Red Threads
Val Carew was a highly unusual man--in many
ways. A born gambler, he had gravitated from
Oklahoma to Wall Street and made a fortune. He
had also married a beautiful Cherokee princess.
When she died prematurely, he built a magnificent
tomb in her memory. And it was on the steps of
that tomb that somebody struck him down with
an Indian war club and neatly scalped him.
The only clue was a piece of thread found
clutched in the dead man's hand.
This is the problem facing Inspector Cramer of
the New York Homicide Squad. Chewing the inevitable
cigar, he picks his way through a tangled
web of big business, politics and Indian folklore,
until he discovers, as an old Indian says, "plenty
truth"--and confronts the murderer.
Red Threads is a classic detective story by one
of the world's greatest mystery writers. And for
Rex Stout fans it has a special interest--this is
Inspector Cramer's own case, the only book in
which he is allowed really to show his mettle.
Essential reading, therefore, for every lover of
mystery fiction.
FR1;RED THREADS
by
Rex Stout
TORN STACEY LTD
© 1939, 1967 by Rex Stout
All rights reserved
This edition published 1971 by
Torn Stacey Ltd. / 28-29 Maiden Lane, London WC2E 7JP
England
SBN 85468 101 9
Printed in Great Britain by
Biddies Ltd., Martyr Road, Guildford, Surrey
CHAPTER I
eileen delaney heard the door of the noisy old
elevator close behind her, and the diminuendo of its
bang and rattle as its ascent progressed up the shaft.
A few steps down the hall she was confronted by a
dingy glass-panelled door bearing the inscription
in gilt-edged black lettering :
JEAN FARRIS FABRICS, INC.
Entrance
Before turning the knob and entering, she glared
at the legend and stuck out her tongue at it. This
implied no hatred of Jean Fan-is or enmity toward
fabrics; the fact was that she admired the one to
excess and permitted the other to monopolise all
her talents and attention ; the derisive protrusion
of her tongue was merely a private but visible
recording of her sceptical attitude toward life in
general and her intention to keep her sense of
proportion even upon entering a shrine. Especially
since she was a stockholder in the shrine.
Tossing a nod on the fly at the chunky little
woman seated at a flat-topped desk in the anteroom,
Miss Delaney went on through another door
in a partition. There was noise and activity, and
even bustle. It was an enormous room, running the
entire length of the building, and its width at least
a third of its length. Beams of wooden-framed
structures, nine feet high and nearly as wide, made
a confusing maze of horizontal and vertical lines,
and the confusion was completed by arrays of 5
6 RED THREADS
countless spools on spindles, taut threads of yarns
converging on their slots in steel guides, shuttles
gliding rapidly back and forth with the woof to be
imprisoned in the warp, and the movements of the
men and women on their stools before the looms.
But there were no racing belts and no whirring of
machinery ; these were hand looms.
Miss Delaney went down the broad aisle, halting
for a moment beside a loom where a woman with
black hair, dark skin, and a strong straight back
sat on the stool whipping the shuttle, and then
continuing almost to the other end, where a worriedlooking
middle-aged man who was smoking a pipe
advanced to greet her.
Miss Delaney said, " Hello, Karl. Everything will
smell of tobacco again."
He kept the pipe in his mouth and said with a
meekness that was veneered on iron, " I think not.
You know the sponging."
" I know. All right. Why have you put Pakahle
on the piece for Muir & Beebe ? I thought you
agreed——"
" Pakahle is a fine weaver."
" Sure she is, but on heavy stuff. She'll never in
God's world keep that piece tight enough."
" She will. Jake is home, sick. I watch her."
" You'd better. You know—if it comes back——"
Miss Delaney shrugged. " What I wanted to tell you,
Krone says he must have the natural kasha, the
one with nubs, by to-morrow afternoon. He has
sold it to a giraffe named Mrs. Richmond for a sports
ensemble, and she keeps telephoning from Newport
and reversing the charge. Can you make it ? "
" I think so."
" Good. I'll phone Krone and relieve his mind."
Miss Delaney turned to go, then she wheeled on
him again and lifted her nose for an offensive sniff.
FR1;REDTHREADS 7
" If you told me that's thyme and rosemary in that
pipe, I still wouldn't like it."
She left him. Returning half the length of the
broad aisle, and crossing to the far side, she passed
through a door set in a ceiling-high glassed partition.
This was apparently a storage room, with two large
tables, enclosed shelves and bins, and a strong
smell of napthalene. There were other doors at
either end, and Miss Delaney headed for the one on
the left. She rapped with her knuckles on its panel
and then immediately opened it and went in, involuntarily
inhaling for the breath of a sigh as she
did so.
She always sighed on entering that room, though
she had come to realize that its chaos resulted not
so much from disorder as from the laws of space.
Untold thousands of skeins and windings and spools
of yam--linen, silk, cotton, wool, alpaca, cashmere,
Shetland, mohair, llama--were on shelves, stands
and tables, draped^ on the backs of chairs, hung
in loops on the walls. Also on the walls were colour
charts, squares and rectangles of fabrics, sketches,
drawings, whole pieces of materials, prints of ancient
textiles, and various unclassifiable objects. Other
yams and fabrics were in bags and boxes and
baskets on shelves and tables and the floor ; and on
the largest table was a clutter of sheets of paper of
all sizes, crayons and pencils, scissors and glue and
other miscellany, and more yams and shreds of
fabric.
At one side of this table a young woman was
perched on a high stool. She had soft hair the colour
of strained honey, grey eyes whose lids came .to a
point with a faint upthrust toward the temples,
and highly coloured cheeks ; and wore a blue linen
smock which was not especially clean. What she
had been doing was uncertain, for as the intruder
8 REDTHREADS
entered she appeared to be completing some quick,
rather flurried movement, and made a grab for one
of the sheets of paper.
Miss Delaney gazed at her in astonishment. " Well
now what?" She advanced to the table. " I swear
to God you're blushing I "
Jean Fan-is laughed and swung around on the stool. " Of course I'm blushing! Your knock
startled me. I was reading that article by Stuart.
I'm not conceited enough to swallow that. Have
you read it ? "
Miss Delaney grunted, with a doubtful eye. <( You're conceited enough. For more than that.
Anyway, I don't see it---- Oh, under there ? "
She took two steps. " Why did you hide----*' She reached for a pile of skeins, and under it. Jean
Fan-is put out a hand at her, and hastily drew it
back. Miss Delaney's hand emerged from the pile of skeins clutching a book. " But Stuart's article wasn't
in a---- What the dickens is this ? " She flipped
back the cover and frowned at the title page, held
the frown for some seconds, finally tossed the book
back on to the table, looked sharply at Jean Farris's
face, still highly coloured, and let out a snort.
" So! " There was a suggestion of a squeak in
her voice. " I don't suppose you were reading
Stuart's article in that book ? "
Jean said mildly, " I--I didn't mean I was reading
it that minute-'-when you came in. I read it this
morning. He said that my colour sense, combined
with my feeling for----"
" I know he did. Excuse me. It was that book
that you shoved under the yam when I came in. Customs and Culture of the Cherokee Indians. I
suppose ethnology is very interesting, but good
heavens I You hid the book when you heard me
coming, and I never saw you blush like that.'"
11
REDTHREADS 9
" I didn't hide it."
" Certainly you hid it."
" I wasn't blushing. If I was, it was only because
I'm a week late on those designs for the Oxford and
Shetland----"
" You're always late. It never matters, because
every one is more than willing to wait till you're
ready, and you ought to be ashamed of yourself
to intimate that I would ever have the nerve to get'
impatient----" \
Miss Delaney stopped because she realized that
her voice was squeaky. She turned for a chair,
acquired one by moving a box of colour cards from
its seat to a stand, and sat down.
She looked into the young woman's grey eyes.
" We might as well not be silly. May I ask you a
question, Jean ? Where did you get that Look and
why were you reading it ? Just an ordinary question."

" I got it----" Jean waved a hand, vaguely.
Then she grinned. " I got it at the oddest place!
You'd never guess. A bookstore I And I'm reading
it because I am a designer of fabrics--Jean Farris,
maybe you've heard the name ?--and there is a
great deal to be learned from the study of primitive
weaving. ... I think it is pretty darned honest
of me to admit that I still need to learn. . . ."
Miss Delaney, looking straight at her, snorted
again. She said grimly, " You really should know
better than to try to fake me."
" Why, Eileen I I wouldn't! You know very well
I'm interested in the American Indian design and
workmanship I Didn't I spend two weeks in New
Mexico, and didn't I bring Pakahle back with me ? "
" Pakahle is a Navajo. The Cherokees couldn't
weave a gunny sack--and anyhow, they never
tried." Miss Delaney shook her head, with com10 RED THREADS
pressed lips. " No. You shouldn't try to fake me,. Jean. I know all about it anyway. It's obvious.
I've suspected it ever since Saturday, when you
went to that ball game. Why in the name of heaven. should you go to a ball game ? Romance." Miss. Delaney snorted. " You went to all the trouble of
buying that book, and sitting there reading about
the customs of a bunch of savages that couldn't even
weave, and you tried to hide the book when I caught
you at it, and you blushed like a sunset on a post
card because I caught you. . . . Why ? Because
the worst thing that could possibly happen has
happened. You haven't even fallen in love with
a man. You have gone dotty over a damned
aborigine."
" I have not gone dotty I "
" You have gone dotty. A Cherokee Indian."
" Adam and Eve were aborigines I "
" That's ridiculous. Anyway, if we're discussing romance, the less said about Adam and Eve the
better. You know what happened to theirs."
" I didn't mention romance, you did. Will Rogers
was a Cherokee Indian."
" I never met him. It's a good thing you didn't.
So you don't deny it ? "
" Of course not." Jean's cheeks had hoisted a. flag again, but not this time, apparently, the banner
of embarrassment. Her grey eyes looked indignant.
" Really, Eileen. I don't feel under the necessity of
denying or admitting anything."
"Meaning it's none of my business." Miss
Delaney compressed her lips and sat motionless for
a full minute. A keen eye might have perceived
that the lips were not compressed quite tightly
enough, might have remarked a faint inclination to
sag at the corners; but if a streak of pathos, a
concealed doubt of her ability to avert impending
RED THREADS II
calamity, did indeed adulterate her resolution, it
was not apparent in her voice. She resumed, " But
you're wrong, you know you are. I certainly don't
pretend to be an expert on lovers, though I'm
fifty-two years old, which is exactly twice your age.
Lack of experience. But I'm an expert on you.
You have the finest and most original talent for
textile design in America--if Marley Stuart says so
why shouldn't I, even if I am your partner ? And
you not only have the talent, you have a passion
for it. It's a strange and beautiful fire in you ; it
actually creates things that didn't exist before;
and a century from now, two centuries, more, men
and women will wear things on their backs that will
be different from what they would have been if you
hadn't lived."
Jean said, " Piffle. I just like'to make designs."
" Lots of other people like to, too. Don't be
modest. You know darned well how good you are,
you have too much sense not to. So if anything
happened to take you away from this----" Miss
Delaney's head pivoted for a survey of the rainbow
chaos of the room--" it would be a disaster for
humanity. Not as big a disaster as the end of the
world maybe, but it would be an awful shame.
So if you go dotty over a Cherokee Indian, it's
everybody's business, and it is particularly my
business because I'm personally and selfishly concerned.
I've been bumming around the textile and fashion world for thirty years now, in various
capacities, and it wasn't until I tied up with you,
four years ago, that I got anything out of it except three meals a day--when I wasn't reducing--and
the trick . of keeping my fingers crossed during
business hours. Look at them now."
She extended a hand and wiggled the fingers.
" I've forgotten how. You, nothing but an inspired
12 REDTHREADS
kid, you've made an honest woman of me. I could
get maudlin easy, you know I'm Irish. So to me
it would be worse than a disaster if you were to
give this up; it would mean diving back into
that mess----"
" But, Eileen I I haven't the faintest intention of
giving it up I My lord, just because I read a book
on the customs and culture of the Cherokee Indians----"
"
That's not it." Miss Delaney sounded gloomy.
" I mean, look at you. I can't imagine how you've
escaped both the altar and the bed of sin as long
as you have. With your--well, your physical construction
and appearance--a man is not only probable,
he's inevitable, and humanity could have no
objection to that, and neither could I. Of course,
the ideal would be a good-looking youngster who
would understand and appreciate your work and
the importance of your career, and would make
himself useful--he might give Karl a hand and
perhaps eventually take Karl's place, or he might
be better fitted for the promotion end and help me
out--possibly even business manager. ..."
" My God." Jean shuddered. Then she laughed.
" I thought you spoke of romance."
" I did." Miss Delaney sounded stubborn. " I
swear you're an innocent--you, who studied five
years in Vienna! A romance with a salesman or a
bookkeeper can get just as good results as one with
an Indian, on the average better. I have nothing
against romance. The truth is, I have nothing
against Cherokee Indians iither. If you happened
to focus on one like Mabel Dodge's Tony, I would
be delighted. We could get him a big cushion to
sit on and find room to put it somewhere--even
in this room with you if you wanted to. What I
don't like--and I maintain it is my business, and a
RED THREADS 13
lot of other people's--is your getting lightheaded
over the chance to become a quote lady unquote
and go to hell."
Jean laughed again. " I wouldn't be a lady if
you gave it to me for nothing. There might be
some excitement in hell----"
" Not in that one. And you'll be a lady if you
marry Guy Carew. Not that I suppose you've gone
far enough to consider marriage; I'm trying to
catch it in its early stage. Now that his father's
dead he's worth perhaps twenty million--possibly
twice that. He owns a yacht, a villa at Palm Beach,
a place in the Adirondacks, the house on Sixtyninth
Street, the estate of Lucky Hills in Westchester,
a racing stable--do you think he'd let
you go on sitting on that stool breathing creation
or fussing with yarn dealers or arguing with Karl
or having your picture took for Women's Wear
Daily? Or if he did let you, that you'd still be
inclined to take the trouble, after a year or so ?
You would not. You would either rot or dry up.
Pieces and shreds of you----"
" Eileen I Stop I I would not. And he isn't like
that. He didn't buy the yacht or the Palm Beach
villa. *He spends his time out West, among his
people, the Indians, helping them----"
" You mean he did spend his time like that. It's
a good field for a dilettante. He's not a rich man's
son now, he's the rich man. I'm not saying he's
just a lump of living tissue ; though he inherited
his millions, I'll admit it's quite possible that he
earned them." Miss Belaney snorted. " How
long has it been, a month, since his father was
murdered ? In such a peculiar fashion ? And the
police appear to be completely up a tree ? " She
snorted again. " Appear to be I But, of course, you
hear the gossip as well as I do. I suppose that might
14 REDTHREADS
make him more romantic, to have half of New
York convinced that he's a parricide--only I
wouldn't have thought you'd fall----"
The concentration in Jean's eyes stopped her.
She met them, with an effort, in silence. Jean said,
low and quiet, " Why . . . that's bad of you. I
thought you were only acid sometimes ... I
didn't know you could be venomous. . . ."
" I can be." Miss Delaney was quiet too. *' Where
any danger to this is concerned. This is my life
now, my whole life." She put up a hand as if to
touch the other, but the distance was too great, and
the hand fell back to her lap. " Only I didn't intend
to be venomous, and I don't think I was.
After all, you do hear the gossip; I wasn't saying
anything new. Honestly, Jean, honestly, x don't
want to see you make a mistake. I would do anything
to keep you here. Maybe I've made a-mistake
myself, but surely it can't have gone very far, since
you only met the man two weeks ago--and I
thought--when I saw you with that book--before
it could develop into something serious----"
" I guess it already has." Jean tried a little
laugh which didn't work very well. " They say
marriage is serious."
" What! " Miss Delaney's squeak was unrestrained.
" Marriage ? "
Jean nodded and repeated firmly, " Marriage."
" You . . . you . . . Jean . . ." The squeak
came under control. " I don't believe it. You're
just trying to see if I would fall dead. Well, I
would."
" No, you won't. It won't affect us--this business.
At least, not much."
" I don't believe it. You don't mean it's all
settled ? "
" Why . . ." Jean hesitated, and her brow
FR1;REDTHREADS 15
showed a wrinkle. "It is and it isn't. Secretly it is settled. I mean, I know about it but he doesn't.
You've never seen him, have you ? "
"No. How does it happen he doesn't know it's
settled ? "
" Because it hasn't come up." The wrinkle in
Jean's brow was joined by another. " You see ...
you know how I am. I've never been much for
men, have I ? "
" No, thank God. You've been too busy."
Jean nodded. " I'm not as innocent as you think
I am. I've had lots of--I suppose you might call
them ideas--about different men--especially the
one in Vienna who wanted to give me that mountain
I told you about--but whenever it got a certain
point I couldn't help laughing. You know, when they
begin to look as if their collar was choking them ? "
" I don't know. I don't seem to have that effect on
their collars."
" Well, I do ... that is, I mean, they do look
that way, and it isn't possible to keep from laughing,
and they get as mad as the devil. Then I
suppose, as you say, I've been so interested in my
work----"
" Has this Indian begun choking yet ? "
" No." Quick blood made spots of colour on
Jean's cheeks. Her chin lifted. " Nothing has
occurred ... I don't consider him in that connection.
I do make quick decisions about things,
you know I do. Up till Saturday afternoon I had
no idea whether I would ever be married or not;
I hadn't thought about it much. Then quite suddenly
I decided I would marry him. That's why I
say it's settled for me, but it hasn't been settled for
him yet."
" Has he mentioned the subject ? "
" Certainly not. He's only seen me four times."
l6 REDTHREADS
Miss Delaney sat motionless, with pursed lips,
staring with concentrated speculation at her partner's
face. Finally, she declared with emphasis,
" I don't believe it. You're rolling me. You're
fairly well educated, and you have a good sense of
humour, and there you sit talking like a paleolithic
cave girl on leap-year day. Unless you're really
deep and devious, which I've never suspected, and
you've decided in cold blood to freeze on to that
twenty million or whatever it is."
Jean was laughing. " I don't care whether he has
twenty million or twenty cents! I can always
make money, with you to help." She sobered.
" But it's settled. Really, Eileen. And don't you
dare mention it to anybody, because I don't know,
it may take years---- Well! Come in I "
The knock had been at the door in the partition
behind her, across the room from the one by which
Miss Delaney had entered. It opened, and the
chunky little woman from the ante-room appeared,
carrying a large flat box of green and yellow cardboard
secured with wide yellow tape. She advanced
to the table.
" From Krone."
Jean Farris had bounded from the stool and was
exclaiming. " Thank heaven! I was afraid it
wouldn't get here in time. I'll be late as it is. No,
wait, Cora, don't go, I want to see how you like
it. You too, Eileen, of course." She had the lid
off and the top garment unfolded and was holding
it up for inspection. " Oh, my God I He ended
that stripe at the wrong--no, he didn't. Look!
See how the line 61 the stripe in the jacket will meet
it ? Hey, what's that ?* Oh--snip that thread, will
you, Cora ? Isn't it pretty fine ? Would you think
that stripe could be so quiet ? That's because the
dark blend of the tabby absorbs it--just a trick!
FR1;REDTHREADS 17
Everything is just a trick." She laughed. With
the smock off and likewise the dress that had been
under it, the pink silk hanging from the shoulder
straps left almost as much bare skin displayed as
if it had been a fashionable swimming suit. The
skin was nicely tanned. She touched the pink silk.
" Have you seen these, Eileen ? Bretton's are
featuring them--they call them Shapesheers I Isn't
that terrible ? Sheepshears, Shakespeares--it will
haunt you. Cora, please dear, the brown pumps
from that cupboard--no, over there--I'm glad it
isn't sweltering, because I do want to show this
sort of casually--and oh, I forgot to phone Roberts
& Creel to send samples of that two-sixteens
mixture----"
Miss Delaney was emptying a drawer, trying to
find stockings to go with the brown pumps.
CHAPTER TWO
inspector cramer removed a shred of cigar from
his tongue with his finger and thumb and deposited
it in an ash tray on the police commissioner's desk.
" I'm not exactly kicking," he declared, " I'm only
remarking. I only say, it's not our cat and why
should we apologise if we don't skin it ? I take a
man's-size vacation for the first time in fifteen
years, and to get called back like this for something
that happened at the North Pole----"
District Attorney Skinner gestured impatiently.
" Swallow it, Cramer. You're sore because the
fishing wasn't good and the flies bit you. Mount
Kisco isn't the North Pole. It's out of our jurisdiction,
but District Attorney Anderson of Westchester
has asked for help, and the press and the
public know we're working on it anyhow, and we're
taking it on the chin. Anyway, here you are. Do
you mean to say you haven't read about it ? "
" I do." The inspector sounded bitter. " I've been
up in Canada branding moose, and as for fish----"
" All right." Skinner was brusque. " Then you'll
have to hear all of it. Shall I shoot, Humbert ? "
The police commissioner nodded. " Go ahead."
" Okay. I'll condense it as much as I can."
Skinner took a thick batch of papers from a folder,
laid them on the table, and leaned back in his
chair. "I suppose you know the history of Val
Carew."
" Some."
" We know it all, now. Thirty-five years ago he
was a gambler out in Oklahoma. We haven't picked
up anything definite earlier than 1905, when he
met an Indian girl, a Cherokee, and married her.
18
FR1;REDTHREADS 19
They had a son, and lived on the tribal land until
1913, when the oil thing got big and the Indians
cleaned up. The Indian girl--her name was
Tsianina--her father was a chief and got ten headrights,
so he was rich, and he staked Carew and his
daughter and they came east, straight to New
York. Since Val Carew was a born gambler, he
took his stake to Wall Street, where the gambling
was good, and within five years, by the time the
war ended, he had multiplied his pile by ten and
learned all the tricks.
" Ten years ago, in 1927, his wife died. He had
introduced her around New York as an Indian
princess, and apparently she really was a princess
to him, or even, you might say, a goddess, for he
worshipped her from the day he married her until the
day she died." Skinner rummaged among the
papers, withdrew one, and tossed it across. " There's
a picture of her. People say she was even more
beautiful than that; I never met her. Anyhow,
by 1927 Carew was up in the really high brackets,
and when his wife died he built a tomb for her out
of Oklahoma sandstone on his estate at Lucky
Hills, as he called it, up north of Mount Kisco. I've
been in it; all of us have, for a special reason. It's
as big as a barn. The walls, inside, are covered
with Indian relics, and there are cabinets filled
with them too. The ceiling is thirty feet high.
Stone steps lead up to a stone platform, and on
top of the stone platform is a casket made of wood,
covered with buckskin, and with a glass top. Inside
the casket, in plain view, is Tsianina. You
ought to see her."
Cramer grunted. " I ought to be in Canada
fishing."
" Oh, forget it. Anyway, there she is. I've seen
her. We all have. It sounds grotesque, but it isn't,
FR1;20 REDTHREADS
it's impressive. But how do you like this for grotesque
? All along one side, running across the wall
in a straight line about twenty feet from the floor,
is a row of holes eight inches in diameter. There are
365 holes. All you can see, standing on the floor
and looking up, is just a hole; but if you climb a
ladder and look directly into one, you find that a
cylinder has been chiselled clear through the stone wall, thirty inches thick, and you are looking at
daylight. What do you suppose those 365 cylinders
were chiselled through that wall for? "
Inspector Cramer shook his head. " Got me.
Hell, you could have had this printed and mailed
me a copy."
