Home > Authors Index > William MacLeod Raine > Tangled Trails: A Western Detective Story > This page
Tangled Trails: A Western Detective Story, a novel by William MacLeod Raine |
||
Chapter 30. Kirby Makes A Call |
||
| < Previous |
Table of content |
Next > |
|
________________________________________________
_ CHAPTER XXX. KIRBY MAKES A CALL Kirby had been bluffing when he said he had evidence to prove that James was in his uncle's rooms the very hour of the murder. But he was now convinced that he had told the truth. James had been there, and his brother Jack knew it. The confession had been written in his shocked face when Kirby flung out the charge. But James might have been there and still be innocent, just as was the case with him and Rose. The cattleman wanted to find the murderer, but he wanted almost as much to find that James had nothing to do with the crime. He eliminated Jack, except perhaps as an accessory after the fact. Jack had a telltale face, but he might be cognizant of guilt without being deeply a party to it. He could be insolent, but faults of manner are not a crime. Besides, all Jack's interests lay in the other direction. If his uncle had lived a day longer, he would have been sole heir to the estate. As he wandered through the streets Kirby's mind was busy with the problem. Automatically his legs carried him to the Paradox Apartments. He found himself there before he even knew he had been heading in that direction. Mrs. Hull came out and passed him. She was without a hat, and probably was going to the corner grocery on Fifteenth. "I've been neglecting friend Hull," he murmured to himself. "I reckon I'll just drop in an' ask him how his health is." He was not sorry that Mrs. Hull was out. She was easily, he judged, the dominant member of the firm. If he could catch the fat man alone he might gather something of importance. Hull opened the door of the apartment to his knock. He stood glaring at the young man, his prominent eyes projecting, the red capillaries in his beefy face filling. "Whadjawant?" he demanded. "A few words with you, Mr. Hull." Kirby pushed past him into the room, much as an impudent agent does. "Well, I don't aim to have no truck with you at all," blustered the fat man. "You've just naturally wore out yore welcome with me before ever you set down. I'll ask you to go right now." "Here's your hat. What's your hurry?" murmured Kirby, by way of quotation. "Sure I'll go. But don't get on the prod, Hull. I came to make some remarks an' to ask a question. I'll not hurt you any. Haven't got smallpox or anything." "I don't want you here. If the police knew you was here, they'd be liable to think we was talkin' about--about what happened upstairs." "Then they would be right. That's exactly what we're gonna talk about." "No, sir! I ain't got a word to say--not a word!" The big man showed signs of panic. "Then I'll say it." The dancing light died out of Kirby's eyes. They became hard and steady as agates. "Who killed Cunningham, Hull?" The fishy eyes of the man dodged. A startled oath escaped him. "How do I know?" "Didn't you kill him?" "Goddlemighty, no!" Hull dragged out the red bandanna and gave his apoplectic face first aid. He mopped perspiration from the overlapping roll of fat above his collar. "I dunno a thing about it. Honest, I don't. You got no right to talk to me thataway." "You're a tub of iniquity, Hull. Also, you're a right poor liar. You know a lot about it. You were in my uncle's rooms just before I saw you on the night of his death. You were seen there." "W-w-who says so?" quavered the wretched man. "You'll know who at the proper time. I'll tell you one thing. It won't look good for you that you held out all you know till it was a showdown." "I ain't holdin' out, I tell you. What business you got to come here devilin' me, I'd like for to know?" "I'm not devilin' you. I'm tellin' you to come through with what you know, or you'll sure get in trouble. There's a witness against you. When he tells what he saw--" "Shibo?" The word burst from the man's lips in spite of him. Kirby did not bat a surprised eye. He went on quietly. "I'll not say who. Except this. Shibo is not the only one who can tell enough to put you on trial for your life. If you didn't kill my uncle you'd better take my tip, Hull. Tell what you know. It'll be better for you." Mrs. Hull stood in the doorway, thin and sinister. The eyes in her yellow face took in the cattleman and passed to her husband. "What's _he_ doing here?" she asked, biting off her words sharply. "I was askin' Mr. Hull if he knew who killed my uncle," explained Kirby. Her eyes narrowed. "Maybe _you_ know," she retorted. "Not yet. I'm tryin' to find out. Can you give me any help, Mrs. Hull?" Their eyes crossed and fought it out. "What do you want to know?" she demanded. "I'd like to know what happened in my uncle's rooms when Mr. Hull was up there--say about half-past nine, mebbe a little before or a little after." "He claims to have a witness," Hull managed to get out from a dry throat. "A witness of what?" snapped the woman. "That--that I--was in Cunningham's rooms." For an instant the woman quailed. A spasm of fear flashed over her face and was gone. "He'll claim anything to get outa the hole he's in," she said dryly. Then, swiftly, her anger pounced on the Wyoming man. "You get outa my house. We don't have to stand yore impudence--an' what's more, we won't. Do you hear? Get out, or I'll send for the police. I ain't scared any of you." The amateur detective got out. He had had the worst of the bout. But he had discovered one or two things. If he could get Olson to talk, and could separate the fat, flabby man from his flinty wife, it would not be hard to frighten a confession from Hull of all he knew. Moreover, in his fear Hull had let slip one admission. Shibo, the little janitor, had some evidence against him. Hull knew it. Why was Shibo holding it back? The fat man had practically said that Shibo had seen him come out of Cunningham's rooms, or at least that he was a witness he had been in the apartment. Yet he had withheld the fact when he had been questioned by the police. Had Hull bribed him to keep quiet? The cattleman found Shibo watering the lawn of the parking in front of the Paradox. According to his custom, he plunged abruptly into what he wanted to say. He had discovered that if a man is not given time to frame a defense, he is likely to give away something he had intended to conceal. "Shibo, why did you hide from the police that Mr. Hull was in my uncle's rooms the night he was killed?" The janitor shot one slant, startled glance at Kirby before the mask of impassivity wiped out expression from his eyes. "You know heap lot about everything. You busy busy all like honey-bee. Me, I just janitor--mind own business." "I wonder, now." Kirby's level gaze took the man in carefully. Was he as simple as he wanted to appear? "No talk when not have anything to tell." Shibo moved the sprinkler to another part of the lawn. Kirby followed him. He had a capacity for patience. "Did Mr. Hull ask you not to tell about him?" Shibo said nothing, but he said it with indignant eloquence. "Did he give you money not to tell? I don't want to go to the police with this if I can help it, Shibo. Better come through to me." "You go police an' say I know who make Mr. Cunningham dead?" "If I have to." The janitor had no more remarks to make. He lapsed into an angry, stubborn silence. For nearly half an hour Kirby stayed by his side. The cattleman asked questions. He suggested that, of course, the police would soon find out the facts after he went to them. He even went beyond his brief and implied that shortly Shibo would be occupying a barred cell. But the man from the Orient contributed no more to the talk. _ |
||