"Listen, Cap'n.... 'NITA SELIM MURDERED AT BRIDGE'.... Probably the
snappiest streamer headline the News has had for many a day.... Now
let's see--" He was silent for two minutes, while his eyes leaped down
the lesser headlines and the column one, page one story of the murder.
Then: "Good old Strawn! Not a word, my dear Watson, about your absurd
master's absurd performance in having 'the death hand at bridge'
replayed. Not a word about Ralph Hammond, the missing guest! Not a word
about Mrs. Tracey Miles' being hidden away in the clothes closet while
her hostess was being murdered!... In fact, my dear Watson, not a word
about anything except Strawn's own theory that a hired gunman from New
York or Chicago--preferably Nita's home town, New York, of
course--sneaked up, crouched in her window, and bumped her off. _And_
life-size photographs of the big footprints under the window to prove
his theory!... By golly, Cap'n! I clean forgot to tell my former chief
that I'd found Nita's will and note to Lydia! He'll think I deliberately
held out on him.... Well--I can't sit here all day gossiping with you,
'my dear Watson....' Work--much work--to be done; then--Sunday dinner
with poor little Penny."
Four hours later a tired and dispirited young detective was climbing the
stairs of an ugly, five-story "walk-up" apartment house in which Penny
Crain and her mother had been living since the financial failure and
flight of the husband and father, Roger Crain.
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