" Yeah. But you should have the picture. As I
said, Val Carew was a born gambler, and so naturally
was superstitious. Also, he worshipped Tsianina,
his wife. Also, the Cherokees were traditionally sun
worshippers, and Tsianina's father stuck to many
of the old customs which most of his tribe had
discarded. I've had a lot of this from Amory
Buysse, curator of the National Indian Museum ;
you'll meet him ; wait till I tell you. This is what
the holes in the wall were for : they were so arranged,
as to direction, that each morning, an hour after
sunrise, the sun's rays would enter through one of
them and shine directly on Tsianina's face. That
took some mathematics and some engineering.
Carew had experts for that."
" Wait a minute." Cramer had an eye cocked and
his cigar tilted up. " Seems to me I've heard of that
stunt before."
" Maybe. The Egyptians did it in the Great
Pyramid, but only for one day in the year. Carew
saw 'em and raised 'em. In a basement beneath
the tomb is an enormous electric motor. Every
day, at noon, the platform holding the casket,
REDTHREADS 21
and the stone steps, slide automatically to the
proper position for the next morning."
The inspector grunted. " He went to a lot of
trouble."
" He did. But as I say, Tsianina's people were
sun worshippers, and he worshipped Tsianina,
and he was a superstitious gambler. All that
arrangement had a purpose. Undoubtedly you
could call him a nut if he hadn't piled up more
millions than he had fingers and toes; you can
anyway, if you want to, but it won't have any effect
on your bank account. As for the purpose of the
sunshine on Tsianina's face, he made no secret of
it. He often went to the tomb at daybreak and
stayed there until an hour after sunrise, and when
he had any sort of important decision to make, he
let her make it. If at that moment the sun's rays
were on Tsianina's face, it meant that he was
supposed to be concentrating on his memory of her
and that nothing else mattered, and therefore it
was thumbs down on whatever course of action he
might be contemplating; but if her face remained
in shadow he was supposed to go ahead with whatever
he had in mind."
" For God's sake." Cramer sounded disgusted.
" I still think he went to a lot of trouble. Who
kept him from fudging ? "
The district attorney shook his head. " You're
not a mystic, Cramer. Neither am I. I don't know
whether Val Carew fudged or not, but I do know
that plenty of modem buildings, right here in this
modern metropolis, omit the thirteenth floor. I'm
just letting you know what that tomb is like and
how it got that way. You have to know, because
it was in Tsianina's tomb that Val Carew was
found murdered at 7.20 in the morning of Wednesday,
July 7th, four weeks ago yesterday."
22 REDTHREADS
" Huh. Four days after I left." Cramer took out
a fresh cigar and settled into his chair. " Go ahead."
Skinner settled too. " His body was found at the
foot of the stone steps leading to the platform on
which the casket with Tsianina rested, huddled as
if it had fallen down the steps. You'll see the photographs.
A few feet away on the floor was one of
the relics from the wall, an Indian war club--a
round heavy stone with a hickory sapling for a
handle. Carew had been struck twice with it--a
glancing blow on the right cheekbone, and a crusher
back of the left temple. The second blow caved
his skull in. Also near by on the floor was another
relic, an old hunting knife with a curving blade.
It had been used to remove a circle of hide and hair
from the top of Carew's head, some three inches in
diameter. In other words, he had been scalped.
The scalp was found. Among the relics on the wall
is a buckskin tunic that was once worn by Tsianina's
great-grandfather, and the scalp had been tucked
into the girdle of that."
Cramer grunted. " This ain't a case for a detective
inspector, what you" need is Buffalo Bill. Who
found the body, a party of Boy Scouts ? "
"No. Woodrow Wilson."
" Who ? " Cramer stared. He growled sarcastically,
" I see you're being funny. I'm still sore
and I'm not laughing. Save the gags till next time."
" It wasn't a gag. Carew's body was found by
Woodrow Wilson. When Carew came east in 1913
with his wife and young son, and his stake, an Indian
came along--a cousin or something of Tsianina's.
The Indian decided that since he was coming to the
white man's big city he should take a white man's
name, and he had often heard of Woodrow Wilson
because Wilson was President then, so he picked
that one. I suppose it doesn't matter what his
FR1;REDTHREADS 23
Indian name was, and it's a good thing it doesn't
because he claims he has forgotten it. I don't know
how old he was in 1913, but now he appears to be
somewhere between 60 and 90. He grunts exactly
the way an Indian is supposed to grunt. For the
past ten years, since Tsianina died, he has spent
most of his time hanging around her tomb, either
inside or outside the high yew hedge which surrounds
it. He was doing that on the morning of
July 7th, having left the house before daybreak,
and he saw Carew enter the tomb, letting himself
in with his key for the triple Willentz lock. Sunrise
that morning was at 4.30--5.30 daylight saving;
so Carew would have been awaiting the sun on
Tsianina's face, if any, at half-past six. The Indian
says that he and Carew spoke to each other. Only
three people besides Carew were ever permitted to
enter the tomb : Woodrow Wilson, Amory Buysse
of the National Indian Museum, and Guy Carew,
the son. But the Indian says he didn't enter that
morning. About forty minutes after sunrise, which
would have been at 6.10, he was standing by a gap
at the end of an alley in the yew hedge, when something
hit him from behind.' That's all he knows
about it, or all he'll tell; he was knocked out. He
had a bruise on his scalp. When he came to he was
tied and gagged with strips of his own shirt. He
worked himself loose and went to the tomb and
found Carew's body there. He says he touched
nothing and went to the house almost immediately,
and he got to Guy Carew's room a minute or two
before 7.30."
Cramer interrupted chewing his cigar to mutter
half to himself, " More than four weeks ago. I
hate these damned stale setups. When did we first
get it ? "
" Well, we haven't got it. We have and we
FR1;24 RED THREADS
haven't. It wasn't in our county and it still isn't
our case, but Anderson of Westchester started
yelling uncle two weeks ago, and, of course, we
have to co-operate, and besides, most of the investigation
has centred in New York. Carew lived
at Lucky Hills only four months of the year. The
newspapers and the public regard it as a New York
case, and we can't laugh that off. You'll have to
take it, that's all there is to it, and give it all you've
got. I've given you the bare facts, and now you'd
better go through the reports and all this stuff, then
see the commissioner and me again, and then have
a talk with Anderson. As you say, it's stale, so you
can't rush any one off his feet anyhow."
" Yeah." The inspector sounded sour and doubtful.
" I'd like to ask, are any of you playing a
favourite ? "
Police Commissioner Humbert put in abruptly,
" The Indian did it."
" You mean Woodrow Wilson ? "
" I do."
" Motive ? "
" You'll get it in the reports. Carew was about
to forsake the memory of Tsianina and get married
again."
" Okay." Cramer turned back to the district
attorney. " Okay ? "
" No. I doubt it." Skinner hesitated. " It's a
damned complicated case. Anderson had the Indian
in jail for two weeks, and then turned him loose
when Guy Carew got Sam Orlik on the job. There's
no good line anywhere."
Cramer regarded him, and after a moment said
slowly, " I wish to admit one thing. I said I knew
nothing about it, but the truth is that on the train
to-day I got into a little discussion with fellow
passengers, just as a citizen. I heard a lot of scandal,
FR1;REDTHREADS 25
nothing to it of course, but has anybody showed
an inclination to try putting Guy Carew in jail ? "
A swift glance passed between the two officials.
Cramer grinned and continued, " Let me tell you.
Once upon a time, long before there were any
Indians around Mount Kisco, a fellow had his
throat cut and died. When an honest detective
found out who did it, it turned out to be a philanthropist
named Izzy Gazooks, who owned both
banks of the Hudson River and was vice-president
of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to
Politicians. So the detective moved to the country
and kept chickens. Well, I suppose it is understood
that I don't like chickens ? "
The police commissioner spluttered, " You're
crazy. We wouldn't have hauled you back from
Canada if what we were looking for was a cover."
" Good. Then Guy Carew is just folks ? "
" He is," Skinner snapped. " And since you've
put it that way, I may as well tell you that I think
Anderson fumbled on him. Guy Carew is half
Indian. Tsianina was his mother, and his father
was about to marry again. Guy inherits the-entire
fortune. His father had for years furnished him
large sums for the work he was doing among the
Indians, and Guy learned that that generosity was
likely to be stopped. Guy had just returned from
the West and was there on July 7th, in the house
at Lucky Hills. I would have advised Anderson to
charge him two weeks ago, but for one thing, his
alibi."
" Oh. Good one ? "
" Well. A woman was in his room with him from
2 a.m. until the Indian arrived to report the murder."
" A good woman ? I mean good for credibility ? "
" I would say yes. Portia Tritt."
" Don't know her. Do you ? "
2,6 REDTHREADS
" I had met her. Handsome and smart. She had
hooked old Carew. He was going to marry her."
Cramer grunted. " And she was in Guy's room
from 2 a.m. on. Nice picture. Is Guy a roving
stag ? "
" Not by reputation. There was something years
ago with Portia Tritt--you'll read it here. Since
the murder he has seen a lot of her. Then recently
he took up with another one, another smart one, a
gal by the name of Jean Fan-is, a designer. It's
all in the reports. Of course we're on him all the
time, and for the past week we've had a tail on this
Jean Fan-is too ; the case has got to the point where
you could call it desperate. Portia Tritt's alibi for
Guy Carew may be a phoney, but try and prove it,
or even guess why it should be. Besides those two,
there were four guests at Lucky Hills that night:
Leo Kranz, textile importer, an old friend,of Carew's;
Amory Buysse, curator of the National Indian
Museum, which Carew had endowed and was
supporting; and Melville Barth and his wife, of
Barth & Pomeroy, Wall Street and railroads. But
it's quite possible that they're all innocent; any
one who knew the place and knew Carew's habits
could easily have got into the grounds and to the
tomb without being seen--except by the Indian,
and he was knocked cold. So he says."
" Nothing left for the sweepers ? "
" Damn little. Just two things, and Anderson
claims that first-rate men did the job. Fingerprints
of Porta Tritt were found in four places:
on the brass door of the tomb and its lever handle,
on one of the relic cabinets--not the one where the
knife had been--on the glass top of Tsianina's
casket, and on the handle of a lance. The lance was
hanging in its proper place on the wall, and its iron
head showed no sign of recent use. Portia Tritt
RED-THREADS VJ
says that Carew had taken her there a week before
his death."
" I thought only the son and Buysse and the
Indian were allowed to enter."
Skinner shrugged. " That's her story. There were
no prints on the knife or the war club. The other
thing Anderson's men found was a clue that seemingly
should lead to the answer, and maybe it
should but it hasn't. Clutched tight in the fingers
of Carew's left hand was a piece of thread--or
yam or whatever you want to call it. It was wool,
dark red, an inch and a half long. The bets are
on the probability that when he got the glancing
blow on the cheek Carew grabbed for the intruder
and pulled that piece of thread from his clothes,
and the next blow smashed his head in. So you'd
think with modem laboratory methods that thread
would lead to the answer; and to some extent it
has. It has been identified as a piece of the yam
that Indians in the south-west used two or three
centuries ago. They called it bayeta. While he was
trying to trace it Anderson kept mum about it,
not wanting to tip the murderer off that he had it,
but he got nowhere, and last week we decided to
turn it loose in certain quarters but not to publish
it. That was a mistake. We didn't find out anything,
and day before yesterday it got to a reporter
somehow and he made the rounds with it. We had
to bear down hard to prevent publication, but the
damn reporter had already done plenty of harm.
He spilled it--but here." The district attorney
returned the batch of papers to the folder and
shoved it across. " You'll read the reports on it."
Cramer sighed, lumbered to his feet, reached for
the folder and tucked it under his arm. " I guess
I will," he growled. " I had an Indian guide up in
Canada. I'd like to catch the dirty pup that swung
FR1;28 REDTHREADS
that war club and ruined my vacation. Hell, I
will--with that swell clue you've got, you might say his life is hanging by a thread. Ha, ha, ha."
He stamped out.
CHAPTER THREE
How did it happen that the press showing of
Bernetta's fall line (sports, town informal, travel) was
held at the elaborate country place of Mr. and Mrs.
Melville Earth near Portchester, with cocktails under
the trees from five till seven-thirty ? Such a puzzle
was no puzzle to the initiated, who knew that
Bernetta's real name was Ivy, that she was a first
cousin of Mrs. Earth, and that Mrs. Earth had
sunk $60,000 of her husband's money in the Eernetta
business before it had begun to pay. It was worth
a few hours' time, a few dozen cocktails, and a little
wear and tear on the grass, to help keep it paying.
Not that Mrs. Earth was ashamed of the connection
or tried any camouflage. For instance, at
six o'clock that afternoon, she was saying to Jean
Farris, " Yes, thank goodness, it's better than ever.
Every one is here except the Herald Tribune, Ivy
says, and I understand she's peeling, got it at
Southampton last week, the sun there can be very bad. They are all raving about the sport ensembles
Ivy made from your things--such fabrics I I tell
Ivy she should have priced them at three hundred
at least, but she likes volume. At two-fifty she
might as well be giving them away. And speaking
of ensembles, I never saw anything like the stuff
you're wearing I Did Ivy make it ? "
" No, Krone."
Mrs. Earth nodded. " I thought so. His jackets
FR1;REDTHREADS 29
always sag on the right. But suck material! Your
own, of course. The placing of that stripe is sheer
genius. And the stripe itself is incredible I I never
saw such a colour. Unique I Ivy was telling me
the other day that you pick up yams in the most
out-of-the-way places, that you even go to secondhand
stores. ..."
Jean, finishing her cocktail, made a pretence of
listening. She was bored and a little irritated, but
not really in a bad humour, for Ivy-Bernetta had
made intelligent use of her designs on the whole;
and the praise had been even handsomer than usual.
She let Mrs. Barth rattle on, and looked around.
There were perhaps a hundred women, and half as
many men, scattered around that corner of the
shady lawn. White-jacketed servants moved among
them with trays ; one wheeled a serving wagon.
In front of the main group two professionally lovely
models, wearing tailored woollen dresses, paraded
and smiled ; and as they disappeared into a gaily
coloured tent, two others emerged in slacks and
long flaring jackets. A genteel murmur floated over
the lawn and up among the leaves; certain individuals
could be seen scribbling on pads of paper,
glancing up at the models, and scribbling again.
Those, all women, were the elite and exclusive
source of the river of publicity in American feminine
fashions. The presence of three press photographers
with their cameras testified that an Ivy-Bemetta
showing was an event.
Some of the men looked as if they belonged
there ; others looked silly. One of them, middleaged
and above middle size, with black eyes and an
arc of his tanned pate showing, detached himself
from a group and approached Mrs. Barth with a
bow.
His voice was pleasant: " I'm sure you hadn't
30 REDTHREADS
noticed, but I haven't paid my respects. You were
surrounded, as usual, when I came in. This is very
nice "--he waved a hand--" very successful, I
congratulate you. ... I must congratulate you
also. Miss Fan-is. When I first saw your things, four
years ago, I told myself, ( Here is a little girl who
got hold of a clever idea in Vienna; it will last a
season, or possibly two.' But how wrong I was!
You get better all the time. Those things here
to-day--marvellous I A quiet assurance to their
beauty--no freakishness I The sort of thing that
lasts and grows. You are going to bankrupt us
importers."
Jean laughed. " Don't turn my head, Mr. Kranz.
Thank you for the kind words. What did you
bring in last year, a million yards ? "
Leo Kranz grimaced at her. " Not half of that.
God be praised, I'm old and bald and I got my
share before you appeared on the scene. As a
matter of fact, I'm letting down on textiles and
spending most of my time at my art gallery. But
textiles are my first love." He faked sudden anxiety "
You don't paint in oils, do you ? "
" Nope. I sell by the yard only."
"Well, that's a relief--1 tell you, Mrs. Barth,
this girl's a menace to the trade. Whereas you are
only a menace to happiness. My resp---- I am sorry I "
Backing for a bow, he had stepped on an approaching
foot. Its owner, one of the white-jacketed
servants, pardoned him and circled to address Mrs.
Barth:
" Two men to see you, madam. They were told
you are engaged, but they insisted. Mr. Beesy, who
has called twice when you were out. There is an
individual with him."
" Beesy ? " Mrs. Barth was frowning. " What
RED THREADS 3!
does he---- Oh. I know." The frown deepened.
"That old nuisance. Why didn't you----" She
-'--»ped. " Where is he ? "
On. the east terrace, madam."
Well, tell him----" She stopped again, and
looked helpless. " He'll sit there all day and all
night. Will you please ask Mr. Barth to come here ?
He's over there by the horse chestnut--no, that
---- »>
one."
The servant went. Mrs. Barth sighed and turned
to Jean: "I suppose you know I was at Lucky
Hills, \vith my husband, the night Val Carew was
murdered. Mr. Kranz was too." She shivered a
little. " It still affects my stomach to speak of it,
I suppose because the news of it came before breakfast.
My stomach isn't much before breakfast. And
all the questions and the publicity, and this man
keeps coming, though there isn't a blessed thing I
can tell him----"
She I»roke off at the approach of a lean little man
with £t leathery skin, grey hair, and chilly blue
eyes. 3ut she waited until he was closer to speak :
" Mel dear, did Ferguson tell you ? That man
Buysse is here again. He asked for me and he's on
the east terrace. There's someone with him."
The eyes of most men grow either warmer or
colder as they regard their wives, but Melville
Barth's did neither; they merely retained their
chill. 3e inquired quietly, " Who is with him ? "
" I don't know. Ferguson said, an individual."
" Well ? See him and get rid of him."
" Bi^t I don't want to. I don't want to talk about
it. Yo»u know very well what I thought of going to
Lucky Hills at the time, and then that awful thing
happened--after all, if business required it--it
isn't fair that I should have all the unpleasantness----"

32 REDTHREADS
Earth's shoulders moved with the suggestion of a
shrug, and he turned to where the servant discreetly
waited. " Ferguson ? Please. Those men are on the
east terrace ? Bring them here." He disregarded
the beginnings of expostulation from his wife, and
turned again : " How do you do. Miss Farris. You
look very charming." But the eyes remained the
same. " Don't go, Kranz. Stay with us, if you
don't mind. Let's see what's biting this fellow
Buysse; he's making a nuisance of himself. By
the way, I don't believe I've seen you since that—
that morning. Of course they've been hounding
you too ? "
Kranz nodded. " I've been asked a million
questions by a dozen different people." He sent
his black eyes directly into Barth's blue ones.
" Naturally, I wouldn't mind the hounding as much
as you. Since I was an old and close friend of
Carew's, I am perfectly willing to be annoyed
in the effort to find out who killed him, whereas
your only connection with him was a business
one. . . ."
The sentence came to a halt on .its way uphill.
Barth smiled thinly in cold amusement. " Quite
so," he agreed. " You mean, it is being said that
I was summoned to Lucky Hills that night, and my
wife's presence was requested as an added touch of
humiliation because some years ago she snubbed
Carew's Indian wife. And that I had to go because
Carew had me in a hole on Western Chemical.
That's what they say. Is that what you had in
mind ? "
" Not prominently." Kranz was unperturbed.
" I only meant I am apt to be more tolerant of the
hounding than you are. For you Carew's death
may have been the source of serious annoyance,
but for me it was personal calamity. . . ."
REDTHREADS 33
Jean, feeling intrusive and uncomfortable, had
half arisen to go, but had been restrained by Mrs. Earth's tug at her sleeve and a vocal remonstrance
which she only half heard. She was uncomfortable
because she knew that these people could not be
aware of her private reason for intimate and intense
concern with the sensational Carew murder case ;
but she submitted to the tug at her sleeve without
further protest because the two men talking--not
to mention the woman--had been at Lucky Hills
when it happened, and a third was coming.
The third presently arrived, following the whitejacketed
Ferguson, and accompanied by the individual.
They were so obviously outlanders, from
the standpoint of a New York fashion group, that
curious glances met them as they passed the crowd.
The one immediately behind Ferguson was an inch
over six feet, with a square jaw and a mane of wavy
grey, almost white, hair; and he had to cut his
stride not to step on his guide's heels. He wore
unpressed gabardine pants which were too short for
him, a pink shirt, a buckskin vest with rows of
brightly coloured beads on it, and, in lieu of a
necktie, a bandanna neckerchief which either an
old cowhand or a debutante who had spent a month
on a dude ranch would have called a tough rag.
No coat and no hat. The individual trotting in his
rear was less spectacular, but in his way fully as
notable. Between sixty and ninety was as close a
guess as could be made; the dark skin of his face
was deeply seamed and ridged, and the cheekbones
jutted up like hames; his eyes were black slits,
hardly perceptible under the down-turned brim of
his immaculate Panama hat; and his natty youthful
Palm Beach suit, shaped at the waist, and blue
linen shirt and red four-in-hand, were completely
shocking when you saw his wrinkled old face.
FR1;34 RED-THREADS
But they were both quite self-possessed, obviously
innocent of any consciousness of incongruity, as
they stopped in front of Mrs. Earth. The sixfooter
with the tough rag sent a slow glance around
from face to face and then settled on Mrs. Barth.
His voice was as soft and unobtrusive as the footfall
of a wildcat.
" Howdo, everybody. I just wanted to speak
with you, Mrs. Barth. But these . . ." He repeated
the slow glance around.
" How do you do, Mr. Buysse." It was Melville
Barth's greeting, not especially warm. " If what
you want to talk about is that Lucky Hill business
--though I can't imagine why you should want to
speak with my wife about that--won't I do ? My
wife doesn't like to discuss it for two reasons : she
knows nothing whatever about it, and any mention
of it upsets her, because it was--unpleasant."
" Yes." Buysse looked at him. " It sure was unpleasant.
But I'm afraid you won't do, Mr. Barth.
I'd like to have a little talk with your wife without
so many folks around. I didn't know that waiter
was bringing me out to a party like this, or I'd
have stayed on the terrace. Maybe you'd go back
there with me, ma'am ? Or somewhere----"
" Nonsense." Barth was sharper. " My wife knows nothing about it. Even if she did, why
should she discuss it with you ? After all, Mr.
Buysse, you were merely there, in the house--as
we all were."
The six-footer nodded. " Sure, I was there. You
mean I was just one of the bunch and the police are
as interested in me as in any of you." His square
jaw tightened all but imperceptibly, then relaxed
again, and there was no change in his soft voice.
" I know all that. I may be no different to the law,
but to myself I'm plenty different. I don't want to
FR1;REDTHREADS 35
bore you folks, but I wonder if you all know that
I was a friend of Val Carew's more than thirty
years ago out West ? I didn't have either his luck
or his brains. I used to paint pictures of Indians,
but they were rotten pictures. In 1920, when Val
decided to use a million out of his pile for setting
up an Indian museum, he went to a lot of trouble
to look me up and put me in charge of it. If it
hadn't been for Val Carew, do you know what I'd
be doing now ? Neither do I. Anyhow I set to
work, and people like Bella Weitzner consider me
an authority on Indian cultures in all areas except
caribou and guanaco, and if you don't think Val
and I made a good museum, go and take a look at
it. So as I say, where anything connected with
Val Carew is concerned, in his life or in his death,
I consider myself plenty different from any one
else in these parts. And a month has gone by since
he was murdered--four weeks yesterday--and if
anybody has noticed the dirty coyote who did it
having a trap sprung on him would they please
point it out to me. That's why I think a little
action won't hurt, and that's why I regard it as a
proper step for me to request a little talk with Mrs. Earth."
Leo Kranz looked alert and interested, but sceptical.
Jean Farris was staring fascinated at the
combination of the bandanna tough rag and the
beadwork on the buckskin vest. Mrs. Earth sat
with her lips compressed and her gaze directed at
her husband.
