“NOW, don’t squawk, Dennis!” I cut short the beef before it got past his windpipe. “This is worth waiting for. McGowan died from poisoning.”
“What kind?”
“Huh? Oh! Just a minute, I’ll find out.” The ear cup of the phone rasped away as I turned to Tommy.
“Tommy! What kind of poison was it?”
“I don’t know,” was the surprising answer. “The chemist hadn’t completed his tests and he wasn’t sure what it was. He was going to call in Dr. Medier who specializes in poisons at Tulane Medical school. I have to call him in about an hour.”
I returned my attention to the still rasping phone.
“Aw stop cussing me, McCarthy! Tommy doesn’t know the name of the poison.”
“Tommy who?”
“Gross, of course. He and Beton are here.”
“Homicide, eh? So it must be murder.”
“Now don’t go off half-cocked!” I said sweetly. “Why must it be murder?”
“If it isn’t what’s Homicide doing there?”
“Just checking to make sure what it was.”
“Oh. Well, what have you got that is worth listening to?”
I had my story in fairly good order in my notes, and I gave it to him as rapidly as I could. I finished it up with the nurse’s information about McGowan’s research in poisons and told him about the cabinet in the room.
“There goes your mystery,” he said as soon as he heard that part.
“What do you mean, mystery?”
“Hell, it’s as clear as glass! He got hold of the stuff by accident.”
“Could be. But his nurse doesn’t think so.”
“What does she think?”
“That he was murdered. She has very definite opinions about that too. She’s been howling murder for hours. But you can’t print that.”
“Why can’t I? I can say the ‘nurse alleges,’ can’t I? What’s to stop me?”
“Nothing. You can do it if you want, but I wouldn’t advise it.”
“Why wouldn’t you? Not that I value your advice.”
“There’s the fact of the burglar-proof lock which was fastened from the inside. And that the poison was one that works almost immediately. But go ahead and make an ass of yourself and the paper if you want to.”
“It’s your story, you’d be the ass.”
“See here, Dennis McCarthy!” I yelled. “Don’t you dare put anything like that under my byline!”
“I don’t know about that.” Dennis was enjoying himself. “What do the detectives think?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t talked to them yet. I called you as soon as I knew it was poison.”
“How long will it be before they know the kind of poison?”
“Tommy said about an hour,” I said. “Shall I hang around?”
“You might as well. Call me if you get anything in the meanwhile that might make decent reading. If I want you I’ll call you there.”
“Okay.” I started to hang up, then remembered something. “Dennis! Wait a minute. You owe me a pint of good liquor!”
He gasped with well-simulated shock. “I owe you what? You’re nuts! I made no bet with you!”
It was my turn to gasp, but honestly. “Why you certainly did! A pint against a quart that it would be poison! You said I was on and made the odds yourself!”
“You’re dreaming. I knew all along it would be poison.”
“You lousy welcher! You knew nothing of the kind! This is strictly my beat and you know it!”
“So all right,” said Dennis. “It’s your beat and you’re stuck with it. Call me when you have anything new.” He hung up.
I slammed down the phone and expressed in loud tones my opinion of one Dennis McCarthy, city editor.
He was, I allowed, a louse and a skunk, a welcher and a bum. He stank to high heaven and I hoped he roasted in hell. Only I hoped it was hotter than advertised by the revivalists. I only regretted I couldn’t be there to turn the carcass on the spit.
“What’s the matter, Margaret?” Tommy grinned at me. “You and Dennis at it again? It’s a wonder you two haven’t cut each other’s throats!”
“Why that stinkin’ no-good son-of-a-a,” I took a deep breath, “son-of-a-linotyper!” I finished. “I’ll fix him for this! The welching dog!” That off my chest I grinned back at Tommy. “Well, Sherlock! What do you do next?”
“Next? We haven’t done anything first yet. First it’s a matter of finding out whether he took the poison deliberately, got it by accident, or had it fed to him.”
“I think you can eliminate the first and last,” I said. “The suicide theory won’t hold water, neither will a murder one—much as I’d like to work up a good mystery. It’s a locked door situation, a burglar-proof lock. Of course,” I waxed ironic, “the transom was open, someone may have climbed through it. You might make it murder if you try hard enough.”
“Who wants to try?”
I indicated Miss Cheng, who had grabbed his arm. “She does.”
“Captain Gross!” She was as tense as stretched hemp. “Dr. McGowan was murdered. I know it!”
“Oh nuts!” I said. “She’s been harping on that for hours. No one killed Ned McGowan, neither did he commit suicide. He got some poison by mistake.”
She transferred her attention to me, pinching both arms.
“Miss Slone! I’ve told you such a mistake is impossible! He was murdered!”
I shook her off. “You see what I’ve been up against?” I appealed to Tommy—but I got no sympathy there.
“She was his nurse, wasn’t she? She should be able to help us. To tell us who saw him yesterday and last night, if he had any enemies or was in trouble or bad health—stuff like that.”
“I can be as much help there as she can, maybe more,” I retorted. “I could easily be the one who spoke to him last.”
“Is that so?” Beton showed interest. He’d most likely be accusing me of murder next.
“Yes, that’s so.”
“How come?”
Again I told the story of my talk with Ned, his dinner date with Brett, and, in particular, the state of happiness Ned appeared to enjoy, ditto the state of his health. I ended with his crack about how he had the world geared to his speed.
“Does that sound like a man who’d be likely to commit suicide?”
“No, it doesn’t,” Gross admitted.
