him over we saw a dashed great pool of blood under him. And then we realized that he had been shot.”

He looked up at me and I nodded sympathetically. “It must have been a horrible shock for you.”

“It was, I can tell you. Poor old chap. Never done anybody harm in his entire life and some cad goes and shoots him.”

“But you didn’t hear a shot?” Daniel asked.

“The servants are below stairs and the butler’s pantry is right at the back of the house, away from any rooms that we are currently using. I suppose one might have heard a pop and thought of an auto backfiring, but as it was, I heard nothing. I could have been in the shower, getting ready to go out.”

“Or it could have been after you’d fallen asleep.”

“That could have been possible,” Harry said slowly, “except we now know what happened that night. When we checked the silver cabinet, the silver had all been taken. And my mother’s jewels. The burglar had only taken the good stuff.”

“How come none of the servants heard anything?” I asked.

Harry shook his head. “They had all gone to bed long before and their bedrooms are all at the top of the house. Cranson used to sit in his pantry and have a late glass of whiskey before he locked up. He must have surprised the burglar and paid for it with his life.”

“So you believe that this burglar was JJ Halsted?” I asked.

“I have no other choice,” he replied in a clipped voice. “His vehicle was seen driving away at a great rate and later when it was discovered wrecked on the road to New York City, one of our pieces of silver was found under the seat.”

“Did anyone else see the motor car leaving your house or parked in your driveway?”

“No, just me. We’re a lot of country bumpkins when it comes to bedtime. Father is always up at crack of dawn to be at factory early and so we are in the habit of retiring before ten. The servants earlier than that since they are expected to be up before us.”

“And you believe that your friend, Mr. Halsted, could really have shot your butler?” Daniel asked.

“Again, I don’t know what else to believe.” Harry’s voice rose in tension. “I can only put two and two together. Halsted’s auto is seen driving away. It contains an item stolen from our house and our butler is lying dead.”

“But if he intended to rob you, why telephone you to announce his arrival?” I asked. “Wouldn’t that put the household on the alert for him when surely he needed stealth to accomplish his theft?”