Her husband appeared unimpressed. He repeated
impatiently, " Nonsense. I tell you she knows
nothing about it. What the devil do you want to
talk about ? What can she tell you ? "
Euysse looked at him. " Maybe not much." He
looked at Mrs. Earth. " I'd had it in mind to ask
FR1;36 REDTHREADS
you this a little different, ma'am, but I'm beu ^ crowded. You might even say rode off. What did you do with the peach you took from the dinner
table that evening ? "
Everybody looked astonished, Mrs. Earth most
of all. She stared at him. " Peach ? Good heavens,
what peach ? What are you talking about ? "
" The peach you took that evening at Lucky
Hills. When the fruit was brought on at the end
of dinner, you said that you liked fruit just before
going to bed, and Val said he would have some
peaches sent to your room, and you said he needn't
bother, you had to go up for something anyway,
and you picked a peach from the bowl and J;ook
it with you. We all saw you do it."
" Well, I didn't steal it, did I ? "
" No. But if you don't mind I'd like to know,
what did you do with it ? "
Mrs. Earth shrugged. " I suppose I ate it. Really,
Mr. Buysse, I don't seriously doubt your sanity----"
She stopped, and appeared to decide the thing was
amusing. " Now let's see, I should be able to remember
that peach, I'm very fond of them--I'm
sure I ate it--of course I did 1 I remember biting
into it----"
She stopped again, abruptly, and every one saw
the quick chanee on her face. Obviously, suddenly
she did remember, and the memory held something
both unwelcome and embarrassing. She tried to
stammer out of it: " It--the peach--I remember
it was very good but not quite ripe enough--it was
a clingstone, you know----"
Her husband demanded, " What the devil is this
nonsense, anyway ? "
Buysse, disregarding him, shook his head at Mrs.
Barth. " Understand, ma'am, I don't want to make trouble for someone who hasn't already made
REDTHREADS 37
some for themselves. I'll tell you how this happened.
There were no outdoor peaches ripe at Lucky
Hills in early July. Those peaches on the table
were expensive, big clings grown under glass.
Nobody else carried one from the table. I've asked
Orson, the butler, about it, and he's sure that none
were served to any one except at the table, and
that none of the servants took any. He's particular
with the fancy stuff. The reason I asked Orson was
that a little after sunrise on July 7th, the morning
after that dinner and the morning Val was murdered,
a seed from one of those peaches was found
on the grass inside the yew hedge which surrounds
Tsianina's tomb."
A silence. It was broken by Leo Kranz. He
inquired politely, " Who found it ? "
" I found it."
Their stares were startled to a new focus. It was
more like a dry rattle from a mummy than a living
voice, and it came from the wrinkled old face
beneath the immaculate Panama hat.
" Ah I " Kranz said. " Of course."
Earth demanded, " Who are you ? "
" Me ? " The dry dead rattle. " Woodrow
Wilson."
Jean Farris sternly controlled a strong impulse
to giggle. As an incident possibly relevant to
tragedy, Woodrow Wilson finding a peach seed on
the grass near the tomb of an Indian princess was
beyond the bounds of solemnity. But unquestionably
every one was solemn ; she controlled the impulse.

Buysse was saying, " Wilson has been the guardian
of Tsianina's tomb for ten years, since her death.
He is there every morning at daybreak. When he
found the seed it was fresh; the shreds clinging
to it were moist. It is true there was dew. I don't
38 REDTHREADS
see how anybody can deny it was the seed of the
peach taken by Mrs. Earth. Without any apologies, what I want to know is, who put it there and
when."
Earth snapped, " Rot. There's not the slightest
proof it was that peach, and what if it was ? Carew
was alive at sunrise."
" I still want to know."
Mrs. Earth had sat with compressed lips. Now
she spoke, exasperated. " All right, I'll tell you.
As I said, I ate the peach----"
" Ee quiet, Laura." The husband taking command.
" This man has no right whatever to demand
explanations, even if there were anything to explain.
He's butting in, and he can butt out again."
" Sure I can." Euysse was patient. " I only intimated
it seems to me the police are doing a dog
dance, and if they're too busy on that to start a
trail, maybe someone else can. Maybe me, for
instance. Eut if I can't even get an answer to a
little question about a peach seed, I'm licked,
and all I can do is turn the seed over to the police--
I've got it here in my pocket--and let them use it
in their dance."
Leo Kranz had brows raised at him. " In a way,
it really belongs to the police, doesn't it ? "
"I'm not worried about who it belongs to. What
I want to know is how it got there. That's what
they'll want to know too."
" I expect they will." Kranz's voice was as soft
as the other's. " Eut you seem to have restrained
your curiosity--for a whole month ? "
" No. Wilson only told me about it three days
ago. I've been trying to see Mrs. Earth."
" Then Wilson restrained curiosity. I've often
heard Val say that no one has more than an Indian.
How about it, Wilson ? "
FR1;REDTHREADS 39
The Panama hat moved slowly to one side and
back again. The dry rattle sounded : " Too many
words."
" Oh, no, Wilson. You forget that I know you.
You know what curiosity means as well as I do.
Why did you wait nearly four weeks to tell about
the peach seed ? " Kranz took a quick step and
stooped a little to get his gaze under the brim of
the Panama. " Look here," he demanded sharply.
" Did you eat that peach yourself ? "
" Me ? " The old Indian grunted. " I always
said you are a damn fool."
Kranz started to demand again, but was interrupted.
" This is perfectly idiotic I " Mrs. Earth's exasperation was obviously mounting.
" Didn't I say I ate the peach ? And I ate it--no,
Mel, you be quiet yourself! Mr. Buysse is right;
we'll turn that silly seed over to the police, and for
heaven's sake, haven't you had enough of that ? Let me alone." She addressed Buysse : " Since you
seem to have so good a memory of that evening,
you probably remember that after dinner my
husband went to the library with Mr. Carew and
I went upstairs. I stayed there a while, came
down again, and left the house by the doors at the
end of the corridor where the tapestries are--I
don't know what you call it----"
Buysse nodded. "That the north wing. How
did you happen to go that way ? "
She compressed her lips at him. " I went that
way because I didn't care to meet any one, and I
didn't care to meet any one because I was going to
see that tomb which, of course, was notorious, and
I didn't regard it as anybody's business. Indians
aren't the only curious people in the world, and I
knew the way from the discussion at dinner, though
I wasn't going to admit I would care to look at the
FR1;40 REDTHREADS
thing. It was a nice starlit night, and I found it
easily. I went inside the yew hedge and walked all
around it. It happens that in addition to being
curious I like to eat fruit outdoors when I am alone
because it doesn't matter how the juice drips, and
I took the peach along and ate it there, and naturally
I dropped the seed on the ground. I suppose I
would have dug a hole and buried it if I had known
it was going to be regarded as a clue." She sighed.
" Really, of all the insane----"
Buysse had his eyes straight at hers. " So you ate
the peach there Tuesday night. Not Wednesday
morning."
" I've answered your question, Mr. Buysse."
" I know you have, ma'am, much obliged. And
what I really had in mind, you ate it yourself. You
understand, I didn't really have any idea--what do
you want ? "
That was not for Mrs. Barth. What had interrupted
him was a tug at his sleeve from the
rear, from Woodrow Wilson. Apparently what the
old Indian wanted was gangway, for, disregarding
Buysse's question, he made his way past him to
the inside of the circle, crossed so close to Mrs.
Barth that she shrank involuntarily, and stopped
in front of Jean Farris, within a foot of her, peering
intently. But seemingly it wasn't Jean's face that
interested him, for his gaze was aimed at a point
on her jacket half-way between her chin and her
waist.
Leo Kranz demanded, " What are you doing ?
What do you want ? "
" Me ? " Nothing of the Indian moved but his
lips, and they scarcely visibly. " I like to touch."
" Touch what ? You ought to know better----"
But Jean understood, or thought she did. The
dark old wrinkled face so close to her was a little
RED TH READS 41
disconcerting, but she smiled at it and assured it,
" Go ahead. I don't mind."
He put out a hand, in no haste, slipped two
fingers under the edge of the jacket at the spot
where the red stripe began, and rubbed the material,
slowly and delicately, between his thumb and
fingers. Then he leaned over to peer more closely,
and rubbed some more.
He grunted, straightened up, and stepped back.
Jean spoke: " You are perfectly correct, Mr.
Wilson. You have good eyes."
" For heaven's sake," Mrs. Earth exclaimed,
" what is it he's correct about ? "
She got no answer because of a new interruption.
They had all been too intent on the Indian's tableau
to notice the couple's approach, and were aware
of them only when the voice sounded from behind
Leo Kranz :
" He'll never tell you, Mrs. Earth I Not that Indian I I know him. How do you do ? I'm afraid
we're a little late--but the traffic I "
She came through a gap in the circle--rather
tall, moderately slender under a blue summerweight
mantle, not one of the youngsters but by
no means in need of generosity from them, with
fair skin untanned but not pallid, alert grey eyes,
and soft light hair, neither brown nor yellow, showing
at one edge of an elegantly tricky little hat. She
paired well, by contrast, with the man behind her--
dark but not swarthy, around thirty, tall, with the
breadth of an athlete, a sober face if not solemn,
black eyes that were certainly more than slits and
still might somehow vaguely remind you of the
eyes that had been peering at the stripe in Jean
Fan-is' jacket.
There were greetings and handshakings, expressions
of astonishment by the man at finding
42 REDTHREADS
Buysse and the old Indian there and an appearance
of embarrassment as his hand met the hand of
Melville Earth, a sudden artificial gaiety on the
part of Jean Farris--surprising since not even
malice had ever called her artificial--and a darting
of the eyes of Leo Kranz, apparently not to miss
any movement or gesture of the woman in the
tricky little hat.
The woman was speaking to Mrs. Barth : " Oh,
yes, we've been here a quarter of an hour or more--
over at the other side of the crowd--I suppose you
couldn't see us. Extremely successful, really!
I can see a headline : Bargains in Beauty by Beynetta
I I shall certainly advise Beecher to take at
least eight numbers--and I want Renee of Holly' wood to see them----"
" That's very nice of you." Mrs. Barth looked
pleased. " Ivy was saying to me yesterday, ' No
one is as important as Portia Tritt. If Portia Tritt
likes them----' "
Portia Tritt laughed. " I'd love to think that,
but I'm afraid Ivy exaggerates. I do know how
to put a thing over, though, and it's always a relief
to find something that's worth the trouble aside
from the pay one gets for it. To be perfectly frank,
I think Ivy owes a lot to those Jean Farris fabrics."
She turned. " They're the best you've done yet,
Jean. They'll certainly put you at the top if you're
not there already. That cashmere check in brick
and blue with the repeats diminishing on both sides
of the seam--good heavens I Stand up I "
Jean obediently stood up. Portia Tritt gazed.
" Turn around. Ah, I see I Back to the other side--
do you mind ? Did Bernetta make it ? "
" No, Krone."
" Then you designed it. Probably you cut it
yourself. I wish I had your hands. The way you
REDTHREADS 43
swung that stripe across is almost too clever. You're
a subtle girl, Jean. And the stripe itself--what is
it ? I've never seen such a red. Look, Guy I ,Leo I
That stripe. Did you ever see such a colour as
that ? "
Guy Carew's black eyes surveyed the jacket,
Jean's face, and the face of Portia Tritt. He shook
his head faintly and said nothing. Leo Kranz,
omitting Jean's face, said, " It's remarkable. I
had noticed it before you came."
Mrs. Barth put in, " I'd like to know why that
Indian stared at it and felt it and Miss Farris said
he was correct. Correct about what ? "
" It's no mystery," Jean said. " I use mostly
modern yarn, of course, but I get old yarn from lots
of places, anywhere I can. There are many old
yarns that couldn't possibly be duplicated today."
She touched the stripe. " This is genuine bayeta."
" What's that ? "
" An old Spanish yarn. In the sixteenth and
seventeenth centuries they made a red vegetable
dye in Persia, and sold it to Spain. The Spaniards
dyed yarn with it and made soldiers' pants from the
material they wove with the yarn. The soldiers
wore the pants to America and had them on when
they were fighting the Indians, and got killed. The
Indians took the pants and unravelled them, and
used the yarn in weaving their finest blankets. The
blankets are still called bayeta--those with some of
that yam in them--and most of the best ones are
in museums. If you get hold of one that's damaged,
or a piece of one, of course you can unravel it again
and use the yarn."
" May I ? " Mrs. Earth reached across to finger the
stripe. " Do you mean to say that's three hundred
years old ? "
" Two or three hundred."
46 REDTHREADS
table. Little things like that make a big difference
sometimes."
" Well." Mrs. Earth sighed. " This fashion
bunch may be peculiar in some respects, but at
least they're not Indians. I might as well start a
circus."
" Nonsense." He was crisp. " Will you ask
them ? "
" Yes."
<( So they'll accept ? "
" Yes. You don't need to pour acid on me." She
frowned. " Look here, Mel, is this thing no better ?
Is it as bad as ever ? " She suddenly raised her
voice : "I had no idea there would be so many--
no, indeed. Miss Desher, you're not interrupting
at all--I believe you've met my husband----"
Guy Carew was saying to Amory Buysse, " I'm. aware that I have no right to give you orders, but
I asked you not to. Didn't I ? And I find you her&
asking God knows what. If you thought that peach
seed meant anything, you should have turned it
over to the police. Didn't I tell you that ? "
" Sure you did." Buysse slowly shook his head.
" No, Guy, I don't believe it would do any good
no matter what you turned over to the police. In
a general sort of way you can give me orders because
you're your father's son, but on a trail you
don't know it's better to give me my head. I've
seen more badger holes than you have. Hell,
you're just a kid."
" My God, I'm thirty-one years old. I'm not
letting any one feed me rabbit stew. I've dealt with
Indian agents and concession hounds and cattlemen
who don't like any fences except their own--and
anyway, he was my father."
The old Indian, his head tilted back a little to
peer at the taller men from under the brim of his
REDTHREADS 47
Panama, grunted. " That girl," he said. " What
did she feed you ? You're not a kid. You're a
man."
" She didn't feed me anything. What do you
mean, Wilson ? "
The Indian grunted again. " You saw me feel
it."
" I know I did. What do you know about it ? "
"Me? Nothing."
" The devil----" Guy Carew shrugged. "I can't
get it out of you here. But I will." He shifted to
Buysse. " And you too. I'm damn tired of all this
silent paddle stuff. Of course you know the police
are following all of us everywhere we go. I'll see
you to-night, you and Wilson both. ..."
Buysse and the Indian, both motionless, stood
and listened.
Leo Kranz, toward the end of his conversation
with Portia Tritt, employed a phrase nearly identical
with one Guy had used to Buysse. He said,
" I can't finish it here. I think Ella Desher is headed
for you now. But it won't do, Portia." His voice
was tense, his eyes level into hers. " I tell you it
won't do."
" I don't say it will." Her smile proclaimed no
amusement. " But who says it won't ? "
" I do. I've been patient; I always am. No one
knows that better than you. But your bringing
him here to-day--under all the circumstances----"
" My dear Leo I " She laughed with light assurance.
" I told you long ago I won't stand for a
bridle, let alone spurs. And you know very well
I have never given you the slightest---- Oh,
hello, Ella I No, really, I was just telling Mr. Kranz
that I hoped you wouldn't be completely overwhelmed----"

48 REDTHREADS
It was after eight o'clock when Jean Fan-is
finally escaped from the admiring clutches of a
pair of persistent ladies who wanted to write her
up for a magazine still in the period of gestation
which was to be called The Covered Woman. They
were the last of the cocktail guests to go. The
dinner guests were scattered around the grounds,
or in the house ; on that portion of the lawn Jean
was alone except for two men in white jackets who
were stacking folding chairs in piles and raking up
rubbish. She stood with her back pressed against
the trunk of a maple tree, with her arms up for her
-hands to clasp on top of her head, and her eyes
closed. She felt tired and not at all gay, and was
wishing that she had either drunk more cocktails
or had refused the two she had taken.
" Oh, there you are ' "
Jean gave a little start and opened her eyes. She
didn't feel like smiling at the man who was striding
towards her, so she didn't try to.
She said, " You walk differently, you really do.
As if your toes had more to do with it—but still
not exactly like the Indians I've seen in New
Mexico."
" Well, I'm not from New Mexico." Guy Carew
stood and looked down at her. " You look different
too, the way you were standing against that tree.
Who were you posing for ? "
She shook her head. " I was just resting. A
tree does rest me that way. Maybe I'm a halfbreed
dryad. What are you wandering around
for ? "
" I was looking for you."
" Here I am."
" So I see." He came a step closer. " I want to
ask you something. As you observed the other day,
I don't know how to use finesse. I'm too direct, but
FR1;REDTHREADS 49
I can't help it. Will you give me that--those things
you're wearing ? That skirt and jacket ? "
" Give you----" She stared. " You mean give them to you ? "
" Yes. I can't say lend, because I don't know . . .
You can imagine how I hate to ask you, but that's
what I mean. Give them to me. And I can't explain,
at least not satisfactorily. I can only say that something
has happened which makes it very desirable
that I have them."
Jean looked at him. Finally, she said quietly,
" I begin to understand why some people are called
Indian givers. I had always supposed it was slander."
" It is. It's a detestable phrase. If I could
only----"
Jean's sudden burst of laughter stopped him.
" Excuse me," she cried, " but it's funny I Very
funny! Less than an hour ago Mr. Earth hunted
me up to tell me that his wife was crazy about it
and he would like to buy it for her--of course, he
said, knowing its history, he would expect to pay
a stiff price for it, but he would expect me to authenticate
the bayeta yarn--and now you want me to
give it back to you----" Jean laughed again.
Then she sobered, and continued in a tone of
great friendliness, " It shows you have good
judgment, anyway. Portia Tritt would look very
nice in it."
" Portia I Good lord--wait a minute I "
But Jean, who could move swiftly on occasion,
kept going. She tossed back over her shoulder,
" She would look nice in it, but she can't have it! "
She was twenty paces off when Guy, moving more
swiftly still, overtook her, gripped her arm, and
stopped her. She whirled to face him, and there
was bite in her voice :
" Mr. Carew I Really ' "
50 RED-THREADS
He released her arm, and stood. She moved
again, off across the lawn--hearing his footsteps
after her again--no, that was something else--he
wasn't coming--yes, he was--no----
No.
She went on, came to a gravelled drive and crossed
it, detoured around a bank of rhododendrons ten
feet high, and went on again. There was no sound
of pursuit. She became aware that she was passing
the cutting garden, where the year previously she
had been taken by Ivy-Bemetta to gather gladioli.
She left it behind. There was another stretch of
lawn, or rather mowed meadow grass, and finally
a thicket for mixed shrubbery beyond which she
caught a glimpse of the fence which bounded
the estate. Practical considerations arose. She
might be able to climb the fence, but didn't care
to. Her car was parked far away, in the space on
the other side of the house. There was no point in
racing around the ..boundary of the grounds. She
chose a grassy spot beside a luxuriant shrub with
dark-green leaves, lay down flat on her back, and
closed her eyes.
She was furious ; she had made a howling fool of
herself. It was no mitigation that she could list the
contributing causes; still she listed them. First
chronologically, her moderately unpleasant surprise
at the appearance of Guy Carew as the escort
of Portia Tritt. Second, his stoical inattention to
the presence of herself and what she was wearing.
Third, the unfortunate coincidence that in the
dressing tent she had heard two women discussing
with gusto the affair which, according to gossip,
had taken place some eight years previously, with
Guy Carew and Portia Tritt as the principals.
Fourth, the fact that when she had heard his voice
as she stood against the tree, her heart had jumped.
FR1;RED THREADS 51
At that very moment she had been deciding that
nothing could be sillier than her imagining she
wanted a husband--and then merely at the sound
of his voice her heart had jumped.
She opened her eyes, looked for five minutes past
the shrubbery's edge at the sky growing dim for
the evening, and closed them again. It was incredible
that she had said that to him about Portia
Tritt. Even if her intention to have him for a
husband had been anything more than a joke, even
if she had been half-way serious about it on account
of some crazy impulse, it remained the sort of
thing that Jean Farris would never stoop to. Even
if she should again some time decide that he had
desirable qualities as a--well, as a companion--
which was of course out of the question and worth
thinking of only as pure hypothesis--even so, she
would never care to be with him again after making
that exhibition of herself.
For many minutes, lying there on the grass
beneath the shrub, she let that pot of self-scorn
simmer within her breast, and kept stirring it and
poking at it, as the dusk of twilight slowly settled
on to the meadow. Once, hearing a rustling near
by, she opened her eyes; but, deciding it was a
scampering squirrel or rabbit and not worthy of
investigation, she closed them again without turning
her head.
Well . . . she had accepted Mrs. Barth's invitation
to dinner. It must be nearing nine o'clock.
She would have to get up, brush herself off, walk
back to the house, and join the gay party. Tomorrow
morning she would have the skirt and jacket
' packed and sent by parcel post to Guy Carew.
Indian giver! Was it actually possible that he
wanted them for Portia Tritt--to have her wear
the bayeta ? In that case, he was socially a monster
52 REDTHREADS
.... no, she didn't mean socially, she meant . . .
to the devil with it----
The train of thought ended as if cut off by a
flashing sword. What cut it was a shrill sound--a
piercing, ear-splitting note--seemingly from the
ground behind her head. Startled, she jerked herself
up, sitting erect, and, as she did so, the sound was
completed and she recognised it as the call of a
whip-poor-will. Simultaneously she heard a rustling
of the shrub and felt something strike the side of her
head. Or rather, she didn't feel, because her nervous
system had quit; she was unconscious.
Twilight had thickened to darkness when she
stirred. Not that she was immediately aware of it;
the first twitching of her arms and legs was an
experiment of the nerves, independent of the will,
testing the lines of communication. Then sentience
crawled timidly back and crept through the alleys
of her brain. Her first demonstration of consciousness
was a dim but overpowering awareness that
she had a head, and cloudy irritation with it. ...
Why the deuce should so much importance be
attached to anything so obvious as the fact that
she had a head ? Anyway, the head was no good,
because it couldn't be moved--or could it ? She
might try--good God! It was full of hot lead ?
Then she remembered. She had been hit on the
head, a terrific, shattering blow, by a whippoorwill.
But no, it couldn't have been like that----
Hey I She jerked up sitting, terrified, in spite
of the head. Something had bit her on the leg--or
something sharp had stuck her--Oh. Probably
a grass stubble or a twig. But by that time she was
sufficiently conscious to feel astonishment that she
could see her leg, both her legs,' nearly all of them,
quite bare from the top of her stocking to the edge
of the--what was it ? Shakespeares. But why, in
FR1;REDTHREADS 53
the name of heaven, bare legs ? And why--she
would investigate that. With her right hand she
felt at her left shoulder, and was touching thin silk.
She began to realise that there was something highly
peculiar about this whole situation; she had been
assaulted by a whip-poor-will, it was dark, and her
jacket and skirt were gone. . . .
She put up her hands to feel her head.
CHAPTER FOUR
the terrace was adequately lit by two electric
lanterns hanging high, surrounded at the bottom
by a circular trough which was half filled with electrocuted
bugs. ,Trom the table beneath the corpses
could not be seen, though if you cared to look you
could catch glimpses of the insects hurtling to their
doom.