“As for enemies—that’s a cat of another color,” I continued. “He must have had a number of them, mostly women. Ned McGowan was a male chippy, a sensualist. He fell for every pretty new face and he had a good line, but his love wore off as fast as it came on. So lots of women and girls hated his guts. Funny part is that chaser and cheat though he was, he started out sincerely enough. He really meant his lovemaking just in the beginning. But when he was through, he meant that too. He broke quite a few hearts around this town. Oh no!” I shook my head at an inquiring gleam in Beton’s eyes. “Mine wasn’t one of them, although I did have a date or two with him.”
“Do you know any of these girls?” Beton asked.
“Several,” I replied wryly. “My kid sister, Vangie, was one. She lasted six months and moped for another six. I used to want to beat her, she’d make me so mad. I tried to warn her, but she thought I wanted him myself! Little nitwit! However he must have decided he’d found the real thing with Vette.”
“Who were some of the other girls he fooled around with?” Beton asked.
I thought for a couple of minutes. Then, “Well, there was Lucille St. Clair, she’s a nurse; little Marie Chauvin, she was c-c-crazy about him—she’s crazy anyhow. Agnes Gilchrist, Molly Burke, and Chrissy Wilson all fell for his line. Now, let me see— Oh sure! There was Katie Ledson, Marie O’Brien, and Angela Elwood, and, this is a funny one, there was Toni Merceron, Vette’s sister who was always considered Brett’s girl—but Ned dated her. Then there was Catherine Kelly, a nurse. She got kicked out of the hospital because of him. Amelia Crisler and Elsie—”
“That’s enough!” Beton threw up his hands in surrender. “He must have been one of them Lothario guys!”
“Definitely!” I was emphatic.
“How come you know so much about his love life?”
“He double-dated with my brother a lot and they often brought the girls to the house. Vangie used to have fits when they did, but she got over it in time. To tell the truth, if it hadn’t been for that lock I’d have figured this for murder right away. It would be easy to fit a jealous, jilted woman into the picture.”
“Too damn easy,” Gross remarked drily.
The phone bell rang and Shem leaped for it. “Hullo! No, this isn’t Ned. Just a minute.” He cupped a hand over the mouthpiece and whispered, “Woman—wants the doctor. What’ll I tell her?”
“Why not let Miss Cheng answer?” I suggested. “She knows all of his patients and most of his friends. She’ll know what to say.”
Gross nodded and motioned the nurse, who’d sat glaring at me through my recital of Ned’s philanderings, to take the call.
“This is Miss Cheng, Dr. McGowan’s nurse,” she informed the caller. “What is it, please?”
I watched her and decided all stories about Chinese being deadpan experts were a batch of lies. Her lips tightened and her eyes glittered venomously.
“Oh, hello, Mrs. Dellman. No, the doctor is not here. Take a message? I’m afraid that’s useless. What do I mean?” Her voice became as soft as velvet. “Why, Dr. McGowan is dead, he’s been poisoned, Mrs. Dellman. Didn’t you know that when you called?”
I gasped and yanked the phone from her hands. “What are you trying to pull, you fool!” I hissed. “Have you gone nuts?”
“Hello, hello, Mrs. Dellman!” I spoke into the phone.
“Hello! What was that you said, Miss Cheng?” The voice was shocked.
“This isn’t Miss Cheng, Mrs. Dellman. This is Margaret Slone, Brett’s sister. You remember me?”
“Of course I do,” she answered. “What’s happened to Ned? For God’s sake tell me quickly!” Hysteria sounded in her tones.
“Well—” I stopped. Damn this business of being the one to break the bad news. I looked appealingly at Tommy and Shem. Both shook their heads firmly. Damn, damn, damn! I turned back to the phone.
“It’s just like this. Dr. McGowan’s dead.” There it was out!
“But how can he be? How did he die?”
“He just is. From poison.”
“Who—who poisoned him?”
I thought: Oh, oh, here we go again! “No one did it. It must have been an accident. Something he got hold of by mistake. He had a lot of poison around.”
“I know,” she said, and I thought: Oh, you do!
“This is awful!” she exclaimed. “I was very fond of Ned. Is there anything I can do?”
“Not that I know of at the moment,” I answered.
“Well call me if there is. I’ll be glad to help if I can.”
I assured her we would, said good-by, and hung up. Then I turned on the nurse in fury.
“You lame-brained idiot!” I exploded. “What the hell did you mean by making cracks like that at Mrs. Dellman? Are you batty?”
“You needn’t use that tone with me!” she said tartly. “I’m not ‘batty,’ as you phrase it. That woman has chased after the doctor for nine years and she acted like he belonged to her, body and soul! He’d been trying for a year to get rid of her, and lately I’ve seen her watching him with hate in her eyes.”
“Nuts! You’ve been reading too many novels or seeing too many movies. Mrs. Dellman is a fine woman, and everyone knows she and her husband are perfectly happy. You know who they are, don’t you, Tommy?”
“Sure. They’re both tops in the whole state. Swell people.”
“You see?” I turned back to the nurse. “Stop going off half-cocked; it’s a sure way to get in trouble.” I looked at my watch, 1:45. “I’m as empty as a used container,” I said. “I’m going to lunch. How long you going to be around?” I asked Tommy.
“God knows! We have to talk to the hotel gang. Have to stay here until that chemist report comes through so we’ll know what kind of poison to look for.”
“I’ll see you later then. I’m going to forage for food. How about you Miss Cheng? Don’t you want a sandwich or—something?”
“I couldn’t eat a thing!” she answered.
“Oh fiddle!” I said impatiently. “You have to eat sooner or later. Come on and keep me company anyhow.” I wanted to get her out—there was no telling what would happen if she stayed around spilling her ideas and facts. I knew Beton.
“All right,” she said listlessly, and followed me out of the room.