LITMIR.BIZ

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occupied by Mr. Adrian Temple and his wife Daphne, who was—was murdered. She was an invalid. The third room is occupied by Mr. Temple’s dancing partner, Miss Travers, who is here with me. My daughter has a small apartment on the top floor but it is unoccupied now because she’s playing stock in Louisville. The other two rooms on the top floor are rented to Mr. Montgomery and Mr. Sandrean. Mr. Montgomery is a ventriloquist who conducts the ‘Woodenhead Willie’ program for children over television. Mr. Sandrean is a Mexican gentleman who is a magician. He is known professionally as El Diablo. Neither gentleman was home this evening. In fact, no one was home except poor Daphne and James Lennox. I shouldn’t have gone to the theatre.”

      Mrs. Mattingly was weeping and dabbing at her eyes with her wispy handkerchief again. “Now, now,” the detective said soothingly. “You shouldn’t blame yourself, ma’am.”

      “We had these tickets to the Music Hall,” she continued. “Mr. Sandrean—El Diablo, that is—has a spot in the current stage show and he gave us tickets for everyone in the house, except poor Daphne, of course. Even Adrian, Mr. Temple, was going with us. He thought he could find some friend to sit with Daphne. But yesterday Mr. Temple had one of his little disappearances, as I call them. Adrian has a weakness, poor, unfortunate man. He drinks at times. When he does, he simply wanders off for a day or two. We’ve come to expect it every few months. He is still missing, in fact. Of course, we didn’t like leaving Daphne alone. My maid comes in days and she leaves around six as a rule. Elsa offered to stay with Daphne, but Daphne wouldn’t hear of it. She wouldn’t hear of any of us missing the show, in fact. She said her husband would probably return anyway, because she knew his habits when he’s on one of his little sprees.

      “Then Mr. Lennox came back from his office, all done in by this terrible heat. He has a slight heart condition and he looked pale and wretched. He said he had a terrible headache and was going to lie down. That solved the problem. His room is right next to the one the Temples occupy. James often sits with Daphne when Adrian and Elsa have an engagement at a club. If Daphne needed anything, she could call or tap on the wall. She’s very self-reliant, really, and gets around quite well in her wheelchair.”

      The plump little woman gasped and shivered. The bony hand with the blood-red nails patted her shoulder comfortingly.

      When Mrs. Mattingly recovered, she continued, “Mr. Montgomery, the ventriloquist, accompanied Miss Travers and me to the theatre. I’m afraid two tickets went to waste. The ones that Mr. Sandrean had given Adrian and Mr. Lennox. After the show Mr. Montgomery invited us to a bar for refreshment, but Elsa has been feeling the heat and she wished to get home and shower and retire early. Mr. Montgomery left us to go for a drink. I suppose we must have left the Music Hall about a quarter to eleven. It’s only three blocks from here, you know. Anyway, we were home at seven minutes to eleven exactly. I know, because I have a habit of glancing at the big grandfather clock in the hall. And it’s always right. It was just a couple of minutes later that it happened.”

      She paused again, overcome by emotion. Then she said, “Elsa went directly upstairs to go to her room. I came into the parlor and turned on the lights. A few seconds after Elsa reached the top of the stairs, I heard this shot. I ran out into the hall. Elsa was screaming, calling me. I rushed upstairs. We hesitated a moment, trying to guess where the the shot had come from, calling Daphne. We went into Daphne’s room. She was there in her wheelchair, dead, covered with blood.” Mrs. Mattingly buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

      “And Mr. Lennox was standing on the fire escape, staring at poor Daphne,” Elsa Travers said, her chalk-white face grim.

      Bart turned to the stricken old man on the love seat. He said, “Can’t you explain this, Jim?”