A fair amount of jollity was being displayed by
Mr. and Mrs. Melville Earth and their twenty guests,
most of which was instigated by Adele Worthy of Harvey's Bazaar, who told stories in a voice loud
enough for all. Even Woodrow Wilson laughed
heartily at her tale of the drunken Indian who
operated with a hatchet on the tail of his dog
because abbreviated tails were fashionable, missed
his aim entirely and cut off the dog's head, and
threw the hatchet down in disgust, mumbling,
" Too short! " Miss Worthy regarded that tale
as especially apropos for the present group, since
it referred both to Indians and to fashions. She
said so, and no one contradicted her.
The roast veal was being consumed, with fresh
lima beans and a modest but cheerful Moselle, when
FR1;54 REDTHREADS
the butler approached Mrs. Earth's chair and spoke
unobtrusively.
" I beg your pardon, madam. Miss Graham
would like to speak with you."
Mrs. Earth looked astonishment, and expressed it
vocally, but the butler stuck to it that Miss Graham
required the presence of her employer in the house.
Forsaking remonstrance, Mrs. Earth excused herself,
crossed the terrace, passed through the door
held open for her, and in the large reception hall
turned to confront the butler, who had followed her.
He spoke hastily, not quite his placid self:
" Please, madam. It was not Miss Graham. I was
following the instructions of Miss Fan-is. In the--er
--unusual circumstances----"
" Miss Farris I What do you mean ? Where is
she ? "
"Pardon me, madam. Her instructions were
very strict. No one but you, absolutely no one, is to know of her presence, and she would like to
have you come to her in the pink room on the
second floor. I put her there----"
" Put her I What's wrong with her ? Is she
hurt ? "
" No, madam. That is, not----"
He was speaking to air; Mrs. Earth was on her
way. He took two steps after her, halted, hesitated,
shook his head, and returned to the terrace.
Upstairs, at the door of the pink room, Mrs. Earth entered without stopping to knock. The
room was lit. In a chintz-covered chair by a window
sat Jean Farris, bent forward, her brow resting on
both her palms. As she slowly straightened up and
slowly turned her head, Mrs. Earth caught a glimpse
of the garters and the bare legs. She hurried across.
" Good heavens, child I W^hat's the matter ?
Where are your clothes ? "
REDTHREADS 55
Jean said, with her head held rigid, " You asked
exactly the right question. That's it."
" But what--where have you been ? We couldn't
imagine--we looked all over--your car was here--
we decided you had gone off with someone----"
" I went off all right," Jean grimaced. " Do
you mind sitting down ? There, in front of me ;
I can't turn my head. I'm sorry to interrupt your
dinner, but I didn't want to wait. . . . Here's
what happened--what time is it ? "
" Not quite ten."
" Then I was there--but I'd better tell you. A
little after eight, about a quarter after, I went for
a walk. In the grounds. I crossed a drive and some
more lawn and went past the cutting garden and
on across the meadow until I saw the fence of the
estate. I lay down on the grass by some shrubbery
and closed my eyes. After a while I sat up. Just as
I sat up something hit me on the side of the head
and knocked me out. Here----" she gingerly
touched the side of her head above the left ear--
" there's a bruise and you can see the swelling.
When I came to I was the way I am now. My clothes
were gone."
"But----" Mrs. Barth gaped at her. "But
what hit you ? "..
" How the dickens do I know ? I didn't see any
one or hear any one."
" But why should they take your clothes ? "
" I don't know that either. They didn't take my
watch or my ring, or my bag with money in it."
" But, my dear child----" Mrs. Barth got up and
went to her and examined her head, peering at it,
touching it with gentle fingers. " Knocked unconscious
I You should have a doctor I How does
it'feel now ? "
" Not very good. I don't want a doctor." Jean
56 REDTHREADS
grimaced again, shut her lips tight, and then opened
them. " I want to find who it was. That's why I
interrupted your dinner. I'd like you to notify
the police and get them here before any of your
guests leave."
Mrs. Earth was staring at her in horror. " You
don't mean--the police. \ "
" I certainly do. I've been thinking it over, as
well as I can think with this head. I want----"
" But, Miss Fan-is I It's impossible I Think of the
publicity I "
" I don't give a damn about the publicity. I
don't care how ridiculous it makes me, having the /
clothes stolen from my back and having to ring the
bell and explain my panties to your butler. Don't
you realise I'm good and mad ? It must have been
one of the guests--who else could it be ? I am not going to let him drive gaily home with my suit
under the seat of his car, and who can stop him
except the police ? Of course, he may not have it.
As I say, I've been trying to think. He could have
bundled it up and thrown it over the fence somewhere,
intending to get it later. In that case, the
police should look for it. And every one here should
have to answer some questions. I'm sorry, really,
but I absolutely insist ..."
Mrs. Barth had sat down again, with the expression
of one having a job to do. 'She made no
effort to interrupt, even permitted a lengthy silence
when Jean had finished, and then spoke with no
heat or acrimony.
" Listen to me. Miss Farris. Won't you ? I know
you're a well-bred girl and wouldn't dream of- making unpleasantness in another woman's house
without great provocation. I don't deny you've
had the provocation, but just consider. You say
you're willing to incur the publicity, but what about
FR1;RED-THREADS 57
the rest of us ? We're the ones who would really
get it. You're thinking about yourself, which is
natural, and so you haven't stopped to realise a
curious fact, that all the people who were at Lucky
Hills, in Val Carew's house, the night he was murdered,
are here in my house now. Guy Carew,
Leo Kranz, Portia Tritt, that man Buysse and
that Indian, my husband and myself. Another fact
is that Val Carew was hit on the head and so were
you. There's no reason to suppose there's any
connection, but reason won't have much to do with
it if the papers once get hold of this."
Mrs. Barth upturned both palms in desperate
expostulation. " My dear, you just don't realise.
It has been perfectly terrible. And if this is added
to it, you being knocked on the head right here in
my house, with all these people here--and the
police come--it will be more than I can bear. They
might even arrest somebody----"
Jean put in savagely, " That's exactly what I
want them to do."
" In my house ? My dear, I understand, you
simply feel vindictive, and I understand that, but
if you would only stop to consider--if you would
just let yourself cool off a little--after all, you
didn't lose anything but a suit with some old yam
in it--and I'll gladly pay you for that, whatever
amount you say----"
No, Jean declared, it wasn't the money value of
the suit, she didn't care about that. Then, Mrs.
Barth retorted, it was pure unadulterated vindictiveness,
and she had never supposed Miss
Farris to be that sort of person. Mrs. Barth elaborated
on that theme, developed it into an appeal to
Jean's better nature, passed from that to a harrowing
picture of the injury that would be done to the
innocent enterprise of her cousin Ivy-Bernetta. . . .
FR1;58 REDTHREADS
During the latter portion of it Jean's head was
resting on her hands again. Finally, she said wearily,
without looking up, "All right, Mrs. Earth, forget
it. I've been trying to think ... I won't insist
on the police. You'll have to take my word for it
that I have a particular reason for not . . . just
letting it drop."
" My dear, I knew you'd be reasonable--I do
hope your head----"
" Wait a minute. I'll leave the police out of it,
provided you'll do something. You say all those
people are here, even the Indian and Mr. Buysse ? "
" Yes. I--I thought it would be only polite to
ask them, since Mr. Carew----"
" All right. The point is, they're here. If you
don't want the police, do exactly as I say." Jean
sat up, grimaced, and held her head motionless.
" Go down right now and give each of your guests
a pencil and a piece of paper, and ask each one to
write down what he or she was doing from 8.30 to
9 o'clock, without any one discussing it with any
one else. See that they do that, and that they sign
it. Then tell them----"
" But what excuse can I give for such an extraordinary----"

" I don't know. Tell them it's a game. But after
you have collected the papers, not before, tell them
what happened to me, just as I have told it to you.
I don't want to see any of them ; tell them I've gone
home. Then bring----"
" But good lord I If I tell them, it will be everywhere
by morning I I can't tell them I "
" You certainly can. Whoever did it, that's what
he was counting on, that you would do everything
in your power to keep it quiet. I'm offering a compromise
with you, and you'd better accept it. My
head hurts and I want to go home--and by the way,
FR1;RED-THREADS 59
I'll have to beg something to wear. The truth is,
Mrs. Barth, I feel utterly nasty. My head hurts,
and I'm madder than I've ever been in my life, and I have special reasons for special feelings that
wouldn't interest you. So unless you do what I ask
immediately, before any one gets away, I'll trot
downstairs in this costume and phone the police
myself. The phone there on the bedstand isn't
connected."
Mrs. Earth gasped. " You tried it ? "
" I did. I tell you, I'm a mean customer. And
did I say you are to bring the signed papers to me
at once ? Then I'll go. You understand, no one
is to be left out--not even your husband, for instance.
Also, if it isn't done just as I've said, I'm
sure to hear of it--two or three good friends of
mine are down there----"
" Really, Miss Farris, you have no right----"
" I know I haven't, and neither have your guests
got a right to bounce a club on my head and steal
my clothes. So I say it anyway, and I mean it."
Mrs. Barth got up. " Everything considered,"
she said stiffly, " I regard it as unfortunate that I
invited you to dinner."
" We agree on that perfectly. Will you go ? "
As the door closed behind her hostess, Jean
slowly and carefully lowered her brow to her palms
again.
Some time between eleven and midnight, towards
the end of a long level stretch on the Post Road, a
stern and handsome motor-cycle cop leaned his
vehicle against the highway railing and strode to
the running board of the roadster which had pulled
up at the curb in the rear, and directed his gaze
at the tired-looking young woman beliind the
steering wheel.
58 RED-THREADS
During the latter portion of it Jean's head" was
resting on her hands again. Finally, she said wearily,
without looking up, "All right, Mrs. Earth, forget
it. I've been trying to think ... I won't insist
on the police. You'll have to take my word for it
that I have a particular reason for not . . . just
letting it drop."
" My dear, I knew you'd be reasonable--I do
hope your head----"
" Wait a minute. I'll leave the police out of it,
provided you'll do something. You say all those
people are here, even the Indian and Mr. Buysse ? "
" Yes. I--I thought it would be "only polite to
ask them, since Mr. Carew----"
" All right. The point is, they're here. If you
don't want the police, do exactly as I say." Jean
sat up, grimaced, and held her head motionless.
" Go down right now and give each of your guests
a pencil and a piece of paper, and ask each one to
write down what he or she was doing from 8.30 to
9 o'clock, without any one discussing it with any
one else. See that they do that, and that they sign
it. Then tell them----"
" But what excuse can I give for such an extraordinary----"

" I don't know. Tell them it's a game. But after
you have collected the papers, not before, tell them
what happened to me, just as I have told it to you.
I don't want to see any of them ; tell them I've gone
home. Then bring----"
" But good lord I If I tell them, it will be everywhere
by morning I I can't tell them I "
" You certainly can. Whoever did it, that's what
he was counting on, that you would do everything
in your power to keep it quiet. I'm offering a compromise
with you, and you'd better accept it. My
head hurts and I want to go home--and by the way,
REDTHREADS 59
I'll have to beg something to wear. The truth is,
Mrs. Earth, I feel utterly nasty. My head hurts,
and I'm madder than I've ever been in my life,
and I have special reasons for special feelings that
wouldn't interest you. So unless you do what I ask
immediately, before any one gets away, I'll trot
downstairs in this costume and phone the police
myself. The phone there on the bedstand isn't
connected."
Mrs. Earth gasped. " You tried it ? "
" I did. I tell you, I'm a mean customer. And
did I say you are to bring the signed papers to me
at once ? Then I'll go. You understand, no one
is to be left out--not even your husband, for instance.
Also, if it isn't done just as I've said, I'm
sure to hear of it--two or three good friends of
mine are down there----"
" Really, Miss Farris, you have no right----"
" I know I haven't, and neither have your guests
got a right to bounce a club on my head and steal
my clothes. So I say it anyway, and I mean it."
Mrs. Earth got up. " Everything considered,"
she said stiffly, " I regard it as unfortunate that I
invited you to dinner."
" We agree on that perfectly. Will you go ? "
As the door closed behind her hostess, Jean
slowly and carefully lowered her brow to her palms
again.
Some time between eleven and midnight, towards
the end of a long level stretch on the Post Road, a
stern and handsome motor-cycle cop leaned his
vehicle against the highway railing and strode to
the running board of the roadster which had pulled
up at the curb in the rear, and directed his gaze
at the tired-looking young woman beliind the
steering wheel.
60 REDTHREADS
" Let me see your licence."
She produced it from her handbag, from which
she had first to remove a thick fold of sheets of
paper which had been crammed into it. He took it
and examined it.
" Would you mind telling me why you're in such
a hurry to get somewhere ? "
She started to shake her head, then stopped with
a grimace that appeared to register pain. She tried
to smile at him: " I'm sorry, I can't. I promised
not to notify the police."
" Oh, good at gags ? You're clever ? " ^----
" I am not." She sounded weary, but emphatic.
" It would be impossible to conceive of any one
as dumb as I am. You could search the world over,
and in the end you would come back to me. I was
probably going too fast, and I apologise. If you
write out a summons, I'll take it. If you don't
write out a summons, I'll dream about you."
The cop grunted. He opened his mouth, but
apparently the comeback he had in mind wasn't
good enough, for he abandoned it, and after another
grunt turned without a word. He was just straddling
his saddle when the roadster whirred by in second.
CHAPTER FIVE
in the room which represented chaos, but not,
as she had decided, disorder, Eileen Delaney stood
at noon on Friday and, with exasperation tempered
by concern, regarded her partner Jean Farris, who
was removing her hat with leisurely and unprecedented
gentleness. When the hat had been disposed
of, on top of a pile of material which was
itself piled on a box of yarn, Jean turned to say :
REDTHREADS 6l
" I know, Eileen. I'm sorry. You're nice to be
nice about it. I couldn't drag myself out of bed.
I have a headache."
" What! You never have a headache."
" I know. I'm out for a record. You'd better
phone Muir & Beebe and tell them a week from
Monday."
" I suppose I'll have to." Miss Delaney started
off, then turned back. " Did Cora tell you about
your caller ? "
" No, I hurried through. Who was it ? "
" Not was. Is. He's out in the big room, said he'd
like to see the looms going. He's been here since
ten o'clock. It's your Indian."
" My—— You don't mean Guy Carew ? "
" Right."
' What——" Jean stared. " What does he want?'
" I didn't ask him. I presume his collar is choking
him and he wants help."
Jean slowly got on to the stool, rested her elbows
on the table and her forehead on her fists, and
closed her eyes. After a silence she said without
moving, " Send him in here. Please ? "
Miss Delaney looked at her partner, opened her
mouth and shut it again, and went.
When the caller entered two minutes later, Jean
was quite busy. Squared paper was in front of her,
a crayon in one hand and colour cards in the other,
and she was obviously buried in calculation. But
in a couple of seconds she looked up :
" Oh, good-morning. Miss Delaney tells me
you've been here since ten o'clock. I'm sorry you
had to wait."
" So am I." He came to the end of the table and
stood, gazing at her face. " You got hurt."
" Yes. Moderately. Apparently it takes quite a
blow to crack a skull open."
62 R E D t); AD s
" I know it does. Thy, E T^.^PP6111^ ta my father. Have you had a^.^ , , ,.
" No, I don't need on^01' .T11^ a "ore hea<L"
"That's silly." He'1!^^ forward briskly
" There might be a mi^PP^1"^ , Let me see.
He had his fingers on ^^V before she knew what he was doing. " W,11^6 ? oh- Not much
of a bruise. Hold still." lch sldr . __ ,,
" Stop, damn it! TK, ,js ' wln Y^ P^ase
let me alone?" thurt'
He stepped back, cast , J^e around, went to
a chair and removed fr^ g1^^^ vanous mlsce1laneous
items, and sat d^ lts. ^It ^fyy110^ to have a doctor look at it," he ^. ^-, ^Y is lt that some women can't be kC1^^^1'0111 doctors' and others won't go to the^1 &'wa,^ ? Tt seems to be
universal, because Indian at By1 are that wayt00"
Jean had the attitude ^omefson, momentanly interrupted,
who expects t^P6^^ m her work
again as soon as possib)^be w don t suppose she
observed, " that you h^' , i^ waiting two hours
in order to establish a u^ beey fact about women.
Guy Carew frowned, ^^fi- a dehberate forefinger
rubbed the brid&^^^ose. You can
imagine," he said at ^ofh7 how I have been
. . . that I've been a go^', ^P^- I telephoned
your apartment last ni^0^ ^ n0 answer. I
phoned this morning a^ wav/ ^Y name and was told that you were sl ^ ,} .^lled there at
9.30 this morning and P11^:^ that Y011 dl(in t feel like seeing any one. was that 1 see you . . .1
told you the other day, l,?0^,^^'that Y^ made me think of a Kiowan ^t sati Your eyes are open
to me.' But yesterdC^T' ,noo^T and,now ... I don't know how ^ B^egiat I want to."
"Go ahead and say0.^ Pecause Im pretty
busy . . ." lt-
REDTHREADS 63
His gaze was concentrated at her, his black eyes
narrowed a little. " There's another saying," he
declared. " This one is in Caddoan. ' When a
woman grinds the corn with one hand, don't let
it in your belly.' I'm not sure, but I think it means:
* Don't take a capricious woman for a wife.' "
" It seems to me," said Jean without smiling,
" that you're wasting a lot of folklore. I am not
capricious, and I don't think I've applied to any
one for a position as wife. But-if I did, and you're
trying to tell me that you're sorry, I can't have the
job----"
" Miss Fan-is I Please I You know very well what
I'm trying to say. I thought we were pretty good
friends." If your eyes were open to me, it's quite
obvious that they aren't now. I want--I needed
very much to see you and ask you some things--
but I can't very well ask favours of an enemy."
Jean's brows went up. " Me an enemy ? "
" Certainly. Your manner and your tone of
voice--you might as well be wearing a war bonnet.
So that's my first question. Why ? "
" Well. Since you ask it--in the first place, it
seems quite possible that you hit me on the head
last evening and stole my clothes."
"Me? Good God! You say I did that ?"
" I said it seems possible."
" That I knocked you on the head ? You aren't
serious."
" I am absolutely serious."
" Then you're an awful fool." He got up, without
haste, and walked to her. He towered above her,
frowning down at her, the muscles of his jaw perceptibly
moving. " Look here. Miss Farris. The
other-day we seemed to ... No, I won't say that.
I don't know how it seemed to you. But to me it
seemed--what I said, that your eyes were open to
FR1;62 REDTHREADS
" I know it does. That's what happened to my
father. Have you had a doctor ? "
" No, I don't need one. I just have a sore head."
" That's silly." He stepped forward briskly. " There might be a minor fracture. Let me see."
He had his fingers on her head before she knew
what he was doing. " Which side ? Oh. Not much
of a bruise. Hold still."
" Stop, damn it! That hurts I Will you please
let me alone ? "
He stepped back, cast a glance around, went to
a chair and removed from its seat various miscellaneous
items, and sat down. " It's silly not to have
a doctor look at it," he declared. " Why is it that
some women can't be kept away from doctors, and
others won't go to them at all ? It seems to be
universal, because Indian women are that way too."
Jean had the attitude of a person, momentarily interrupted,
who expects to be immersed in her work
again as soon as possible. " I don't suppose," she
observed, " that you have been waiting two hours
in order to establish a universal fact about women."
Guy Carew frowned, and with a deliberate forefinger
rubbed the bridge of his nose. " You can
imagine," he said at length, " how I have been
. . . that I've been a good deal upset. I telephoned
your apartment last night and got no answer. I
phoned this morning and gave my name and was
told that you were sleeping. I called there at
9.30 this morning and was told that you didn't
feel like seeing any one. Now that I see you ... I
told you the other day, last Saturday, that you made
me think of a Kiowan phrase, ' Your eyes are open
to me.' But yesterday afternoon . . . and now
... I don't know how to say what I want to."
" Go ahead and say it. Because I'm pretty
busy . . ."
FR1;REDTHREADS 63
His gaze was concentrated at her, his black eyes
narrowed a little. " There's another saying," he
declared. " This one is in Caddoan. ' When a
woman grinds the corn with one hand, don't let
it in your belly.' I'm not sure, but I think it means:
' Don't take a capricious woman for a wife.' "
" It seems to me," said Jean without smiling,
" that you're wasting a lot of folklore. I am not
capricious, and I don't think I've applied to any
one for a position as wife. But-if I did, and you're
trying to tell me that you're sorry, I can't have the
" Miss Farris I Please I You know very well what
I'm trying to say. I thought we were pretty good
friends^ If your eyes were open to me, it's quite
obvious that they aren't now. I want--I needed
very much to see you and ask you some things--
but I can't very well ask favours of an enemy."
Jean's brows went up. " Me an enemy ? "
" Certainly. Your manner and your tone of
voice--you might as well be wearing a war bonnet.
So that's my first question. Why ? "
" Well. Since you ask it--in the first place, it
seems quite possible that you hit me on the head
last evening and stole my clothes."
" Me ? Good God I You say I did that ? "
" I said it seems possible."
" That I knocked you on the head ? You aren't
serious."
" I am absolutely serious."
" Then you're an awful fool." He got up, without
haste, and walked to her. He towered above her, frowning down at her, the muscles of his jaw perceptibly
moving. " Look here, Miss Farris. The
other-day we seemed to ... No, I won't say that.
I don't know how it seemed to you. But to me it
seemed--what I said, that your eyes were open to
64 REDTHREADS
me. I felt that there was no fear and no meanness
between us, and no calculation. That was the
first time in my life that I ever had that feeling. I
thought--from the way you talked--that you felt
the same way. Perhaps I was wrong." He stopped,
regarded her a moment in silence, and then returned
to his chair. He repeated, this time making it a
question, " Perhaps I was wrong ? "
" Perhaps." Jean wasn't looking at him. As he
had stood frowning down at her he had been unspeakably
stern and darkly handsome, and now she
wasn't looking at him. " Or perhaps I was. You
really want to be frank, do you ? Then for meanness,
how about your asking me to give you that
skirt and jacket, without any reason ? Now wait a
minute I It was only the second time we were
together that evening at Lucky Hills two weeks
ago. When I admired that jacket you told me it was
real bayeta and you'd like to have me take it.
You told me it wasn't in its original blanket form
anyway, and even if it had been you wouldn't care,
because you'd like to see what my art could do with
it. And you said--certain other things. So I took
it, and I didn't even let one of my girls unravel it;
I did it myself, here in this room, and I spent hours
selecting yarns to go with it, and I spent twenty
more hours at one of the looms, weaving it myself.
Then I took it to Krone, and I wouldn't let his
cutter touch it; I did the cutting. When it came
yesterday I thought it was beautiful. This is what
they call a sob story. When you showed up at Earth's you didn't even notice it; you barely
glanced at it. That was all right; maybe you had
something else to do. But a little later you calmly
came and asked me to give it to you because it was
desirable for you to have it! " Jean's eyes flashed
at him. " I'll tell you one thing, Mr. Carew, I'm a
FR1;REDTHREADS 65
well-known designer, and where my work is concerned
I'm conceited and jealous, and I haven't
taken the time or the trouble to unravel any yarn
or run a loom myself for years, and what surprises
me is that I should bother to say anything to you
at all except go to the devil! Except one thing,
that I intended to send that jacket and skirt to
you this morning by parcel post! "
Guy Carew was still frowning at her. " The
trouble is," he muttered, " the chief trouble is, the
kind of man I am. But I'm that kind. I don't
know why, either; it isn't a Cherokee trait; the
average Cherokee will tell you anything. Maybe
it's the mixture. It isn't acquired, for I've always
been that way. I was like that when I was a boy,
and later at college, and the three years I spent in
Europe, and since then among the tribes. I don't
think I'm secretive, exactly, it's just a lack of impulse
to communicate my own affairs. And then,
there really was a reason for me to hesitate to tell
any one why I wanted you to give me that jacket
and skirt. Especially--I had no right to burden
you with such confidence."
