bedroom.
After a few minutes he came out again. ‘It’s going to be suicide, Peter. The stage is set for it and all we’ve got to do is to plant a razor in there.’
‘Good grief! You can’t do that! If they find out, we won’t have a chance to beat a rap.’
‘By the time they find out,’ Duke said, grimly, ‘I’ll have my hands on the guy who did kill Timson. But, who says they will find out?’ He went into the bathroom and came back with Peter’s razor. ‘Shan’t be a second,’ he said and went back into the
bedroom again.
Peter poured himself out another whisky. He felt he needed it.
Duke came out and shut the door. He made a little grimace as he sat down. ‘It’s all set and it looks convincing,’ he said. ‘Now, listen, Pete, this is our story. You, Clare and I met last night. You saw her home and joined me at my apartment. We had a few drinks, then we went out to get some air. We ran into Timson who was tight as a tick. He’d got a bottle of Scotch and we, being a little high ourselves, helped him finish it. Timson passed out and we brought him back here. We left him on the bed and went to sleep in this room In the morning we missed your razor, checked up and found Timson. We’ll let the cops work out why he did it.’
Peter stared at him. ‘Why, it’s crazy! You don’t know what Timson was doing all the evening. He might have been with someone.’
‘It doesn’t matter who he was with if we make it late enough. He came here between three and four in the morning. Okay, that’s when we met him. If you keep your head, we can bluff it out. I can’t see any other way out.’
‘You’re a crazy devil, Harry,’ Peter said, miserably. ‘Whenever I get mixed up with you, there’s trouble.’
‘Skip it,’ Duke said, roughly. ‘We’re in a jam and we’re going to get out of it.’
The telephone began to ring. Peter went over.
‘Oh, Peter,’ Clare said. ‘Do you know where I can get hold of Harry Duke?’
Peter stared at the telephone, a sudden surge of jealousy going through him. ‘What do you want with him?’ he asked, trying to keep his bitterness out of his voice.
‘Don’t be angry,’ Clare pleaded. ‘It’s about Timson.’
‘Timson? What about him?’
‘You remember Harry Duke asked me to telephone him if I heard anything about Timson buying property? Well, he has, He has bought Pinder’s End.’
Peter said, ‘Hold on a second, Clare.’ He looked at Duke, ‘Timson’s bought Pinder’s End,’ he said.
Duke blew out his cheeks. ‘That could mean anything,’ he said. ‘May I speak to her?’
Peter thrust the telephone into his hands and stood away. ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘It’s a free country, ain’t it?’
‘That would seem to be the idea at first glance,’ Duke returned, dryly. ‘This is Harry Duke,’ he said to the telephone. He heard Clare catch her breath sharply and he felt again the sudden thickening in his throat.
‘Oh, Mr. Duke, I’ve been trying to get you,’ she said.
‘It’s about Timson, isn’t it?’ he asked. ‘You say he’s bought Pinder’s End?’
‘Yes, the deal went through yesterday. He’s buying for the Bentonville Land Corporation. No one has ever heard of them.’
‘Thanks,’ Duke returned. ‘Maybe I can find out something. Not that it’s done Timson any good. We ran into Timson last night and we all got a little drunk. He slept in Pete’s bed and we found him this morning dead. He cut his throat.’
Peter snapped his fingers impatiently. ‘She’ll never believe a yam like that,’ he said,
Duke waved him to be quiet.
‘You say he’s dead?’ Clare asked. ‘Suicide?’
‘Yep. He seemed sorta depressed last night, but we thought nothing of it. We’ve only just found him. I’ll call the cops now.’
‘I’ll come out,’ Clare said. Her voice had gone flat. ‘I – I suppose Peter’s mixed up in this.’
Duke’s mouth tightened into a thin line. ‘We’re both in it. But it don’t mean
After a few minutes he came out again. ‘It’s going to be suicide, Peter. The stage is set for it and all we’ve got to do is to plant a razor in there.’
‘Good grief! You can’t do that! If they find out, we won’t have a chance to beat a rap.’
‘By the time they find out,’ Duke said, grimly, ‘I’ll have my hands on the guy who did kill Timson. But, who says they will find out?’ He went into the bathroom and came back with Peter’s razor. ‘Shan’t be a second,’ he said and went back into the
bedroom again.
Peter poured himself out another whisky. He felt he needed it.
Duke came out and shut the door. He made a little grimace as he sat down. ‘It’s all set and it looks convincing,’ he said. ‘Now, listen, Pete, this is our story. You, Clare and I met last night. You saw her home and joined me at my apartment. We had a few drinks, then we went out to get some air. We ran into Timson who was tight as a tick. He’d got a bottle of Scotch and we, being a little high ourselves, helped him finish it. Timson passed out and we brought him back here. We left him on the bed and went to sleep in this room In the morning we missed your razor, checked up and found Timson. We’ll let the cops work out why he did it.’
Peter stared at him. ‘Why, it’s crazy! You don’t know what Timson was doing all the evening. He might have been with someone.’
‘It doesn’t matter who he was with if we make it late enough. He came here between three and four in the morning. Okay, that’s when we met him. If you keep your head, we can bluff it out. I can’t see any other way out.’
‘You’re a crazy devil, Harry,’ Peter said, miserably. ‘Whenever I get mixed up with you, there’s trouble.’
‘Skip it,’ Duke said, roughly. ‘We’re in a jam and we’re going to get out of it.’
The telephone began to ring. Peter went over.
‘Oh, Peter,’ Clare said. ‘Do you know where I can get hold of Harry Duke?’
Peter stared at the telephone, a sudden surge of jealousy going through him. ‘What do you want with him?’ he asked, trying to keep his bitterness out of his voice.
‘Don’t be angry,’ Clare pleaded. ‘It’s about Timson.’
‘Timson? What about him?’
‘You remember Harry Duke asked me to telephone him if I heard anything about Timson buying property? Well, he has, He has bought Pinder’s End.’
Peter said, ‘Hold on a second, Clare.’ He looked at Duke, ‘Timson’s bought Pinder’s End,’ he said.
Duke blew out his cheeks. ‘That could mean anything,’ he said. ‘May I speak to her?’
Peter thrust the telephone into his hands and stood away. ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘It’s a free country, ain’t it?’
‘That would seem to be the idea at first glance,’ Duke returned, dryly. ‘This is Harry Duke,’ he said to the telephone. He heard Clare catch her breath sharply and he felt again the sudden thickening in his throat.
‘Oh, Mr. Duke, I’ve been trying to get you,’ she said.
‘It’s about Timson, isn’t it?’ he asked. ‘You say he’s bought Pinder’s End?’
‘Yes, the deal went through yesterday. He’s buying for the Bentonville Land Corporation. No one has ever heard of them.’
‘Thanks,’ Duke returned. ‘Maybe I can find out something. Not that it’s done Timson any good. We ran into Timson last night and we all got a little drunk. He slept in Pete’s bed and we found him this morning dead. He cut his throat.’
Peter snapped his fingers impatiently. ‘She’ll never believe a yam like that,’ he said,
Duke waved him to be quiet.
‘You say he’s dead?’ Clare asked. ‘Suicide?’
‘Yep. He seemed sorta depressed last night, but we thought nothing of it. We’ve only just found him. I’ll call the cops now.’
‘I’ll come out,’ Clare said. Her voice had gone flat. ‘I – I suppose Peter’s mixed up in this.’
Duke’s mouth tightened into a thin line. ‘We’re both in it. But it don’t mean
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