The Bat Part 27

The detective broke in curtly.

"All right."

He took a step toward the alcove.

"Now, Doctor." He nodded at the huddle beneath the raincoat. Beresford followed his glance--and saw the ominous heap for the first time.

"What's that?" he said tensely. No one answered him. The Doctor was already on his knees beside the body, drawing the raincoat gently aside. Beresford stared at the shape thus revealed with frightened eyes. The color left his face.

"That's not--d.i.c.k Fleming--is it?" he said thickly. Anderson slowly nodded his head. Beresford seemed unable to believe his eyes.

"If you've looked over the ground," said the Doctor in a low voice to Anderson, "I'll move the body where we can have a better light." His right hand fluttered swiftly over Fleming's still, clenched fist--extracted from it a torn corner of paper....

Still Beresford did not seem to be able to take in what had happened.

He took another step toward the body.

"Do you mean to say that d.i.c.k Fleming--" he began. Anderson silenced him with an uplifted hand.

"What have you got there, Doctor?" he said in a still voice.

The Doctor, still on his knees beside the corpse, lifted his head.

"What do you mean?"

"You took something, just then, out of Fleming's hand," said the detective.

"I took nothing out of his hand," said the Doctor firmly.

Anderson's manner grew peremptory.

"I warn you not to obstruct the course of justice!" he said forcibly.

"Give it here!"

The Doctor rose slowly, dusting off his knees. His eyes tried to meet Anderson's and failed. He produced a torn corner of blue-print.

"Why, it's only a sc.r.a.p of paper, nothing at all," he said evasively.

Anderson looked at him meaningly.

"Sc.r.a.ps of paper are sometimes very important," said with a side glance at Dale.

Beresford approached the two angrily.

"Look here!" he burst out, "I've got a right to know about this thing.

I brought Fleming over here--and I want to know what happened to him!"

"You don't have to be a mind reader to know that!" moaned Lizzie, overcome.

As usual, her comment went unanswered. Beresford persisted in his questions.

"Who killed him? That's what I want to know!" he continued, nervously puffing his cigarette.

"Well, you're not alone in that," said Anderson in his grimly humorous vein.

The Doctor motioned nervously to them both.

"As the coroner--if Mr. Anderson is satisfied--I suggest that the body be taken where I can make a thorough examination," he said haltingly.

Once more Anderson bent over the sh.e.l.l that had been Richard Fleming.

He turned the body half-over--let it sink back on its face. For a moment he glanced at the corner of the blue-print in his hand, then at the Doctor. Then he stood aside.

"All right," he said laconically.

So Richard Fleming left the room where he had been struck down so suddenly and strangely--borne out by Beresford, the Doctor, and Jack Bailey. The little procession moved as swiftly and softly as circ.u.mstances would permit--Anderson followed its pa.s.sage with watchful eyes. Billy went mechanically to pick up the stained rug which the detective had kicked aside and carried it off after the body. When the burden and its bearers, with Anderson in the rear, reached the doorway into the hall, Lizzie shrank before the sight, affrighted, and turned toward the alcove while Miss Cornelia stared unseeingly out toward the front windows. So, for perhaps a dozen ticks of time Dale was left unwatched--and she made the most of her opportunity.

Her fingers fumbled at the bosom of her dress--she took out the precious, dangerous fragment of blue-print that Anderson must not find in her possession--but where to hide it, before her chance had pa.s.sed?

Her eyes fell on the bread roll that had fallen from the detective's supper tray to the floor when Lizzie had seen the gleaming eye on the stairs and had lain there unnoticed ever since. She bent over swiftly and secreted the tantalizing sc.r.a.p of blue paper in the body of the roll, smoothing the crust back above it with trembling fingers. Then she replaced the roll where it had fallen originally and straightened up just as Billy and the detective returned.

Billy went immediately to the tray, picked it up, and started to go out again. Then he noticed the roll on the floor, stooped for it, and replaced it upon the tray. He looked at Miss Cornelia for instructions.

"Take that tray out to the dining-room," she said mechanically. But Anderson's attention had already been drawn to the tiny incident.

"Wait--I'll look at that tray," he said briskly. Dale, her heart in her mouth, watched him examine the knives, the plates, even shake out the napkin to see that nothing was hidden in its folds. At last he seemed satisfied.

"All right--take it away," he commanded. Billy nodded and vanished toward the dining-room with tray and roll. Dale breathed again.

The sight of the tray had made Miss Cornelia's thoughts return to practical affairs.

"Lizzie," she commanded now, "go out in the kitchen and make some coffee. I'm sure we all need it," she sighed.

Lizzie bristled at once.

"Go out in that kitchen alone?"

"Billy's there," said Miss Cornelia wearily.

The thought of Billy seemed to bring little solace to Lizzie's heart.

"That j.a.p and his jooy-jitsu," she muttered viciously. "One twist and I'd be folded up like a pretzel."

But Miss Cornelia's manner was imperative, and Lizzie slowly dragged herself kitchenward, yawning and promising the saints repentance of every sin she had or had not committed if she were allowed to get there without something grabbing at her ankles in the dark corner of the hall.

When the door had shut behind her, Anderson turned to Dale, the corner of blue-print which he had taken from the Doctor in his hand.

"Now, Miss Ogden," he said tensely, "I have here a sc.r.a.p of blue-print which was in d.i.c.k Fleming's hand when he was killed. I'll trouble you for the rest of it, if you please!"