Jean said drily, " You thought knocking me on
the head was better."
" I did not. You know very well I did not. And
in any case, I admit I had no right to ask you for it
without saying why I wanted it. Another thing, I
should have told you why I was sticking close to
Portia Tritt."
" Not at all. That's none of my business."
" But you seemed to think it was. I mean, the
remark you made. When I saw you were jealous--"
" Me ? Jealous ? My dear fellow----"
" But what you said----"
" What I said ? Oh I " Jean laughed. " Now I
remember. Maybe I was a little jealous at the
66 REDTHREADS
thought of her wearing that costume I had designed
for myself."
" Of course. That's what I meant." Guy looked
slightly bewildered. " Anyhow, I have an impulse
now to communicate my affairs. To you. I want
to tell you why I asked you to give me the skirt
and jacket, and why I was with Portia Tritt----"
" It isn't at all necessary."
" It is to me. I want to find out who murdered
my father. I've told you that much before, but I
haven't talked about it. I'm not talking about it
now, except to you. It looks as if the police either
can't do it or won't, and if they won't I will. Another
thing. Look at me. Miss Farris. Have you heard
the--the talk that I killed my father myself ? "
" Why----" Jean faltered. " I ... of course some
people . . ."
" I know. Lots of people." Blood was at the
surface of the smooth tight skin over his cheekbones.
" I'm surprised I can talk about it, even
with you. They say my father was killed with a war
club and scalped, and I'm half Indian. They say
he had been giving me half a million a year for my
work among the tribes and had decided to stop it.
They say he was going to marry Portia Tritt and
cut me out of his will. They say one reason I didn't
want him to marry Portia Tritt was that I loved
her myself. They say I got home from the West on
Tuesday, July 6th, and he was killed the next
morning." The blood had mounted higher. " You've
heard all that ? "
Jean nodded and murmured, " Some of it."
" Of course you have." Guy leaned forward at
her. " I wouldn't have asked you this before,
because it wouldn't have seemed possible . . . but
now you say it's possible that I hit you on the head.
. . . Do you believe that I killed my father ? "
RED-THREADS 67
" no."
" Do you think I know who did it or had anything
to do with it ? "
" No. But . . . that's two questions. You might
know who did it."
" I don't. Do you believe me ? "
" Yes."
" Good. Now I have to ask you this, can you conceive
of any circumstances in which you would
want to marry me ? "
Jean's mouth fell open, and immediately closed
again. She laughed a little. " Certainly. If we fell
in love with each other, and we both had sound
bodies and sound minds, and neither of us was
otherwise entangled, and we had money enough to
pay for a license and a trip to Niagara Falls----"
" I don't mean a joke. You're not in love with
me now, are you ? "
" Of course not."
" No, of course." He stopped, with his jaw muscles
working, and then continued, " The reason I ask
is that I'm confused about the code I'm living
under. Until I was eight years old I lived among the
Cherokees with my father and mother, and with
my grandfather. Chief William Straightfoot.^ My
name is Guy Straightfoot Carew. With my^schooling
in the East and travelling, the culture you were born to has become a part of me, but being born
to it is different. I never have any trouble or feeling
of strangeness in dealing with men, but I'm never
sure with women, nor about them. My mother,
Tsianina, died when I was twenty-one, just finishing
at Harvard. Maybe you've seen a picture of her ? "
Jean nodded. " Lately, in the papers ... on
account of ..."
"Yes. That has been----" He shrugged. "She
was extraordinary. I believe it is correct to suppose
68 RED-THREADS
that a man's attitude toward women and behaviour
with them is based on his early intimate experiences
with his mother. She sets his tone for life. My
mother was a true Indian woman. I don't mean
there was any complex or fixation or any of that
stuff, but she was my mother and I loved her, and
unconsciously she set my tone, and that's what
got me confused about the code of my adopted
culture. Through reading and so on I know what
the rules are, but many of them don't seem natural
to me. Still I would like to live up to them. That's
what I'm getting at, that I'm trying to observe one
of the rules. As I understand it, a man isn't supposed
to mention his experiences with women to
any one, except his fiancee under certain circumstances.
That's why I want to tell you about Portia
Tritt----"
Jean put in hastily, " I'm not your fiancee I "
" I know it. Not yet. But it seems to me that
the technical position at any given moment doesn't
matter; what's important is the man's intentions.
If I can tell my fiancee, why can't I tell a woman
I am trying to get for a fiancee, when I need to,
to remove difficulties ? Isn't that all right ? "
" But I----" Jean brushed back her hair.
" You've got me confused too. If you mean me
... I haven't noticed any ardent attempt to get
me for a fiancee. One little item, for example, you
haven't proposed to me, have you ? "
" Certainly not. Didn't you just tell me that
you're not in love with me ? What good would it
do me to propose before you fall in love with me ? "
" It might do a lot of good. You're a multimillionaire."

" Rubbish. Would you marry me for money ? "
" I would not."
" If I propose to you now will you accept ? "
FR1;REDTHREADS 69
" I don't like hypothetical questions."
" Will you marry me ? "
" No."
" You see." He was frowning at her. " One thing,
I don't need to tell you that you can have any
amount of fun with me, you see that yourself. I
wasn't born for the kind of juggling you can do so
well. But that doesn't mean I'm a fool. You know
how clever Portia Tritt is. As near as I can judge, she's the cleverest woman I've ever known."
" She's plenty clever enough."
" Yes, she is. But though it was eight years ago,
in Paris, when I was only twenty-three, it only took
me a week to see that she--but I suppose I'm
talking like a cad ? It's next to impossible for me
to tell. Since you were born to it, I suppose you
can't realise how difficult it is to know what is being
a cad and what isn't. The nuances are very fine.
Is it all right for me to go on ? "
" I don't think so." Jean brushed back her hair
again. " Not that you're a cad, but it isn't necessary,
and even if I were your fiancee I wouldn't
require an explanation of anything that happened
eight years ago. Just to lessen your confusion, I
might add that it would be quite different if it
were something happening how."
Guy regarded her. After a moment he said, " I
see. You mean you would like me to explain why
I was with Portia Tritt yesterday. That's what----"
" I don't mean that at all! You certainly could
do with a little more understanding of women,
Mr. Carew I "
" I know I could. Anyway, that's what I was
going to do next, and I'm sure this isn't being a
cad. I was with her yesterday, and I've been a
great deal with her the past four weeks, because I
want to learn who murdered my father."
FR1;70 REDTHREADS
Jean stared. " You don't think she knows I "
" I think she knows something, I don't know
what. She was there, in the house. She was going
to marry my father. And on the morning he was
killed, immediately after he was killed, she did
something very peculiar, and her explanation for it
isn't satisfactory. And ... I did something
peculiar that morning myself. I said I'm not a
fool, but I begin to believe that what I did that
morning was foolish. I ... I'd rather not tell
you. I'm sure it was foolish. So that's why I was
with Portia Tritt yesterday."
" She didn't look----" Jean bit her Up.
" She didn't look what ? "
" Nothing."
He gazed at her, and shrugged. " All right.
Then about asking you to give me the skirt and
jacket----"
" You don't need to explain----"
" Pardon me, I do need to. Something happened
yesterday morning and Wednesday afternoon. A
newspaper reporter called on every one who was
at Lucky Hills that night--Buysse, Wilson, ICranz,
Barth and his wife, Portia Tritt. He couldn't find me
Wednesday and so I was the last. He asked for
information regarding a garment that had bayeta
yarn in it--a jacket, sweater, anything; and he- said that the police had found, clutched in my
father's left hand, a piece of bayeta yam which he
had evidently pulled from the clothing of his
murderer. They had kept that clue secret. He
wanted to know if any of us owned such a garment
or knew of any one who did."
Jean, her eyes fastened 'on his face murmured,
" Bayeta ? "
"So he said. I phoned my lawyer, Orlik, at
once, and he went to see the district attorney. The
FR1;RED-THREADS 71
district attorney was sore, but that wouldn't
faze Orlik, and he got it that the reporter was right. The yarn had been clutched in my father's
left hand, and the police had learned that it was
genuine bayeta. In that case, my father's murderer
was wearing my jacket. The one I later gave
to you."
" But----" Jean's eyes were wide and fixed. She
put out a hand and then let it drop to the table.
" But you don't know that. One little piece of yam
--and you haven't seen it----"
Guy said grimly, " I don't need to. The police
wouldn't make a mistake on a thing like that, and
if it was bayeta it was from my jacket. Bayeta
blankets are too rare and costly to make clothes
from. I told you about my jacket. It was made
for me last spring by a Choctaw woman from a
piece of blanket she had, because I got her son out
of jail. I brought it east with me. I had it outdoors
that afternoon, the afternoon of July 6th, at the
tennis court, but I thought I took it back to the
house and put it in the closet in the side hall where
the balls and rackets are kept. Not that I looked
for it, for the next morning my father was found
murdered. It may have been there all the time, but
I suppose it wasn't or the police would have found
it; they must have been secretly searching for
something with bayeta in it. Anyhow, the next
time I saw it was the afternoon two weeks ago that
I drove you to Lucky Hills. You remember when
I was showing you the house and took you to my
room to look at some Indian stuff, the jacket was
there on a chair and I was surprised to see it ?
And we discussed it and I gave it to you, and you
took it with you that evening ? "
Jean nodded. " I remember."
" All right, the murderer wore that jacket. I
72 REDTHREADS
don't know where it had been those two weeks. I
don't know who put it on the chair in my room."
" Someone's trying--someone wants you
accused----"
" Maybe. But why was it put in my room, where
I would almost certainly be the first to see it ?
And if it was known to be mine, why wait two weeks
to produce it ? "
" Who knew it was yours ? "
" Buysse and Wilson. I had shown it to them,
with other things I had brought. They are my
friends, and of course wouldn't tell the newspaper
reporter. I don't think Barth or his wife could
have known, if they saw it on me that afternoon,
or they would have told the reporter--unless----"
He stopped. In a moment he went on, " But I
think not. If that was it Barth would be after me.
I don't know about Kranz and Portia Tritt; they
had seen it, and they know textiles. I don't know.
Anyhow, you see why I said I wanted to explain.
I had to, and besides, I have to ask a favour of
you. Three of them. The first is, have you any
of that bayeta left, any at all ? "
" A very little. Scraps."
" Would you give me a piece of it ? "
Jean proceeded to prove that Miss Delaney had been
right in deciding that the chaos was not disorder. She
went straight to a large filing cabinet against the
wall, opened the third section from the top, fingered
in it a few seconds, and withdrew a manilla folder.
She recrossed and handed the folder to Guy.
" Take it all if you want it."
" No, thanks, I just want a piece." He pulled
out a thread of yarn some ten inches long, inspected
it and tucked it into his pocket, and handed
the folder back to Jean. As she was returning it to the cabinet she observed over her shoulder :
FR1;REDTHREADS 73
" You said three favours."
" Yes. The second is this." He hesitated, waited
until she had returned to her stool, and then resumed,
" I don't like to ask it. It's the sort of
thing--for instance, if you were my fiancee I
wouldn't mind."
" Well, it's too bad, but I'm not. Go ahead."
" I suppose I'll have to. I must. It is extremely
important--that is, important to me--that no one
be told a word of this--the jacket, the yarn----"
" I'm not quite a fool either," Jean said shortly.
" No one will be told by me."
" I know it's asking a good deal----"
" Not at all. What's the third favour ? "
" The police may even come and question you--- it's entirely my fault that that may happen and I
owe you----"
"Nonsense. Let them question. Though I don't see
why they should come to me if no one is to be told."
" That's what I'm coming to. They may come
to you and they may not. But there were twenty
people at that dinner table last evening. Mrs. Earth told us, after we had signed what we had
written and she had collected the papers, that she
was going to give the papers to you. Did she ?
And may I see them ? "
For a tenth of a second Jean looked blank. Then
she exclaimed, " Oh I Of course I Yes, I have
them. But I don't see--how can they be----"
She stopped, and gaped at him. She jumped
from the stool and took two steps towards him.
" Good God I Guy I Whoever knocked me on
the head and stole my clothes--that was the murderer
I "
Involuntarily she put up her palm and pressed
it against her head, above the ear, and stood, still
staring.
CHAPTER SIX
As regards accessibility, the man in that room
might have been the Minotaur in its lair. To reach
him, it was necessary first to say to the elevator
man : " Forty, please," or, " Earth & Pomeroy ; "
then to accost the young woman at the reception
desk; then to confer with the young man who
would appear from within ; then, if you got that
far, to withstand the searching eyes of the sharpnosed
woman to whose presence you had penetrated
; and then to wait. It could be done, with
exceptional credentials and sufficient patience and
a careful avoidance of sudden or suspicious movements.

The room itself was spacious, luxuriously carpeted,
furnished with desk and chairs and accessories
of Brazilian Mura, and windowed to the west and
south. Friday morning at eleven, the man behind
the desk was the one who belonged there, Melville Earth ; the bulky one seated across from him, with
a cigar in his teeth, was Inspector Cramer of the
homicide squad.
, Cramer was saying, " I understand that, and I'm
much obliged. I got on the case only yesterday,
and I wanted it first hand. A rumour's only a
rumour, no matter whether it's Flatbush backyard
or Wall Street. You say that you and Carew reached
an agreement that Tuesday night."
" I do." Earth was obviously under restraint.
" He wasn't as hard as I had feared he wouki be.
It was no rumour and no secret that I was caught on
Western Chemical, the whole Street knew it. Carew
had the only door out for me, and he was as decent
74
REDTHREADS 75
as I had any right to expect. Now I'm still in,
with Guy Carew and the damned lawyers to deal
with. I suppose I can't blame the boy for hesitating
to ignore their advice ; he doesn't know the ropes.
But as far as my interests are concerned, I wish to
God whoever killed Carew had waited another
twenty-four hours."
" Your agreement with him wasn't in writing ? "
" You don't write that sort of thing."
" No memorandum at all ? "
" No."
Cramer removed his cigar and sat. Finally he
grumbled, " All right. You're a man of affairs, you
know what inconvenience a murder means to any
one with enough bad luck to be within range. It
was a little after midnight when you and Carew
got through ? "
" Around a quarter after."
" And you went right upstairs and to bed ? "
" I did. My wife and I occupied the same room.
I slept well; I always do. I wanted to get away
fairly early, and at 7.30 I was up and taking a
shower. I was dressed and ready to go down to
breakfast, waiting for my wife, when Guy Carew
came to our door with the news and said the police
would soon be there. I heard nothing and saw
nothing that could possibly have been connected
with the murder."
" Tell me exactly what young Carew said when
he came to your door."
This instalment of the inconvenience to Mr.
Barth had begun at ten o'clock, and it was not over
until noon, for Inspector Cramer was tickling the
frog without the faintest notion of which way it
would jump. With Barth, he was exhibiting patience
and consideration, but also persistence and thoroughness.
He chewed up three cigars, went over the
76 REDTHREADS
same ground time and again, and paid no attention
when Earth got restive and sharp. But finally
he dropped the third cigar in the tray, got up and
grunted barely adequate appreciation, and departed.

Earth sat some minutes and then reached to
push a button. Almost at once a door opened and
the sharp-nosed woman appeared. Her searching
eyes still searched, even when directed at her
employer.
" Well ? " she inquired.
Earth shook his head. " I didn't tell him. I
know, Rachel, I can't remember once in twenty
years that your advice hasn't been good . . . but
I didn't tell him. Not that I see how I can possibly
use it. I can't very well go to Guy Carew and say
that when my wife and I arrived at Lucky Hills
that afternoon we saw him coming from the tennis
court wearing a jacket with red yam in it, and that
I may or may not report that fact to the police.
Can I ? Damn it. Sit down."
At 2 p.m. Inspector Cramer stood just inside the
door of the tomb of Tsianina on the Lucky Hills
estate of Valentine Carew--now of his son Guy
Carew--and with a slow revolving glance surveyed
the imposing ensemble. He had been moving fast.
His lunch had been three cheese sandwiches and a
bottle of beer, consumed on the back seat of his
official limousine as it speeded north with the speedometer
steady at 60. He had gone over the Lucky
Hills house, with special attention to the location
of the rooms which the guests and inmates had
occupied on the night of July 6th, and to exits and
entrances, and had briefly questioned a dozen
servants.
He turned to the man on his right, a Westchester
<- ^
REDTHREADS 77
assistant district attorney who had come from
White Plains to bring the key to the tomb. " Everything
is back in place ? "
The man nodded. " With the greatest care. You
know how the law protects the home of the dead.
Except the knife and the war club. We have those."
Cramer nodded, and turned to the man on his
left. It was the old Indian, Woodrow Wilson. He
was wearing a blue cotton shirt with a red bow
tie, blue overalls with a bib, and white canvas
shoes, all immaculate. Cramer said, " Show me
how the body was when you found it."
The Indian stepped to a spot some eight paces
from the door, and pointed straight down to the
floor. " Head." His finger moved to an angle. 41 Feet."
" Did you touch him ? "
" I touch him a little. I lift one eye open."
" Was it closed ? "
" Not closed, no." The Indian shrugged. " Not
open either."
" Did you move him ? "
" No."
" Those masonry steps and the platform--were
they where they are now ? "
" No. Back maybe ten feet."
The Inspector looked around again. Skinner had
been correct; it was impressive. They had left the
door standing open; otherwise the light would
have been even dimmer than it was. The room was
enormous, and nearly as high as it was wide. The
holes in the east wall, through which the morning
sun could come, or not come, for Tsianina's dead
answer to her husband's living question, were now,
looking up from the floor, shadowy outlines of
circles. Everywhere else the walls were covered
with thousands of objects, large and small, im76 REDTHREADS
same ground time and again, and paid no attention
when Barth got restive and sharp. But finally
he dropped the third cigar in the tray, got up and
grunted barely adequate appreciation, and departed.

Barth sat some minutes and then reached to
push a button. Almost at once a door opened and
the sharp-nosed woman appeared. Her searching
eyes still searched, even when directed at her
employer.
" Well ? " she inquired.
Barth shook his head. " I didn't tell him. I
know, Rachel, I can't remember once in twenty
years that your advice hasn't been good . . . but
I didn't tell him. Not that I see how I can possibly
use it. I can't very well go to Guy Carew and say
that when my wife and I arrived at Lucky Hills
that afternoon we saw him coming from the tennis
court wearing a jacket with red yam in it, and that
I may or may not report that fact to the police.
Can I ? Damn it. Sit down."
At 2 p.m. Inspector Cramer stood just inside the
door of the tomb of Tsianina on the Lucky Hills
estate of Valentine Carew--now of his son Guy
Carew--and with a slow revolving glance surveyed
the imposing ensemble. He had been moving fast.
His lunch had been three cheese sandwiches and a
bottle of beer, consumed on the back seat of his
official limousine as it speeded north with the speedometer
steady at 60. He had gone over the Lucky
Hills house, with special attention to the location
of the rooms which the guests and inmates had
occupied on the night of July 6th, and to exits and
entrances, and had briefly questioned a dozen
servants.
He turned to the man on his right, a Westchester
REDTHREADS 77
assistant district attorney who had come from
White Plains to bring the key to the tomb. " Everything
is back in place ? "
The man nodded. " With the greatest care. You
know how the law protects the home of the dead.
Except the knife and the war club. We have those."
Cramer nodded, and turned to the man on his
left. It was the old Indian, Woodrow Wilson. He
was wearing a blue cotton shirt with a red bow
tie, blue overalls with a bib, and white canvas
shoes, all immaculate. Cramer said, " Show me
how the body was when you found it."
The Indian stepped to a spot some eight paces
from the door, and pointed straight down to the
floor. " Head." His finger moved to an angle. " Feet."
" Did you touch him ? "
" I touch him a little. I lift one eye open."
" Was it closed ? "
" Not closed, no." The Indian shrugged. " Not
open either."
" Did you move him ? "
" No."
" Those masonry steps and the platform--were
they where they are now ? "
" No. Back maybe ten feet."
The Inspector looked around again. Skinner had
been correct; it was impressive. They had left the
door standing open; otherwise the light would
have been even dimmer than it was. The room was
enormous, and nearly as high as it was wide. The
holes in the east wall, through which the morning
sun could come, or not come, for Tsianina's dead
answer to her husband's living question, were now,
looking up from the floor, shadowy outlines of
circles. Everywhere else the walls were covered
with thousands of objects, large and small, imFR1;78 RED-THREADS
perfectly seen, and at both sides were rows of large
glass cabinets.
The Indian said unexpectedly, with a tone of pride, " Everything in here is Cherokee."
Cramer mounted the stone steps, counting from
habit. There were twenty-eight of them--the days
of the moon, though he did not know it. From the
top of the massive platform, he found that he could
look directly through one of the holes to daylight
if he stooped; and, by moving his head, another
and another ; then he stopped as his head touched
the edge of the casket which rested on a stone slab.
He raised his head a little and peered through the
glass lid, and saw Tsianina. From her "chin down
she was covered with what he knew to be a garment
of willow-tanned doeskin, since it was a public
fact; he could barely see that it was there ; but
there was dim light on her face, and he saw with
a sort of astonishment that he would have recognised
it from her pictures. It was not waxen or
deathlike, in that soft gloom; it was not even
unnatural; it was merely remote and beautiful.
The voice of the assistant district attorney
sounded : " We had to string some lights. Shall
I turn them on ? "
" No I " Cramer exploded hastily, and descended
the steps.
Near the door again he said, " I had to see it, of
course, but there's no use wasting time, since your
men have gone over it with microscopes. Where's
the lance with the prints ? "
" It's at White Plains too. It hung there." He
pointed. " And on that cabinet yonder. Do you
think there's anything to that ? "
" I haven't even begun to think." The inspector
was at the great brass door. Grasping its handle,
he swung it on its hinges until it was closed, and
REDTHREADS 79
then opened it again. Twice more he swung it back
and forth ; it moved in perfect silence. He grunted.
" I guess Carew wouldn't have heard it opening, at
that. Let's go outside."
They passed out and the White Plains man
turned the key in the lock and put it in his pocket.
Cramer said something to the Indian and was led
across the closely clipped turf to a gap in the high
yew hedge which was the beginning of an alley
leading without the enclosure. The Indian pointed.
" There."
" Show me how you were standing."
The Indian moved to a position about a foot to
the left of the gap, and stood.
" You were hit on top of the head ? "
" No. Here." The Indian tapped with a finger on
the left of his skull, back of the ear.
" Carew was inside the tomb and the door was
open ? "
" No. Closed."
" Was the sun shining ? "
" Yes. Bright sun."
" While you stood here, with Carew inside the
tomb, what were you thinking about ? "
" Me ? " A grunt, possibly derisive. " Not
thinking."
" Were you thinking that Carew had forgot the
Princess Tsianina and was going to marry another
woman ? "
The Indian shrugged and shook his head. The
assistant district attorney yawned without restraint,
and Cramer turned to him with mild sarcasm :
" You bored ? "
" No—but this damn Indian. We had him for
two weeks. Your men have tried him too. You say
you've read the reports ? "
Yeah, I know. Cramer gazed at the face of
80 RED-THREADS
Woodrow Wilson--the dark furrowed skin that had
never felt a razor, the knobs of the cheekbones, the
slits of the eyes. Abruptly he blurted at him,
" Yesterday afternoon you went to see Barth.
