The Tragedy of Z by Ellery Queen Page B

blood! There is some monstrous hand behind all this, Mr. Hume. But God will not let an innocent creature suffer. That poor child of misfortune …”
    Father said: “Hume told you a couple of minutes ago, Warden, that Dow’s letter to Fawcett came from here with a little hunk of chest. Is one of the toys in your carpentry shop a little wooden chest with letters painted on the side in gilt?”
    â€œI’ll find out for you.” Magnus spoke to the prison-operator over the intra-prison telephone and waited while someone was roused from bed, I suppose. When he put down the receiver, he shook his head. “There’s nothing like that made in the shop, Inspector. Our toy department, incidentally, is rather new. We found that Dow and two other inmates had the ability to carve, and practically created the toy department in the carpentry shop for their benefit.”
    Father glanced quizzically at the district attorney, and Hume said quickly: “Yes, I quite agree that we’ve got to find out exactly what that piece of wood signifies.” But I could see that he really felt it to be unimportant, a detail connected with motive. He reached for the warden’s telephone. “May I? … I think, Inspector, I’ll see now if your hunch about the fifty thousand dollars asked for by Dow in his note isn’t correct.”
    The warden blinked. “It must be something serious Dow had on Fawcett. Fifty thousand dollars!”
    â€œI’ve had a man checking up with Fawcett’s bank in a hurry. Well, we’ll see.” He gave a number to the prison operator. “Hello! Mulcahey? Hume. Find anything?” The corners of his mouth tightened. “Fine! Now work on that Fanny Kaiser angle; see if you can trace any financial tieup between her and the Senator.” He hung up, and said abruptly: “You were right, Inspector. Fawcett withdrew fifty thousand in negotiable bonds and small bills yesterday afternoon—the afternoon, note, of the night he was murdered.”
    â€œAt the same time,” retorted father with a scowl, “I don’t like it. On second thought, isn’t it just a little hammy that a blackmailer would grab his dough and then bump off the man who gave it to him?”
    â€œYes, yes,” said Father Muir eagerly. “A very significant point, Mr. Hume.”
    The district attorney shrugged. “But if there was a fight? Remember that Fawcett’s own letter-knife was used in the killing. That shows the murder wasn’t premediated. A man deliberately setting out to kill would have provided himself with a weapon. Fawcett picked a quarrel with Dow after giving him the money, or attacked him; there was a fight, Dow got his hand on the letter-knife—and there you are.”
    â€œIt is also possible, Mr. Hume,” I suggested softly, “that the murderer did provide himself beforehand with a weapon, but chose to use the letter-knife instead when he found it so close at hand.”
    John Hume looked distinctly annoyed. “A far-fetched hypothesis, Miss Thumm,” he said coldly; and the warden and Father Muir nodded with surprise, as if they wondered how a mere woman had come to think of such an intricate explanation.
    And then one of the telephones on Warden Magnus’s desk trilled, and he picked up the receiver. “For you, Hume. Somebody is excited.”
    The district attorney leaped out of his chair and snatched the telephone.… When he put it down and turned to face us again, my heart jumped. I saw from the expression on his face that something cataclysmic had occurred. His eyes were gleaming with exultation.
    â€œThat was Chief Kenyon,” he said slowly. “Aaron Dow has just been captured, after a struggle, in the woods on the other side of Leeds!”
    There was a small silence, punctuated only by the chaplain’s soft groan.
    â€œHe’s filthy, drunk as a lord.” Hume’s voice rose.