Murder in a Hurry by Frances and Richard Lockridge

of nowhere in particular,” Weigand said. “A lovely child named, originally, Mary Gallagher. Everybody thought she was wonderful; would do wonderful things. She married Halder, and left the cast of the play. And, a little later, the play left Broadway.”
    Mary Gallagher Halder was, the next year, the mother of a boy. “Your Brian,” Weigand told Liza. They were living in the Sutton Place house; everything seemed to be working out well, despite the disparity in age between Halder and his wife. And then, when Brian was a year old, Halder dramatically “retired” and, a few months later, left the Sutton Place house and went to live in the room back of the shop in West Kepp Street. “Just like that,” Weigand said. “Mrs. Halder says ‘he just decided that was what he wanted.’”
    He had kept the Sutton Place house, given his wife and son a very ample allowance and, when his daughter, Barbara, and her husband lost most of what money they had in 1929, agreed willingly enough (as Mrs. Halder had) that they move into the house.
    â€œHe supported them too, largely,” Weigand said. “Whatever he was, he wasn’t a miser. He—well, he just didn’t like people. Didn’t want to live with them; preferred his animals. Obviously, I suppose, he was what, if you have a sufficient amount of money, is called ‘eccentric.’”
    â€œBrian told me once,” Liza said, “that his father lost all interest in him after he quit crawling around on all fours. He—Brian and I laughed about it.”
    Weigand smiled. He said that Halder certainly seemed to have shifted his interest to quadrupeds.
    Brian had, of course, been far too young for the war; had been in school and had remained in school. Then he had studied architecture at Columbia, but quit before he was graduated and gone into an architect’s office, where he still was. Liza shook her head, slightly. He was still attending classes at Columbia, evenings and Saturdays, in the School of General Studies. He had merely—“well,” she said, “I suppose in a way he resented his father’s attitude. This ‘take what you want so long as you don’t bother me’ business. Wanted to make his own way.” She paused. “He never phrased it so,” she said. “I’m guessing mostly.”
    Weigand nodded; said it sounded reasonable. When Brian went to work, he had found a small apartment of his own and left the Sutton Place house, so that only the Whitesides and Brian’s mother remained in it. Whiteside, incidentally, was a National Guard lieutenant colonel, perfectly willing to be called “Colonel.” So far as Weigand had determined, that was his chief occupation although now and then he bestirred himself to lose a little money in the market. “He has some money left, apparently,” Weigand said. “And his wife has—had—a good allowance from her father.”
    J. K. Halder, Junior, and his wife, Jennifer, had an apartment of their own; the younger Halder was trying to follow in his father’s financial footsteps; the police didn’t yet know with what success, although he and Jennifer lived well enough, in a comfortable apartment at a good address. They were often at the Sutton Place house, as was Brian. “He’s devoted to his mother, apparently,” Weigand said, and looked at Liza for comment. But she had none to make.
    â€œAs to the characters of all these people,” Weigand said, “you’ve all seen them; seen about as much of them as I have.”
    â€œAnd you think—” Pam North began.
    Weigand, apparently ahead of her, shrugged.
    â€œâ€”one of them did it?” he finished, for Pam. “I don’t know, of course. It’s a place to start. You heard them as to where they were when Sneddiger was killed. They’re not much more definite about last night; they all seem to