What for ? "
The Indian nodded without hesitation and said,
" Yesterday. To eat."
" I said yesterday. What did you want to see Earth about ? "
" Not to see Mr. Barth. My friend Mr. Buysse
took me for a ride and we went there. Among so
many people you would not see me hardly. A
thousand people there--more than that, two hundred.
Some stayed to eat and I stayed with my
friend. Mrs. Barth said by all means stay. Maybe
you know Cherokee life and thoughts about woman ?
Always the house is the woman's house. Whatever
she say in the house you do it. If she say stay and
eat and you go, bad insult. If woman gets insult
in the house----"
" I see. That's fine. Did you go there to see
Mrs. Barth ? "
" Me ? " The slits of Wilson's eyes widened a
fraction of an inch. " Hell, no. More fact about
Cherokee life: A man never go see woman of
another man in her house, never if man there. If
a man want to see that woman his eyes tell her
where, or maybe he wait till the dance and then
tell her. She say yes come or she say not come,
but never her house. For that reason me not go see
Mrs. Barth. But she say stay and eat----"
" Yeah, you said that. You listen to me. You
understand a plain question, don't you ? You're
damn right you do. You went to Barth's house to
see someone. Who ? "
Wilson shrugged. " Too many people there. See
Mr. Kranz, woman Portia Tritt. See Guy StraightREDTHREADS 8l
foot Carew, son of Tsianina. See my friend Mr.
Buysse, reason I ride with him. See woman with
yellow eyes, bright red dress, little feet. Mr. Buysse
said come on and ride, what the hell, nice day to
ride. Then not what I expect, Mrs. Barth said
stay and eat. More fact about Cherokee life----"
Cramer demanded of the White Plains man,
" Did you fellows work on this specimen for two
weeks ? "
" Off and on, nothing had any effect. If you
stuck him in boiling oil up to his waist it would
remind him of more fact about Cherokee life."
Cramer grunted in disgust. " I'll see him again
later. Now I'm just meeting folks and getting the
picture. At present I'm willing to get a bet down
on Commissioner Humbert's choice."
" Me ? "
Two heads jerked around at the Indian who,
judging from his tone, intended it for a polite
question. Cramer stared at him a second, growled,
" For God's sake," and strode off.
The inspector was still moving fast. At four
o'clock he had telephoned twice to his office and
given detailed instructions regarding a new development
that had presented itself, phoned also to the
commissioner and the district attorney, been driven
south again as far as the National Indian Museum on Ninety-third Street and spent half an hour with
its director, Amory Buysse, and was still there.
They sat together in the director's modest but
attractive office at the rear of the museum's third
floor, which contained implements and clothing of
the Mackenzie and California areas. Cramer had
actually got something : a peach seed, now reposing
in his pocket, and a recital of its history. The
mystery of Woodrow Wilson being taken for a ride
.^.'^^ .^"!82
REDTHREADS
to the house of Mrs. Earth had been cleared up;
and Buysse had further stated that he had been
aware that his car had been followed on that occasion,
but that he had been undisturbed by the fact,
because he had got used to it. Buysse had also recapitulated
briefly but patiently his answers to
thousands of previous questions. His invitation for
dinner and to spend the night of July 6th at Lucky
Hills was nothing out of the ordinary; all the
conferences regarding the affairs of the museum
had taken place in that manner; besides, he was
Val Carew's oldest friend and Carew had continued
to enjoy his company. He had arrived at
Lucky Hills at six o'clock, chatted for an hour
with Guy Carew, who had just returned from the
West, dined with the others, smoked a couple of
cigars on one of the terraces with Guy and Woodrow
Wilson, and gone up to bed a little before midnight,
to the room he always occupied when there. He
had slept well, had heard or seen nothing unusual,
and had not again left his room before 7.40, when
Wilson had come to his door to tell him that Carew
had been found murdered. Yes, while smoking on
the terrace they had discussed the probability that
Carew would marry Portia Tritt, but none of them
had expressed undue resentment. The subject had
been opened by questions from Guy, who had in
fact come East in some haste because it had been
suggested in a letter which had been written him
by Buysse. They had agreed that such a marriage
would be unfortunate, but certainly there had been
no thought of active interference to prevent it.
Their chief concern, in fact, had been for the weather.
July 7th was the birthday of Tsianina ; it had been
the custom of Val Carew to reserve important
questions for her answer on that morning, by the
rays of the sun on her face or their absence; which
REDTHREADS 83
would it be ? He was sure, Buysse said, that the
only action any of that trio had in mind was the
action of the heavens ; they wanted sunshine and
plenty of it. Yes, Val Carew would actually have
permitted such a question to find its answer in that
manner.
What did Buysse know of an affair, eight years
ago in Paris, between Guy Carew and Portia Tritt ?
Nothing whatever, and he didn't want to.
What did he know of the friendship between
Portia Tritt and Le Kranz ?
Nothing whatever, and he wasn't interested.
Or of the conversation that night, ending after
midnight, between Val Carew and Melville Barth ?
Nothing whatever.
Was it true that Carew had told him, Buysse,
that in case he married again his annual contribution
to the National Indian Museum would be
stopped or greatly decreased ?
No, and neither was it true that a skunk doesn't
smell.
But hadn't Buysse perhaps suspected such a
result from Carew's marriage to a young and handsome
woman ?
No.
But hadn't Buysse admitted that he regarded
such a marriage as unfortunate ?
Buysse said, " Listen, mister. You aiming to get
me mad ? What for ? "
Cramer passed it by. He chewed his cigar a while
and then suddenly demanded, " When Wilson came
to your room to report the murder, what did he
say ? "
" You mean the exact words ? "
" If you remember, yes."
" Well--something like this: ' The young one say
come to tomb. Tsianina's man dead.' "
&4
RED	THREADS
" ' The young one ' meaning Guy ? "
" That's right."
" Did Wilson look grief-stricken ? "
" No. If you've seen him you know how he looks.
He never looks different."
" Why didn't he go back to "the tomb with you ? "
" Because he was groggy. He had been knocked
cold, and he's an old man. I made him lie down on
my bed and then beat it."
" When you got to the tomb what was Kranz
doing ? "
" Standing there."
" What did you and he do while you were
waiting ? "
" I took a look at Val Carew and then I sat down
on the stone steps and stayed there. Kranz stood
over by the door."
" No talking ? "
" I didn't feel like talking. I don't know whether
Kranz did or not."
" How long did you wait ? "
" I guess I had been there about ten minutes
when Guy came. It was fifteen minutes more
before the police arrived. More came soon after.
There was nothing I could do, and I started to leave,
Captain Goss—asked Guy and Kranz and me if we
would object to being searched. I couldn't see any
sense in that, under the circumstances, but none of
us objected. They went over us one by one, and
made a list of what we had on us, and then I went
to the house to see how Wilson was. Before I left,
Earth and Miss Tritt had arrived."
" I've seen that list. I noticed you had a piece of
carved bone in your pocket and you said it was a
Dakota battle charm. Do you always carry
that ? "
" No. Guy had brought back some stuff from the
REDTHREADS 85
West and had given me that for the museum. It's
downstairs now if you want to take a look at it."
" Much obliged." Cramer sat moodily eyeing the
museum director with his lips screwed up, and after
a moment abruptly switched: " Did you ever see
a man scalped ? "
Buysse shook his head. " Nope, I never did."
" Then you don't know how hard it would be to
pull it off."
" Are you asking me how hard it would be ? "
" Say I am."
Buysse grunted. " Then you're a hell of a detective.
How would I know ? As it happens, I do
know. I asked a doctor. He said it would come off
easy if you used a sharp knife, but if you only used
the knife to carve the circle and then pulled it would
take quite some jerk." Buysse leaned back. " My
friend Peterson at the American Museum says you
folks have been asking him about scalping habits--
which tribes took it all and which ones took only
a part and so on. That's all goose feathers. I mean
that scalping stunt. Forget it. I can see how it
would strike you. Wilson's an Indian, and Guy
Carew is part Indian, and so when they killed a
man they would scalp him. Well, maybe they might.
But so might any one else if they wanted to make it
look like an Indian."
" Yeah, I thought of that alone."
" I suppose you did. Another thing, that business
about a piece of bayeta yam in Val's hand. A newspaperman
was here a couple of days ago, and one
of your men yesterday. People don't wear things
made of bayeta. But any one who knows about it
could have got a strand of it from a blanket and
closed Val's fingers over it after they killed him.
There are three bayeta blankets at Lucky Hills.
There are eight in this museum."
FR1;86 RED-THREADS
" Uh-huh, I thought of that too, but I don't like
it much."
" You don't ? Why not ? "
" Oh, I just don't. But this scalping stunt, I'd
like to ask a few more questions about that. ..."
District Attorney Skinner sat in his office sidewise
to his desk, with his eyes narrowed at the man
who was in a chair facing him. The visitor, mediumsized
and grey-haired, was tailored and outfitted
withexpensive care and the best of taste, and would
have been notable anywhere for his shrewd steadfast
eyes, as pale as ice.
Skinner broke a silence, suavely, choosing his
words. ",No, Orlik, I don't say it's unethical. I only
say I'm surprised that a man of your standing
would suggest such a thing. You know very well
the police can't permit valuable evidence, especially
in a murder case, to be examined by any one who
takes a fancy----"
" Not fancy." The visitor gestured impatiently.
" I'm aware that I'm not representing a defendant,
with a legal right to enforce, because there is no
defendant, since you've made no charge. But they
took that Indian on a fishing expedition up in
Westchester, and kept him two weeks, didn't they ?
And all the time they had that piece of yam and
kept it quiet. Wilson is still my client, and he is
still in jeopardy, and you know it. How do I know
when you'll nab him again ? So is Buysse my client,
and Mr. Guy Carew, and they are all being kept
under surveillance. Must they submit indefinitely
to that annoyance ? Now that your finding that
piece of yarn in the dead man's hand has been made
public----"
" We didn't publish it."
" All the worse. You should either have published
it or defended it. Instead, it was permitted to trickle
RED THREADS 87
out in a manner most damaging to the repute of
respectable citizens. Now you insinuate that it
would be contrary to the ends of justice to allow me
to have the yarn examined by an accredited expert
in my employ."
"Not at all." Skinner remained suave. "I
merely say it isn't necessary. It has been examined
by three of the best experts available. They agree
that it is genuine bayeta."
" That means very little."
" Why ? "
" Because bayeta is a very broad term. The
whole period during which those blankets were
being woven extends to nearly two centuries. Between
any two specimens now extant, the yam
always shows a variation, sometimes minute,
sometimes apparent even to a novice. So to say
that the yam is bayeta doesn't mean much. But
say--just as a hypothesis--say that I have in my
possession a strand of bayeta taken from one of the
blankets at Lucky Hills or in the National Indian
Museum, and an expert is permitted to compare it
microscopically with your specimen. He can tell with
a high degree of certainty whether they came from
the same source."
" No doubt." Skinner's eyes narrowed. Then he
smiled. " I see no reason, Orlik, why you shouldn't
be told--just between us. What you suggest has
been done. Our piece of bayeta has been compared
with over fifty specimens collected from various
places--including the two you mentioned. Oh,
we were careful about it, and circumspect--we
didn't injure valuable property. The experts tell
us we haven't found the source. But your taking
the trouble to come--as busy a man as you--makes
me wonder--do you have a strand of bayeta in your
possession ? "
FR1;88 REDTHREADS
" I said a hypothesis."
" I know, but do you ?
" I could easily have several."
" Of course you could, but do you have one ?
One in particular with which you would like to
compare ours ? "
The lawyer smiled. " If I have, and if you let me
compare them, you could ask that question again."
" I'd rather ask it now." Skinner's voice was
oiled. " It's a murder case, Orlik. A mean thing to
monkey with, no matter what your professional
standing may be. And you're not very discerning
to play me for a fool. Did you really think I'd be
ass enough to let you get your hands on that piece
of evidence ? "
" Not my hands. An accredited expert. On your
premises. In the presence of your men."
" Then you admit that you have in your possession
a piece of bayeta which you suspect----"
" I admit nothing. I came here to ask a professional
courtesy. I would appreciate it. Mr. Guy Carew would apprec----"
" Appreciate hell! " The district attorney leaned
forward and slapped his palm on the desk. " Listen,
Orlik! By God, if you have got some yarn that
came from the same place our piece came from--and
you have the nerve to come here and start bellyaching
about the ends of justice----"
Mr. Orlik was standing up. He faintly smiled, and
held out his hand. Skinner, with a jerk, swivelled
away from him. Orlik smiled again, and went.
CHAPTER SEVEN
leo kranz, having locked the door, led the way
to the rear of the gallery, where there were comfortable
chairs and a smoking stand, and gestured
his caller to a seat. " Now," he said, " we won't be
disturbed. I'm sorry, but that was an important
customer. It isn't often, in August, that someone
walks in and selects three thousand dollars' worth
of old French prints. And two of my assistants are
on vacation and the third is ill. . . ."
Inspector Cramer mumbled something and shook
his head at a proffered cigarette box of ivory, an
glanced again, at his wrist watch. " I'm a little
pressed for time," he declared. " Suppose you tell
me briefly in your own words. I understand you
were a frequent guest at Lucky Hills ? "
Kranz nodded. " I first met Carew about fifteen
years ago. I used to have a little place up north of
Mount Kisco, not far from his estate, and we got
into the habit of playing billiards together and we
hit it off pretty well. I liked him, and I think I
can say he liked me. Of recent years I've been
there often, in the summer."
" Was there anything special about your visit on
July 6th ?"
" Special ? "
" Well--it was Tuesday. Not a weekend."
" Oh. No, nothing special. I went sometimes in
the middle of the week."
" Nothing, for instance, in connection with
Carew's intention to marry Portia Tritt ? "
" No." Kranz flicked ash from his cigarette.
" Why ? "
89
90 REDTHREADS
Cramer shrugged. " We just ask questions,
because we have to. You know how that is, M.
Kranz. I understand you got there around five
o'clock.
" About that. I left early and motored up. I
played a little tennis with Guy, then Buysse and
the Earths came--Miss Tritt was already there--
and there were some cocktails. After dinner Miss
Tritt and I played billiards. Carew was off somewhere
with Earth, and I think the others were out
on the terrace. I told Miss Pritt good-night a little
after eleven and went up to bed. I was up and
dressed early--I'm an early riser and I always want
coffee as soon as I'm up--and at half-past seven I
was sitting on the east terrace drinking coffee when
Wilson, the old Indian, passed by, and I thought he
looked odd. I followed him in the house, thinking
I don't know what, because I had never seen such
a look on his face and I had known him a long time.
He went upstairs. In a little while he came down
and Guy was with him. Guy said his father had
been killed and told me to come along, and told
Wilson to go back in and tell Euysse. We ran, and
by the time we reached the tomb Guy was thirty
yards ahead of me. Carew was there----"
Kranz stopped. Cramer waited. In a moment
Kranz went on : " I'm emotional. I suppose I'm
hyper something. When I speak of it I see it again--
and feel it again--I can't help it. Carew was there
dead. We saw at once he was dead. Guy asked me
to stay there and he went back to the house. In
about ten minutes Euysse arrived, and we remained
there together. The police came--a couple of the
state police--at five minutes after eight."
Cramer sighed, and began questions. He knew
that Kranz had answered them all before, and he
knew what the answers had been, but he had to get
RED THREADS 9!
acquainted with these people as the first step in his
effort to send one of them--or two or three--to the
electric chair. So he asked questions, and found
that although Kranz might be emotional, he was
also a man of sense. He agreed with the inspector
that if he himself had had a desire to murder Carew,
he could easily have got to the tomb unobserved
at that early hour, knocked the Indian out, entered
the tomb and performed the deed, and returned to
the house to sit on the terrace and ask the butler
for coffee. He also agreed that any of the guests
might have done the same thing, leaving the house
by the door at the end of the corridor of the north
wing, unlocking the door from the inside and locking
it again upon returning.
More questions. Kranz was as patient as Earth
and Buysse had been, even when Cramer abruptly
inquired :
" When did you first learn that there was a bequest
to you of a couple of hundred thousand in
Carew's will ? "
" When the will was made public."
" Carew had never told you ? "
*' No. If I had thought about it I might have
expected it, for he was a generous man, but he never
mentioned it." Kranz frowned. " I know there's
no point in getting indignant about implications,
but it does seem that by this time you might have
eliminated the possibility that I killed him for the
money I would get. Even if I had known of it. My
affairs are in excellent condition. I have no need
of money. Haven't you found that out ? "
Cramer admitted that they had, and added that
he had intended no implication. " It is merely,"
he explained, "the necessary technique of investigation.
I haven't the slightest reason to suspect
that you murdered your friend, Val Carew. to get
92 REDTHREADS
the money he had left you in his will. I don't even
think it's credible. But I ask you anyway whether
you knew about it before he died. You say ' No.' What if later, when I'm talking with Portia Tritt
for instance, I am told that you discussed with her,
previous to Carew's death, the legacy you expected
from him and mentioned the amount ? You see.
There's no use resenting implications when there
aren't any. And by the way, speaking of Miss
Tritt, what was your attitude toward her contemplated
marriage ? "
" Well." Kranz crushed a cigarette in the tray.
" I didn't like it."
" Why not ? "
" Various reasons. For one thing, he was twice
her age. Val was over sixty."
" Did you discuss it with him ? "
" Not much. Once or twice."
" Have an argument ? "
" No, I wouldn't call it an argument. You didn't
argue with him regarding his personal projects.
He made his own decisions--that is, he had his own
way of making them."
" Was he really nut enough to leave an important
decision to that contraption in the tomb ?
Sunshine through a hole in the wall ? "
" He wasn't a nut. To an unbeliever, a saint's
relic is garbage. To a Christian, Mecca is an unsanitary
town full of fleas. A man who has a shrine
has transcended reason."
" Uh-huh. But about the marriage. What other
reasons did you have for not liking it ? "
Kranz waved a hand. " I gave you the most
important one. Forianother--I had a selfish one.
Miss Tritt is one of the most accomplished stylists
and publicity counsellors in New York. I am one
of her accounts. She has handled publicity for my
REDTHREADS 93
textile business for four years, and for this gallery
for over a year, and she is extremely good. I didn't
want to lose her."
" Any others ? "
" No." Kranz smiled a little. " That was enough.
I've admitted my selfishness. Of course you've discovered
that I wasn't alone in disapproving of that
proposed marriage--but that's an old story. I
don't suppose it has ever happened that a man over
sixty marrying an attractive young woman has
met with approval from any one, except the couple
themselves. But it isn't often that the disapproval
is sufficiently strong to cause a resort to murder."
" Does that mean that you think there was
another motive for the murder ? "
" Not at all. I am as much at sea as--well, as
you are, apparently."
Cramer grunted. "I'm not even floating yet,
I'm just shoving off. That's why I have to ask you
a lot of questions you have already answered. For
instance, did Carew ever mention to you an intention
to stop his support of the National Indian
Museum ? "
" No."
" Or to curtail it ? "
" No."
" Did you ever hear such an intention discussed
by Carew or Buysse or any one else ? "
" No."
The inspector went on asking questions which had
already been answered.
At five o'clock, which was about the time Leo
Kranz was locking the door of his gallery for a
tete-a-tete with Inspector Cramer, Eileen Delaney
was sitting at her desk in her own little office at the
premises of Jean Farris Fabrics. It was not at all
94 REDTHREADS
chaotic, but was fairly filled with filing cabinets,
stacks of magazines and papers, miscellany, and a
couple of chairs. She looked up from a sheet of
figures she was studying as the door opened and
the chunky little woman from the anteroom
appeared.
" A man named Parker from a newspaper."
" What newspaper ? "
" He wouldn't say. He says he spoke to Miss Farris at the street door as she was going out."
" Send him in."
Cora went. In a few moments the door opened
again, and a man entered. The fact that Miss
Delaney had again bent over the sheet of figures
with a frown of concentration gave him an opportunity
to appraise her with a keener glance than,
presumably, he would otherwise have permitted
himself. He was medium-sized and carelessly
dressed, with a wide mouth and full Ups, a small
nose, and lively dark eyes which seemed to change
expression instantaneously as Miss Delaney looked
up.
She demanded, brusquely but amicably, " You're
somebody new ? I never saw you before, did I ? "
He shook his head apologetically. "I'm not
in the trade line. Miss Delaney. As a matter of
fact, I'm not on a newspaper at all. I'm a free
lance, and I want to propose a piece of publicity----"
" Our publicity is handled by----"
" Sure, I know. Ethel Gannon. As I said, I'm not
in the trade line, but I know the ropes and I get
around. I know you're highly specialised and none
of the ordinary junk would interest you, but what
I have to propose is a natural for the Town and
Country Register, and I have a connection there. I
wanted to discuss it with Miss Farris, but she was
leaving just as I came in, and she said for me to see
FR1;REDTHREADS 95
you." He had got the desk and opened his portfolio
on it, and now swiftly extracted something and
handed it across. " What do you think of that ? "
Miss Delaney took it and saw a glossy--a snapshot
of a group of people on a lawn under trees. It was
a good shot, but having seen thousands of others
as good, she demanded merely, " Well ? "
" Well," the man smiled, " of course I know you
couldn't do anything very special just with that.
It's a good picture of Miss Jean Farris in a new
fall ensemble on'the lawn of Mr. and Mrs. Melville Earth's country home, and the rotos would use it,
but that's not what I'm after. What I want, and
what I can get with your co-operation, is a page
spread in the Tee and See. As you know, it was
taken yesterday."
" Where did you get it ? "
" From one of the boys. As I said, I know the
ropes. That outfit Miss Farris was wearing created
a sensation yesterday afternoon--but, of course, she
told you about it ? "
" I don't know that she did. It's been a busy day
here."
The lids of the man's eyes had drooped a little--
against the light ? They opened again. " Well, it
did. I want to do a piece--for one thing, one thing
that would help--could I see it ? On a model would
do--or even just see it--if it happens to be handy--"
Miss Delaney shook her head. " It isn't here. I
suppose it's at Miss Farris's apartment, since she
wore it home."
" I wanted to see it." The man looked disappointed.
He picked up the glossy, glanced at it,
and tossed it to the desk again. " It's a good picture,
anyway. And what I really want is something else,
to make a story out of it. That's what I'm good at,
I see a story that other people miss. Yesterday
96 REDTHREADS
afternoon everybody was interested when Miss
Fan-is told about the bayeta yarn in that ensemble,
but do you think any of the press girls had the sense
to pick it up ? Not a one. They all muffed it. It
was a good-looking outfit and all that, but the real
story is in that bayeta yarn. Think of it! The dye
made in Persia, and the yam in Spain, three centuries
ago I The Indians killing the Spanish soldiers,
and taking their uniforms and unravelling them,
and weaving the yam into blankets! And now,
in the twentieth century, the foremost designer in
America using that same yarn in a fashionable ensemble
that makes a sensation at an exclusive
garden party showing I Tell me that's not a story ?
It's a natural for the Tee and See I "
Miss Delaney smiled a little. She was fully aware
of the sweet uses of publicity, especially when the
proposed medium was of the nature of the Town
and Country Register. She looked with calculating
interest at the lively dark eyes and inquired, " And
you want something from this end too ? I'm afraid
you'll have to see Miss Gannon----"
" Not at all." The man sounded a little hurt.