      “I have explained it, Bart. But they won’t believe me,” Lennox answered. “You thought I looked peaked and you sent me home early from the paper. I stopped at the Automat and had a salad and some tea. It was all I felt like eating. My blood pressure has been acting up in this heat. I came home and the others were going to the Music Hall to see El Diablo. I simply wasn’t up to it. I said I would stay home with Daphne. After they left for the theatre I looked in on Daphne. She was well, but she was drowsy. She didn’t want me to help her onto the bed. She felt sure Adrian would return this evening and she wanted to be sitting up when he arrived. She said he was always remorseful when he came home after he had been drinking and she wanted to be awake to comfort him.

      “I hardly slept at all last night. Tonight I took some medicine the doctor gave me for my blood pressure condition. There’s a mild sedative in it, I think. I lay down on my bed without undressing. I didn’t lock my door. No one here ever does. The keys are almost always on the outside of the doors, in fact, until we retire for the night. I left mine on the outside. I got up once and looked in on Daphne. She was dozing in her chair. I went back in my room about nine and lay down on the bed again. I was stupefied by the heat or the sedative, and I fell into a deep sleep. The shot awakened me. I thought of Daphne at once. Then I heard someone screaming and calling Mrs. Mattingly’s name. I tried to get out my door, but it was locked from outside, so I went out on the fire escape to get into Daphne’s room through the window. I saw her there in the chair, with blood on her. I could smell the smoke from the shot. I guess I was frozen stiff with horror. The door to Daphne’s room opened and Cora and Elsa came in. Cora rushed downstairs to call the police and then Elsa left, but I just stood there, stupefied, until the police came. This policeman says he found a gun on the fire escape where I was standing. I didn’t see the gun. You know I wouldn’t own a gun.”

      The fat, sweaty policeman said, “The gun was up against the rail of the fire escape, like somebody had tried to kick it off but hadn’t pushed it far enough.”

      The white-haired policeman said, “Tell them about the door, Mrs. Mattingly.”

      The plump landlady bit her lips. Finally she said in a faint voice, “When James told me the door was locked, I tried it. The key was on the outside but it hadn’t been turned. It wasn’t locked.”

      Bart said, “In this humid weather doors are warping and sticking all over the city. Jim tried the door and it stuck and he thought it was locked, so he rushed out on the fire escape, that was all.”

      “Did the door stick when you tried to open it, Mrs. Mattingly?” the white-haired detective asked.

      Mrs. Mattingly looked despairingly at Lennox. “Oh, James,” she said, “I hate to do this to you. I know you’re no murderer. I know you loved Daphne as we all did.” She looked at Bart. “James Lennox is one of my oldest friends, Mr. Hardin. You know that. We trouped together in Mantell’s Repertory more than thirty years ago. But I have to tell the truth. The door wasn’t stuck. It opened quite easily.”

      The precinct officer addressed Romano. “The body’s upstairs, Lieutenant,” he said. “Along with an assistant M.E., and an assistant D.A. and I.D. men and some more plain cops. Maybe you want to take a look.”

      Romano nodded. Grierson and Hardin followed him up the stairs. At the top of the stairs, the door to Lennox’s room stood open. Policemen were ransacking it. It was a fair-sized room and it was comfortably furnished. The window opened on a fire escape and an airshaft and faced the blank wall of the next buliding, but Bart knew that a peculiar downdraft in the areaway made it airy except in this still, hot weather. The old man who had endured grim poverty for many years had found a haven here with Bart’s help. The walls were covered with theatre programs, framed pictures of himself and other actors in scenes from forgotten plays.

      The next room, much larger, was the one occupied by Adrian and Daphne Temple. It had windows on both the front and side of the house. In front was a bath and Elsa Travers’ room and a large linen closet.

      Even in the pallor of death, Daphne Temple seemed petite and childish. She lolled in her chair now, her back to the wall behind the bed, her profile to the window on the fire escape. She had been shot at close range through the heart. There was a great dark stain drying on the blue silk robe which she wore over a lace nightgown. Her eyes were closed as if she had been sleeping when a murderer’s bullet blasted her life away.

      An identification man held up the gun on a peg board

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