" I'm no hog. I'll get mine from the Tee and See. But I need your co-operation to make it as good as
I can. This picture of the ensemble is plenty good
enough, and it's a good shot of Miss Farris too, but
what I want is a piece of the bayeta yam itself,
shoot it, enlarge it maybe six times, and print it
the length of the page. That's why I was hoping
the outfit was here, I thought maybe we could take
a strand of the yarn from it. Of course I could fake
it, but that would be dangerous, especially in an
enlargement. I doubt if I would dare do it if I didn't
have the real thing. That would do just as well--
if you have a piece of it left over--do you ? "
"I'm not sure." Miss Delaney pursed her lips.
FR1;REDTHREADS 97
" Miss Farris always keeps a sample, but I don't
know whether she had any of that left or not.
She'll be here in the morning----"
" I wouldn't like to wait. This is hot. Maybe you
could look--if it isn't too much trouble. . . ."
Miss Delaney hesitated. She never liked to discuss
publicity with her partner anyway, for although
Jean had sense enough to understand its necessity,
she shied off whenever she could. And this was
certainly decorous and dignified enough. . . .
She got up, asked the man to wait, and passed
through the intervening room into Jean's sanctum.
There she again received proof that the chaos was
not disorder. First she consulted a large canvasbound
book, speedily found the entry she sought,
and went to a filing cabinet and opened the third
section from the top. The folder she extracted
after a little fingering bore an inscription in Jean's
bold hand on an outside flap : " 7/21/37--Bayeta--
GC--unr by JF--9 oz.--to Krone for JF."
Miss Delaney, frowning at it, muttered to herself,
" Is that so, G.C., I didn't know that--if she didn't
want me to, she shouldn't have put it here in the
open file--anyway, I don't see what difference it
makes so long as it's bayeta--"
She selected a single strand the length, of three
fingers, returned the yam to the folder, and the
folder to the file.
In her office, she was surprised to see the man
sitting at her desk, writing with her pen on a piece
of her paper. He looked up and smiled apologetically,
and hastily arose.
" Did you find it ? " He reached for the yam,
eagerly, but not too eagerly. " That's fine I So
that's real bayeta! It is a story, you know--it's a
peach! " He tucked the yam into a pocket, and
extended a piece of paper. " I took the liberty of
98 REDTHREADS
using your desk--I hope you won't mind--if you'll
just sign that----"
She looked at it. It was a Jean Fan-is Fabrics
letterhead, and he had written the date on it and
the sentence : / hereby certify that this yarn is a
piece of the genuine bayeta used in weaving the material
for the costume worn by Miss Jean Farris on the
afternoon of August 5, 1937.
She glanced up quickly at the lively dark eyes
and caught the lids drooping again. She had a
mild protest ready, but he was ahead of her, explaining
:
" My reputation is pretty fair, but after all, it
would be simple for me to get a piece of red yam
somewhere and call it bayeta, and the Tee and See editors aren't experts. Of course don't sign it if
you'd rather not, but it would make it a little easier
for me to put it over. ..."
Miss Delaney shrugged, sat at her desk, and reached for her pen.
Down on the street, five minutes later, a taxi
driver got a signal from the sidewalk and swerved
to the curb. An agile medium-sized man with a
portfolio under his arm hopped in and slammed the
door to.
" Police Headquarters, Centre Street."
The driver grunted and shifted gears. The passenger
leaned forward: " Step on it. Fifteen
minutes ought to do it. Make it hot, and don't
worry. Here." The passenger extended his hand
through the window. The driver glanced briefly at
the shining metal badge, and shifted to high.
CHAPTER EIGHT
inspector cramer's fifth telephone call to his
office during the afternoon, made from a booth in a
florist's shop a few doors down from Leo Kranz's
art gallery, was put through a few minutes before
the arrival at headquarters of the taxi bearing the
man with the portfolio, and therefore there was
some delay before the inspector learned of the
superb success of the tactics he had suggested with
regard to the new development---that development
of which he had first heard at the time of his previous
phone call, prior to his visit to the National
Indian Museum. But in any event, since he was a
methodical man, Cramer would probably have kept
his appointment with Portia Tritt. He had determined
to make the acquaintance of the principal
persons involved among their own surroundings
rather than in the menacing atmosphere of the
office of the chief of the homicide squad, and it
was his custom to lay out a programme and stick
to it.
Miss Tritt's apartment on the twelfth floor of
Nyasset House, overlooking the East River, was a
subtle triumph of her personality. It was expensively
and elegantly trite, with its Ferinda
mirror and photographic murals by Dickinson in
the entrance hall, and in the living room, geometric
rugs, bentwood furniture by Weber, copies of two
Epsteins, and Diego Rivera sketches ; but in spite
of that it had the air and the feeling of a place
where someone lived and wanted to live. Inspector
Cramer, however, wasted no appreciation on the
triumph ; nor surprise on the luxury, for among the
99
100 RED THREADS
things which the reports had taught him about
Portia Tritt was the fact that she was one of the
eight or ten women whose varied activities in the
New York fashion world were netting them incomes
in excess of the salary of the President of the
United States. Some things, of course, he had not
been taught, as for instance that the Vionnet
original of the afternoon dress she was wearing had
sold for $800, whereas her copy by Nicholas had
cost her nothing.
Cramer conjectured that her visible nervousness,
as she recounted for him the story of her movements
on the night of July 6th and the following morning,
was probably habitual. In twenty minutes she took
three cigarettes from a lacquered box, but never
got one lit, she spoke hurriedly, and she sat her chair
like a bird not on its chosen roost but on a momentary
perch soon to be abandoned. Nevertheless,
the story got told. She had ridden to Lucky Hills
after lunch with Val Carew, driven by his chauffeur.
Guy Carew had arrived that morning. There had
been a long conversation between Guy and his
father--not a quarrel, so far as she knew--and she
and Guy had played a few sets of tennis. Later
Buysse had come, and Leo Kranz, and the Earths.
She knew nothing whatever of Earth's business with
Carew, but a remark of Carew's had led her to suppose
that Earth had phoned that morning to request
an appointment, and that Carew was grimly amused
that his wife was to accompany him. She had
noticed nothing unusual in any one's conduct before
or during dinner, or after. After dinner she had
played billiards with Kranz, and when Kranz went
up a little after eleven she had decided to go for a
walk.
Cramer put in, " Had you seen either of the
Carews since dinner ? "
RED THREADS 101
" no."
" Did you see Guy when you went outdoors ?
He was on one of the terraces."
" I didn't go that way. It was a cool evening,
and I went first to the side hall, to get a jacket from
the closet, and then left by the main entrance, to
tell Orson not to lock me out."
" Okay. Orson says it was 11.25 when you spoke
to him. You came back in at one o'clock ? "
" Around that, yes." Portia Tritt abandoned her
fourth cigarette to a tray without having lit it. The
tip of her tongue showed for an instant between
her lips, and disappeared. She looked straight at the
inspector. " Of course," she said, " I know that
the decencies of privacy no longer exist--for that
night--for any of us who were there. I realise you
have to know everything, and anyway, you already
do. You are aware that Mr. Carew and I intended
to be married. You are aware of his habit of consulting--the
sunlight on his dead wife's face, in her
tomb. I suppose you are aware that he had not in
fact engaged to marry me, that he had informed me
that he intended to let the decision be made on that
morning in his wife's tomb. . . ."
The tip of her tongue showed again. " But
perhaps that isn't the way to say it. We had,
really, agreed that we would marry. But he had
let me understand that he couldn't fulfil the agreement
without Tsianina's approval--or, as he said,
her indifference. That sounds as if I had got myself
into a humiliating position, and I had. Nobody
could understand how it happened and my reason
for submitting to it without knowing Val Carew,
and I assure you we understood each other perfectly.
But, why I say this, it was not only humiliating, it
was ridiculous--it is ridiculous, my explanation of
why I went outdoors and stayed until one o'clock.
FR1;102 RED THREADS
I wanted to look at the sky. I wanted to know if it
seemed likely that the sun would be shining in the
morning."
Cramer grunted. " It may have been ridiculous,
but it was practical. And at one o'clock ? "
" I went to my room. I didn't undress, because
when I'm on edge I know I can't sleep, so I sat
and tried to read. Perhaps I read some, but not
much. At two o'clock--exactly that, for I looked
at my watch--I reached a decision that I had been
trying to make. I left my room and went to Guy
Carew's room and knocked on his door, and he let
me in."
She stopped. Cramer, with narrowed eyes on her,
demanded, " Go on from there."
She shook her head. "< That's all. Except that I
stayed in his room, and he was with me, until halfpast
seven, when Wilson came and said he had
found--Val Carew's body."
Cramer, continuing to gaze at her, folded his
arms and straightened his shoulders. Finally he
sighed. " Look here. Miss Tritt. There were two
things in particular I wanted to go over with you.
This is one of them. You can't possibly get away
with this. The police have been more than square
with you. Not only has this not been published, it
hasn't even been whispered. But .sooner or later
someone's going to be arrested and tried for murdering
Val Carew, and the odds are a thousand to one
you'll be on the witness stand. See what you think
of the decencies of privacy then, when you are
asked why you went to Guy Carew's room at two
in the morning and stayed there for over five hours.
If you refuse to say, there are only two possible
surmises, or rather three. One is that you're lying.
Another is that what you are concealing is guilty
knowledge of the murder. The third you can guess
RED THREADS 103
—and Guy is the son of the man you expected to
marry. I'm not accusing you of any of these motives
for concealment; I'm just showing you the logic of
it, and how that logic will work if you insist on giving
it a chance, not among a few policemen, but with
twelve people in a jury box and ten million people
who read newspapers. You can't get away with it."
Portia Tritt said calmly, " The ten million—if it
comes to that—may think what they please. As
for a jury—what is there for a jury ? Guy Carew is
not a murderer. I am not."
" That may be a point at issue."
" Before a jury ? "
" I say it may."
She shook her head. " That's a weaker threat,
even, than the other. I'm not an ingenue. Inspector.
Neither am I a holy terror. I'm thirty-three years
old. For fifteen years I've wriggled through the
mob, pinching and kicking and scratching and
pulling hair, and—I'm where I am. The main
trick is to keep all your own scars on the inside,
where they don't show. You threaten me with
odium." She laughed a little, not nicely. "You're
much too late with that. Haven't you studied
chemistry ? Don't you know that the air we breathe
is composed of nitrogen, oxygen and odium ? No ?
All I have to say, I said that morning at Lucky
Hills, when the air was also filled with fear and
suspicion and suspense and policemen. I went to
Guy Carew's room at two o'clock, and neither of us
left there for five and a half hours."
Cramer blurted at her, " Did you have an affair
with him in Paris in 1929 ? "
She countered, instantly, " What does he say ? "
" He doesn't say."
" Then neither do I. I'm not a braggart.'
11
" You knew him in Paris ? "
104 RED THREADS
" Yes, I met him."
" Did Val Carew know that you had known his
son ? "
" Yes."
" Did he know you had been intimate ? "
" No more than you do."
" Did he learn of your former intimacy with his
son on July 6th ? Did Guy tell him about it that
day ? Is that what you went to Guy's room to talk
about I
" Three questions ? " With a little smile Portia
Tritt elevated her left hand to the level of her lips--
admirable lips, neither too strong nor too dainty;
with the index finger--a lovely, shapely finger--
perpendicular. " No." The middle finger was
erected beside its fellow. " No." The ring finger
up. "No."
" Okay. How much have you seen of Guy Carew
since 1929 ? "
" Nothing. Oh, perhaps a few casual meetings.
Most of the time he has been out West. You know
he has been doing things for the Indians ? "
" So I understand. Have you had correspondence
with him ? "
" Never." She procured a cigarette from the
lacquered box. " To tell the truth, I had forgotten
his existence until last summer, when Val Carew
was introduced to me by my friend Leo Kranz.
Then, of course, I remembered his son."
" And although you had forgotten his existence,
you went to his room uninvited at two in the
morning ? "
" I did."
" And you are not telling why ? "
" I am not."
" Do you suppose if the fact appeared in the newspapers
it might remind somebody of something ? "
RED THREADS 105
" I wouldn't think so. I don't know who it could
be, or what." She smiled. " It really couldn't help
you, Inspector, neither the publication nor the
threat of it. I told you I'm immunised to odium.
Not that it's my favourite diet." She smiled again.
" I appreciate your not publishing it—very much.
And I shouldn't expect an official of your standing
to publish it merely in order to get even with me
for having zones of discretion. What I think is, I
think it was pretty decent of me to admit that I
had visited a man in his room and stayed most of
the night—a man who would certainly never have
revealed it himself—to save him from the possibility
of a suspicion that he had murdered his father. I
might have waited until the suspicion was a fact
instead of a possibility."
" Yeah, so you might." Cramer folded his arms
tighter, and sighed again. Suddenly he demanded,
" What date was it that Carew took you inside the
tomb and you left your fingerprints scattered
around ? "
" Sunday, July 4th." Her brows went up. " Good
heavens, was that the second thing you wanted to
go over with me ? I suppose it is necessary for you
to suspect everything any one says, but there is
corroboration for that. The Indian, Wilson, was
there and saw us go in."
" The Indian don't remember it."
" Does just can't remember it."
" Well." She upturned a palm. " He hates me,
of course. I don't suppose he killed Val Carew, but
he would have cheerfully killed me. But really,
Inspector, you don't dream that I killed Val Carew
myself, do you ? If there is any significance to those
fingerprints——"
She jerked up and around. The noise that had
startled her—the ring of a telephone bell—seemed
FR1;106 RED THREADS
much too ordinary to have produced the effect it
did; and Cramer's gaze concentrated on the back
of her head as she stepped quickly across to a
cabinet and pulled open a panel to disclose the instrument
within. But if the sound of the bell had
rudely disconcerted her, as it seemed to, she had her voice well composed as she spoke into the
transmitter. In a moment she turned :
" It's for you, Inspector."
Cramer crossed to her, nodded thanks, and took
it. His end of the conversation was not very informative,
consisting mostly of grunts, with a few
brief questions, and at one point an excited but
vague ejaculation. At the end he said brusquely,
" No. Hold everything. We've got to be absolutely
sure. I'll be there as quick as I can make it."
He pushed the instrument back, turned, and was
curt: " Much obliged. Miss Tritt. I have to go
look at something. I'll be seeing you again--don't
bother--I'm used to opening doors----"
When he had gone, Portia Tritt stood staring at a
deformed Epstein and as she did so succeeded,
with completely mechanical movements, in getting
a cigarette lit. After half a dozen puffs she finally
moved to an ash tray on a stand and deposited the
match-stick and crushed the cigarette, went to the
next room for a glance in the mirror, a hat and a
cape which went with her dress, and got a handbag
from a drawer. Before leaving the apartment she
stopped at the outer door to take a look in the
handbag.
Down on the sidewalk, the doorman leaped into
action at sight of her. In the taxi, having given the
driver an address, she looked through the back
window; then, after a couple of blocks, again;
and after three more blocks, once more. Her Ups
RED THREADS 107
compressed with annoyance, and she spoke to her
driver: " Go to the Hotel Churchill and stop in front of the shop marked Nicholas on the Fiftyfourth
Street side. " She didn't bother to look back
again.
She had the change ready at the destination,
paid the driver and hopped out and across the sidewalk
to the door marked Nicholas. It was locked.
She muttered, " Damn it, of course, I'm out of my
mind," skipped into a tobacco shop next door,
passed straight through it into the lobby of the
Churchill, went on past palms and elevators and
people in the arcade, another corridor and out to
Fifty-third Street. There she stopped a taxi, got
in, and told the driver to wait a minute. Looking
through the rear window, she noted the cars and
taxis crossing the avenue toward her, and those
rounding the corner. After a moment she gave
the driver an address and told him, " Get past
Park on this light if you can make it."
She watched through the rear window, intermittently,
until the taxi stopped at the curb on East
Sixty-first Street.
She smiled through force of habit at the Japanese
in a dark-blue uniform who let her in. That smile, which was no effort at all, had made ten thousand
friends in ten thousand places where friendliness
might never be needed, but should it be it was
there.
l< I'm expected, Nobu. I'm late."
" All right, don't bother."
She turned to the staircase and went up, not
rapidly, and down the wide second-floor hall to
the door at the end. Before she reached it, it opened,
and Leo Kranz was on the sill. She stopped, and
their eyes met, and nothing was said; then he
bowed and stepped aside and invited her, " Come
FR1;108 RED THREADS
in." She entered, and after he had closed the door
he turned : " Your hat and gloves ? Your cape ? "
She shook her head, standing, glancing sharply
around, and back at him. Then she shrugged, took
off her hat and put it on a table, sat down with her
handbag on her lap, and began pulling at her gloves.
" I apologise for being late," she said, " but I
couldn't help it. I told you on the phone that police
inspector was coming at 5.30, but he didn't get there
until 6. Then he stayed longer than I thought he
would. Then I didn't care to have the detective
who follows me--damn it, Leo, don't look at me
like that! You're not a dog I I don't like dogs."
" I know you don't. I beg your pardon." Kranz
moved a chair and sat. " I knew the inspector
would be late for his appointment with you because
it was nearly 6 when he left my place."
" Oh I He called on you too ? "
" Naturally. I was at Lucky Hills that night, so
I am suspected of murder. I was one of Val's
closest friends, so I am suspected of knowing things
which I don't know. Inspector Cramer is the head
of the homicide squad and was called back from a
Canada vacation to solve the case."
Silence. It was prolonged. Portia Tritt put her
gloves neatly together and thrust them under the
strap of her handbag. She pulled her skirt down
over her knee, dabbed at her nose with her handkerchief,
clasped her hands on her lap, and unclasped
them. Finally, she inquired in a voice with a bare
suggestion of tremor:
" Well ? "
" Well ? " Kranz smiled, not humorously. " You
phoned that you wanted to come to see me. I
confess I was surprised, considering the number of
times I've asked you in the past month. . . ."
" Don't be suave, Leo. You know perfectly----*'
RED THREADS 109
With an impatient gesture she jerked her handbag
open, took a paper from it, and extended her hand.
" What's that ? "
He took it and looked at it. " It's an envelope
addressed to you, with my return printed on it--this
address. In fact, it's one of my personal envelopes,
and the inscription in my handwriting. Since it has
no stamp, I presume it was delivered by messenger."
" Thanks. What's inside of it ? "
He inserted two long deft fingers into the envelope,
which had been slit open, and withdrew a
fold of thin soft yellow material. It was so thin and
soft he had difficulty unfolding it.
He held it by two corners : " Do you really want
me to tell you what it is ? "
" Please."
He shrugged. " It's a sheet of yellow Pasilex.
Pasilex is the trade name of a luxury brand of
paper handkerchief, used for wiping creams from
the skin and similar purposes. It is superfine and
so expensive that its distribution is limited to rich
people--and to those who get it for nothing in
publicity's name. I believe it comes in several
colours ; as I say, this one is yellow."
" Why did you send it to me ? "
" Because I wanted to see you. Because for over
two weeks you have avoided meeting me alone and
refused to talk with me. Because it was vital that
you should talk with me. Because you broke two
promises to come, and I knew of no other way to get
you here."
" Where did you get the idiotic notion that I
would come if you sent me that ? "
" Idiotic ? Dear Portia I I sent it at three o'clock,
when you didn't show up at the gallery. You are
here, less than five hours later. And, by the way,
Nobu will have dinner----"
110 RED THREADS
" No thanks." Her eyes stayed level at him. " I
want to know why you sent it."
He opened his hands. " To get you here."
" Damn it, Leo I Why did you send it ? "
He looked at her. She met his gaze. In a moment
he asked in a new tone, " You want to know why ?
Do you, Portia ? " He stood up and took a step
toward her eyes. " You know why. I had to see
you. You know how desperately I love you. I
have loved you for five years. I have had you for
twenty-two months. I had, I know, I had only
crumbs--but they were your crumbs--and no one
else. At least I believed that--no one else--and I
still believe it. You were honest with me about Val.
I'm not a sentimental fool, I'm as good a realist
as you are, Portia, and I took that, your decision
to marry Val. I took it. You may say I had to take
it, there was nothing I could do about it after my
talk with him two months ago--but anyway, I
took it----"
She moved, a jerk of impatience. " I don't need
a history lecture. Why did you send me that sheet
of Pasilex ? "
" I'll get to it. The history is the prelude. I'm
reminding you that I gave you up once. I won't
again." He stopped; his lips worked; he controlled
them. " I won't again, Portia. You're
going to marry me, and that will settle it. I know
how ambition burns in you, and I even respect it;
it was proper and logical for you to become the
mistress of one of the great American fortunes;
but that ordeal is over for me and I won't submit
to it again. You have been mine and now you are
mine again. I wanted you before, because I loved
you and because we suited each other--we fitted--
we went together----" His hand fluttered. " Now
I want you for that--and also because I find I
RED THREADS III
must have you." His voice was suddenly harsh.
" You've got inside of me--fatally--fatally, Portia!"
He stopped, gazing at her, and put out a hand
and took it back again. " No," he said. "I'm not
going to plead with you. I did that, and what good
did it do ? But all the same, I won't tolerate it--
what you're doing with Guy Carew. Now that the
fortune is his--the wings for your ambition. I
know you can do it--he's a half-primitive infant--
may be you've already done it--but I won't tolerate
it and I won't allow it. I won't, Portia! You're
mine I By God, you are I "
Their gazes met. He was trembling. But soon,
abruptly, he was still and controlled. He turned and
sat down and looked at her with steady composure.
His voice was smooth and firm: " That's why I
sent you that sheet of yellow Pasilex. It came from
a box which I bought. The nine sheets you used on
July 6th are in my possession. I keep them for only
one purpose : to show them to Guy Carew, and
tell him how you used them, if it becomes necessary."
" I presume you're crazy." Her voice was as
good as his. " If you think you know what you're
talking about----"
" No, my dear." He shook his head. " It won't
do. It's no good at all. I found it myself--where
you put it. I know all about it. I even know you
had a key for the tomb--I guessed that, first,
because that was the only way you could have got
in."
Portia Tritt sat and looked at him. She wet her
lips. After a long silence she wet her lips again,
and spoke. " You say you found it yourself ? You
got it yourself ? "
He nodded.
" No one else knows about it ? No one knows
you have it ? "
112 RED THREADS
" No one."
" Then that explains . . ." A frown was creasing
her forehead. " When did you find it ? How did you
get it ? I don't see how you could possibly----"
She stopped, gaping at him; the blood left her
face ; horror was in her eyes. " Good God I " Her hands gripped the arms of the chair. " Good God,
Leo! You killed Val!"
He shook his head.
" You did! You must have I There was no
way . . . you could only ..."
He shook his head again. " Portia dear. Please.
Please I Listen to me. You know very well I couldn't
have killed Val. It was quite simple. After Wilson
came with the news, I went to the tomb with Guy.
Guy left me there with Val's body--I was alone
there ten minutes or more. I looked around, I
went up the stone steps--and I saw it. I took a
harpoon from the wall and got it. Naturally I
wiped my fingerprints from the harpoon handle,
since a man had been murdered there. I knew at
once it was yours--who else in that house would
have had yellow Pasilex ? Anyway, it was obvious
--the purpose. Later, thinking it ove^it became
equally obvious that you must have Had a key,
and I investigated. Discreetly."
He put out an appealing hand. " Don't narrow
your eyes at me, Portia. Don't pretend that you
think it possible that I murdered my old friend--
even for you. And don't--you can't--blame me for
using a weapon that fell into my hands. Better
thank God it was me. What if the police had found
it ? They wouldn't have known at once, as I knew,
that you use yellow Pasilex, but they certainly
would have discovered it. My dear! I'm not
holding the police over your head, I'm not holding
anything over your head, I'm only saying that I
RED THREADS 113
love you and I must have you--and you won't force
me to go to Guy Carew with this----"
" Bah I "
His brows lifted. " Bah ? " he inquired.
" Yes, Leo. Bah. Guy wouldn't believe you."
" I think he would. I can offer corroboration--for
instance, the key."
" Do you have a key ? "
" No. You have."
" Then ... a search warrant ? "
" It wouldn't be necessary. Since I knew Val
intimately, and all his habits--among others, the
pocket on his belt in which he kept the key to the
tomb--and since his valet, Richards, was therefore
the only person who could have had an opportunity
to take an impression of the key--do you think so
simple a calculation was beyond me ? You can't
depend on Richards, Portia. Val is dead, and it's
a case of murder. Guy can be made to believe. And
Tsianina was his mother, and he loved her, and
your trespass was in her tomb- Don't think because
people like you and me have abandoned reverence,
that there is none left. What you did was desecration--what----''

He jumped up. " What the devil----"
Portia Tritt was on her feet, moving to the table,
reaching for her hat and cave. She said calmly,
" I'm going."
He grasped her arm. She shook loose and got her
hat on. He stepped back, picked up the sheet of
yellow Pasilex, and extended it in a hand not quite
steady. " And this ? " he demanded. 41 " I'll let you know." Her cape was around her
shoulders.
" I prefer to know now."
" I'll let you know."
" But, Portia--I said I wouldn't plead with
114 RED THREADS
you again—but my God. you simply can't force
me——"
" I'll let you know, Leo." She faced him, and by
her straightness seemed almost as tall as he was.
" I am fully capable of recognising a rotten mess
when I see one. I take back what I said about your
murdering Val; you're not the type. One thing I'm
afraid of, I'm afraid I don't like you much."
She moved, swiftly to the door, through it, along
the hall, down the broad stairs. Below, the Japanese,
having heard her descent, came trotting and, seeing
her accoutered with hat and cape, at once opened
the outer door. As she passed through she said,
" Thank you, Nobu," and smiled at him.
CHAPTER NINE
jean farris would probably not have been guilty
of trite elegance in her home even if she had been
able to afford it; but the question is academic and
therefore not worth enlarging upon, for she couldn't
afford it. She had finally, after a protracted struggle,
matured her talent for design and found successful
application for it; but so far, all the profits had
been carefully funnelled into the bottle for nursing
the infant business. So, in the modest three rooms
she rented in the Fifties near Lexington Avenue,
bed was merely a bed and her chairs merely something
to sit on. Its charm, if you liked it, was
due to the circumstance that the draperies, rugs and
upholstery were in fabrics of her own design.
Friday evening at eight o'clock she was there,
alone at the little table in the living room eating a
strawberry tart, and thanking heaven for Oletha,
who had cooked the tart as well as the dish of
spaghetti with mushrooms, tomatoes and chicken
livers which had ^receded it. Having left her
office before five for a necessary visit to the workshop
of Muir & Beebe, and having begged off from
a dinner engagement with Adele Worthy of Harvey's
Bazaar on account of a combined buzz and ache in
her head, she was now enjoying the taste of the tart
and the smell of the black coffee, and looking forward
to a leisurely cigarette, a still more leisurely
warm bath, and a clean white bed with a soft pillow
for her abused head.
The doorbell rang, and she called, " Punch it,
will you, Oletha ? " She didn't know why she
always did that, since Oletha would of course have
"5
Il6 RED THREADS
punched it anyway, unless it was because she liked
to hear the soft voice calling from the little kitchen,
" Yes, Miss Jean I " She took the penultimate bite
of tart. It was Friday ; it would- be the laundry ;
they came at all hours.
But after the wait for the caller to climb the two
flights, and the opening of the hall door, and a brief
murmur of voices, Oletha appeared and had her
company manners on to announce., " A gentleman,
Miss Jean----"
She was interrupted by the entrance of the
gentleman himself, bulky, broad-shouldered, middleaged
at least, with a straw hat in his hand. Passing,
he growled, " Thank you, Jemima," and approached
the table. " I beg your pardon. Are you Miss Jean
Farris ? I'm Inspector Cramer of the homicide squad.
Police inspector."
Jean's first feeling was hot resentment of the
" Jemima." For one thing, she disliked vulgar
familiarity, and for another, she thought Oletha
was a lovely name. She was about to blurt something
when she realised what else he had said. She
hesitated, and then proceeded to blurt anyway :
" Do you walk in on people like this because
you're an inspector ? Or can any policeman do
that ? "
The caller grunted. " We walk in because if we
don't sometimes we don't get in at all. Politeness is
like a stick, it has two ends, and we only have hold
of one. I begged your pardon. I do so again. Are
you Miss Jean Farris ? "
" I am."
" Then I need to have a talk with you."
" I hope . . ." Jean shrugged. " Bring the coffee,
will you, Oletha ? "
Oletha went. The caller observed, " I might as well sit down."
RED THREADS 117
" Do so. That other chair is more comfortable."
He sat, deposited his hat on the floor beside him,
crossed his ankles, and aimed a straight gaze at her.
He declared as if he meant it, " I'm sorry to interrupt
your meal, but this is urgent. I want to ask you
something about a suit--a skirt and jacket--you
wore yesterday afternoon."
Jean, with the last bite of tart in her mouth,
stopped chewing for an instant. Then her jaws
moved again. She waited until she had swallowed
before inquiring, " Yes ? What about it ? "
" You wore it yesterday afternoon to Melville Earth's place up near Portchester. There was a
lot of talk about it. Around 8.15 you disappeared.
At dinnertime, nine o'clock, they couldn't find you,
and decided you had run out on them. A little
before ten you showed up at the house minus the
suit and said someone had hit you on the head and
took it. Right ? "
Jean said, " Thanks, Oletha. Leave the pot,
please. You go whenever you're through." She put
in a lump of sugar and began stirring, then looked
aside at the inspector. " I didn't complain to the
police, did I ? "
" No, ma'am, you didn't."
" Then how did you---- Oh I " She turned, her
eyes open at him. " You've found it! "
" No, ma'am, we haven't found it. Not so far as
I know. As to how we learned about it, there were
twenty people at that dinner table, and when there's
talk about an incident like that we're apt to hear
of it sooner or later, especially when seven of the
persons present are more or less involved in a
murder case. But I'd like to have you confirm it.
Did it happen that way ? "
Jean nodded.
" Approximately. Except the way you told it--
Il8 RED THREADS
you said I said someone hit me on the head.
Someone did hit me on the head."
" And took your suit ? "
" Presumably. I was unconscious. To assume
that the person who hit me was the one who took
the suit--it seems plausible."
" Yeah. Have you any idea who did it ? "
" Not the slightest."
" Or why it was done ? "
" No. My watch and ring and purse weren't
taken."
" Yeah. What he wanted was the suit. Was that
the first time you ever wore that suit. Miss Farris ? "
" Yes."
" Who made it for you ? "
Jean took a sip of coffee. Her head was buzzing,
and she was feeling that it was particularly desirable
that at this moment her head should be clear. She
took another sip, and another. Then she turned
and tried to smile :
" Really, Inspector, I don't quite see why I
should discuss this affair with you. I haven't
requested your help, have I ? And besides, aren't
you a New York inspector ? This didn't happen
in the city, it was in Westchester County."
Cramer grinned. " Don't worry about the jurisdiction
part. That's all right. New York and
Westchester--we're all one big family. As for
discussing it, why should you object ? " He spread
out his hands. " What I'm asking you is no secret--
like who made it for you. Isn't that more or less
common knowledge ? I just want to be sure a few
facts are correct, and you're the best one to ask, if
you don't mind."
Common knowledge ? Yes, Jean thought, of
course. She said, " Krone made it. Krone, West
Forty-eighth Street."
RED THREADS 119
" Thanks. And you furnished the material ? "
" Yes."
" Your own design ? "
" Yes."
*' Did you weave it yourself ? "
" Yes."
" On a loom in your own shop ? "
" Yes."
" With yarn ? "
" Certainly. One weaves with yam."
" Yeah. Was some of the yarn that you used a
kind called bayeta ? "
Jean's mouth opened, and closed again. Unquestionably,
she needed a clear head and didn't
have it. She lifted her coffee cup and half emptied
it, scalding her throat. She grabbed her glass of
water and took a mouthful, and swallowed.
She looked at the inspector: " I'll tell you.
Frankly. I've decided not to say anything more
about it."
" But we're nearly to the end, Miss Fan-is. Practically
there. As for the bayeta, didn't you announce
it yesterday yourself, publicly, to various people ?
Didn't you ? "
" Yes."
" It was bayeta, wasn't it ? "
" Yes."
" Okay. There's only one more question, and
after that may be a couple of details, and that's all
Where did you get the bayeta yarn ? "
Jean's fingers tightened on the handle of the
coffee cup. Of course. Here it was. Here she was.
He had certainly got to the point in a hurry. W^th
a clear head, could she have kept him away from
it ? But what the devil, after all, it was simple.
That you were asked for a fact didn't mean that
you must surrender it; and it wasn't like a skirt
120 RED THREADS
and jacket; they couldn't knock you on the head
and strip you of it. She turned to him :
" Now you are after a secret. Inspector. I can't
tell you where I got the yarn."
" Why can't you tell ? "
" Because . . ." Then Jean thought her head
must be clearing, because a brilliant idea popped
into it. " Because I've forgotten."
Cramer grunted. " Oh, my God. When did you
get it ? "
" I don't know. I've forgotten."
" Nonsense. I happen to know that you got it
within the past month. Where did you get it ? "
" Really, Inspector, I don't remember."
He sat and gazed at her in silence, frowning, his
eyes now absolutely unfriendly. Finally he sighed,
got up, and walked across to confront her. " Look
here. Miss Farris. Get this. I haven't got time to
fool around. I don't know whether you know what
kind of a mess you've stepped into or not. It's
barely possible you think you're just playing bean
bag, but you're not. This is a different kind of a
game entirely. Either you tell me within, say three
minutes, where you got that bayeta yarn, or you're
on your way to headquarters under arrest." '
Jean was so shocked and incredulous that she
even wanted to laugh, but somehow didn't. She
merely stared, and demanded weakly, " Arrest ?
What for ? "
" As a material witness in the Valentine Carew
murder case."
The growl of a lioness defending her cub came
from the door to the kitchen. That was Oletha.
CHAPTER TEN
neither paid any attention to Oletha's growl.
Jean continued to stare, with her chin tilted up.
Her head had suddenly stopped buzzing and felt
clear and cool. So it wasn't simple after all; apparently
far from it.
She said, " Sit down again, please."
" There's no use sitting down unless you're
going to tell me where you got that yarn. We
might as well be going."
" I wish you would sit down."
Cramer glared a moment, then returned to his
chair. " All right. Shoot."
" First--I want to ask--I don't know much
about the law--can you arrest anybody you want
to like this--when they haven't done anything ? "
" We can."
" And actually take them--to jail ? "
" Yes. It is lawful to arrest any one who is in
possession of vital evidence in a capital crime and
refuses to divulge it."
" Oh." Jean's stare was now only a level regard.
" What makes you think I have vital evidence ? "
" I don't think. I know all about it." Cramer
leaned forward. " Listen here. Miss Farris. You
don't want any part of this. The best thing you can
do is unload completely. I'll be frank. I have no
idea what else you know or don't know, or did do
or didn't do, but I know damn well you know where
you got that yarn. That detail is sewed up. It
won't do any harm to give you a clear idea of
where you stand; may be that will show you how
foolish it is for you try to hold out. You may know,
121
FR1;122 RED THREADS
or you may not, that when Valentine Carew was
found murdered he held clutched in his hand a
strand of bayeta yarn which he had obviously torn
from the clothing of the murderer. Under a microscope
that yam has been compared with fifty or
more samples of bayeta taken from various places.
Two hours ago it was discovered that it is identical
with the bayeta yam you used in weaving your
suit. That's why I say you have vital evidence in
a capital crime. We've got to know where you got
the yarn, and we're going to know."
" But you have no evidence." Jean was calm.
" You can't possibly know the two yarns are identical.
How could you, without a sample of mine ? "
" We couldn't. We've got the sample."
" Of the yam I used ? You---- Oh I You have
found the suit! "
" Not the suit. We have a strand of the yam
you used, taken from your own file, with a signed
statement to authenticate it."
" Signed by whom ? "
" By the person we got it from. Eileen Delaney."
" Eileen----" Jean straightened and her eyes
flashed. " That's a lie I "
" No, ma'am. It's the truth. She's all right-,
she'll explain it--we don't want to bust up a partnership."
He gestured impatiently. " Forget it, that
can wait. I'm just letting you know where you
stand. If you don't tell me where you got that
yarn, two things can happen to you. First, I can
take you down as a material witness, and keep you,
and I'm going to, and we'll even fight bail if I have
anything to say. Second, there's a chance that
you'll be prosecuted as an accessory to murder.
That's not a threat, it's information. You asked
about the law, and I'm telling you. I'm also telling
you, as a man of experience, that you're acting
RED THREADS 123
like a lunatic. You can't possibly have any stake
in this that's worth what it would cost you. You
never knew Val Carew, and you never met his son
until two weeks ago. You never knew Buysse or
that Indian. You had only a casual acquaintance
with the Earths. You only had business relations
with Portia Tritt, and not even business relations
with Leo Kranz. So as I say, your ante in this game
can't be anything big, and you're a plain lunatic
if you don't cash in and exit. This is not--where
are you going ? "
Jean was swiftly crossing the room. Disregarding
his question, she reached the stand in the corner
which held the telephone, and rapidly and accurately,
in spite of her trembling hand, started to dial.
But the inspector was rapid too. He was across to
her as the dial was whirring for the first digit, and
his big hand was heavy on dial and cradle both.
He shook his head and said calmly, " No, ma'am."
Jean tugged an instant, gave up, jerked her hand
away, and stood with blazing eyes. " That's my
telephone I "
" Not right now it ain't. Right now nothing is
yours. I've been trying to tell you, in a murder case
it's a new set of rules entirely. I know what they are
and you don't."
Jean wheeled and called, " Oletha I "
" Yes, Miss Jean ? "
" Run down to the corner and phone Miss Delaney
and tell her to come here at once--I don't suppose
Oletha is under arrest too ? "
Cramer shrugged. " Not interested in Oletha.
But by the time your partner gets here you'll be
gone. You can phone yourself from headquarters,
one call----"
" Wait, Oletha." Jean's hands, at her sides, were
tight fists. Her voice was tight too : "I suppose
FR1;124 RED THREADS
what you're doing is legal or you wouldn't do it.
But even if I'm an accessory to a murder, which
I'm not, is there any reason I shouldn't talk to my
business partner ? I want to tell her--there are
things to be done at my office tomorrow----"
" Not to-morrow. Not by your partner." Cramer
looked exasperated. " Don't you realise what's
going on ? Don't you think we already know that
Krone made that suit, and we've talked to Krone
and learned that he sent the scraps to you, by
your order, in the same box the suit was delivered
in ? There are two men outside your place of
business right now. To-morrow morning there will
be more, with a search warrant. We want those
scraps of material, and we also want the rest of
that bayeta yarn in your files."
" You'll search----" Jean's eyes were blazing
again. " My office I You'll go through my files!
My things I Damn you I "
Cramer shrugged. " I've been trying to tell you.
Where did you get that yam, Miss Farris ? "
Jean stood and looked at him, without breathing.
At length her frantic and indignant lungs made a
peremptory demand which resulted in a convulsion
of her chest as the air rushed in. She paid no attention
to it. There were three more inhalations, the
last one steady and deep, before she spoke in a firm
controlled voice :
" All right. Excuse me for yelling at you. I
suppose you like to do work you have a talent for,
the same as I do. I hope--I've never been in jail--
am I allowed to take along some things ? Toilet
things and something to sleep in ? "
" You can send for 'em later." It was a growl.
" You won't be needing anything to sleep in tonight.
Do you actually mean you're going to let me
take you down ? "
FR1;RED THREADS 125
" What else can I do ? "
" Goddam it, you can answer a plain simple
question I "
" No. Really I can't. Oletha, will you phone
Miss Delaney after I've gone ? Tell her what's
happened--and tell her to be at the office early
to-morrow morning and try to keep them from tearing
the place to pieces. And tell her--no. I suppose
I should have a lawyer. Phone Mr. Raleigh,
R, A, L, E, I, G, H. Timothy Raleigh, Cedar
Street. There's no use trying to get him tonight;
phone to his office in the morning. If a letter
comes . . ,"
Cramer, at the phone, had dialled a number and
was talking: " Burke ? Cramer. I'll be down there
in about twenty minutes with Jean Farris. Have
some men at the side door to cover her if there are
any newshounds around, and watch your trap.
Phone the commissioner and the D.A. and tell them
it looks tough and they may want to sit in. Got
that warrant ?--Okay. Not to-night, morning will »
do. Don't forget the side door."
He hung up. He scowled at Jean Farris. " So,"
he said, " you're really tough, huh ? "
" No, I'm not tough." Jean was calmly putting
on her hat, but grimaced as she pulled it down on
the left side. " Unless you mean stubborn. I'm
stubborn enough. Come on."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
at 10 p.m., Eileen Delaney, on the phone, to
Timothy Raleigh : "If you'll give me a chance
I'll tell you. I'm not sure exactly where she is. The
coloured maid heard him say he was taking her to
Police Headquarters. That's where I am now,
talking from a booth. In another ten minutes I'll
begin shooting everybody in sight, I swear to God
I will. They won't let me see Inspector Cramer, or
any one else who amounts to anything. They won't
tell me definitely whether she's here, or not, but she
must be. ... I told you what the maid said,
material witness in the Valentine Carew murder
case, and Jean had as much to do with that as the
man in the moon. She never saw Carew, she met his
son about two weeks ago. . . . How the hell do
I know ? Then that business about the yam, I
haven't the slightest idea what it means. I mean
I don't know what it means about murder. All I
know is, you have to get busy and get her out. . . .
Damn it, I'm perfectly aware it's night! Does the
law die at sundown ? Are you a lawyer ? Did you
ever hear of bail or habeas corpus or civil rights.
If you want to talk to the maid, you can get her
at Jean's apartment, I told her to stay there. I'm
going to camp right here. . . ."
At 10.20 p.m., Eileen Delaney, on the phone, to
Adele Worthy : " But, Adele, its ridiculous, it's
insane I Jean Fan-is is as apt to be mixed up in a
murder as Albert Einstein I Of course it's a mistake,
but how am I going to get her out of it if they won't
even let me see her or tell me where she is ? I've
phoned three lawyers, and they say they'll see
126
FR1;RED THREADS 127
what they can do, but the poor saps seem to be
afraid of the dark. . . . No, I know you can't,
but you know everybody in town, and surely you
can gather enough pull to arrange for them to let me
see her, at least. Do you realise, they've got her
somewhere and nobody knows where she is ? Good
God, it sounds like the Middle Ages I You do what
you can, and I'll call again in half an hour, I'm
going to stick here. ..."
At 10.40 p.m., Adele Worthy, on the phone, to
Portia Tritt: " It is terrible, it certainly is. Of
course the publicity won't hurt her any if she come
out of it clean, I'll bet Ethel Gannon will be working
overtime. I can just see her. But we do all love
Jean, I know I do, and I phoned two men who may
be able to do something, though nobody can get
very far in a murder case, and it occurred to me
that you used to know Bob Skinner before he became
district attorney, and of course he's the one to
reach. Maybe if you would phone him, or even see
him, and use your corkscrew voice on him--no
offence, Portia dear, but many's the time and oft
you've used it to pull a page in the Bazaar out of me. . . ."
At ii p.m., Adele Worthy, on the phone, to a
man : " I'm sorry you couldn't get me. Art; the
line's been busy and I guess it will be until midnight.
I'm trying to rescue a damsel in distress.
Jean Fan-is--you know, the designer--has been
arrested and is being held at headquarters in connection
with Carew murder case. Some goofy tale
about some yarn she used in her weaving---- Oh,
lord, I forgot you work for a newspaper, I never
think of you as a newspaperman because you're
always so well-dressed and your hair is always
combed--but I suppose your colleagues have
already got it anyhow. . . ."
128 RED THREADS
At midnight, Sergeant Burke, thoroughly exasperated,
to the face of Eileen Delaney: "Damn
it, I tell you she's not in jail! She's engaged with
the commissioner and the district attorney ' Certainly,
you can stay here all week if you want to,
and what good will that do you ? What do you
think, they're using a rubber hose on her ? Piffle I
The best thing you can do is go home and go to bed,
and let your lawyers get some sleep too. ..."
At 2 a.m.. District Attorney Skinner, in a tired
voice, to Jean Farris : " I think that's far fetched,
to call it torture. We're only trying to get something
it is our right and our duty to get. We're
doing what the people of New York City hired us to
do."
Commissioner Humbert was there too, but they
were not upstairs in his spacious and comfortable
office. It was Room Nine in the basement--a
medium-sized room bare of all furniture but a
wooden table, a dozen wooden chairs, and a built-in
cupboard. That room had in fact witnessed on
occasion employment of the cruder forms of the
third degree, but of course not by officials of the
eminence of those now present. Humbert, in a grey
sack suit, with his hair rumpled, walked slowly up
and down, frowning, smoking a cigarette. Skinner
in tails and the proper white tie, having come at
midnight from a hotel roof, straddled one of the
chairs bassackwards, with his arms crossed along its
back. In another chair facing him was Jean, keeping
herself upright with an effort, her hat off and her
hair messy, with a bright light shining in her eyes.
On Skinner's side it was shaded.
She had tried different tactics during the five
hours she had been there. From 9 till 10.30, with
Inspector Cramer and two men in uniform, she had
replied, had discussed and even argued, on any
RED THREADS 129
subject that was far enough removed from the fact
she would not disclose. But she found that was
dangerous. Once--she could no longer remember
how--she had nearly been trapped. With the
arrival of Commissioner Humbert, who had blustered
and glared at her with his face not more than twelve
inches from hers, she had decided to try silence,
to refuse to speak at all; simply to keep her mouth
shut. At the end of thirty minutes she was amazed
to find how difficult it was. Another half-hour
and she was clutching the edges of her chair seat
to keep from screaming. The antics of Commissioner
Humbert and the indignant strutting of his demands
could be borne; but Cramer's calm unceasing persistence,
his patient repetition of the same question
a dozen, two dozen, times, his trick of compelling
her gaze by stopping abruptly in the middle of a
sentence, and then when she looked at him, quietly
continuing--she felt she couldn't bear it much
longer. She would find it that she had involuntarily
clapped her hand to her mouth and would pull it
away, back to the edge of her chair. The light in her
eyes was intolerable. She tried closing them, but
would get dizzy and have to open them again.
Cramer's calm voice went on inexorably; the
questions he repeated oftenest were the most trivial
ones, as for instance, "Was the bayeta yarn in the
warp or the woof ? " After the twentieth repetition
of that the desire to shout " Woof! " and be rid of
it was so irresistible that she had to sink her teeth
into her lip ; she mustn't; she had decided not to
speak.
It was close to midnight, though she didn't know
it, when she was suddenly dazed with panic at the
realisation that someone had clubbed her on the
head again and she had crashed. Things were
blurred; she was being held by strong arms in a
130 RED THREADS
firm unyielding grasp ; she struggled and strained.
She became aware of Cramer's hateful voice :
" Now hold it. I'm just putting you back in the
chair."
So he was. She felt it under her, and. found that
she had been released. She blinked up at him and
demanded, " What happened ? Someone hit me—"
" No, they didn't. Don't get that idea in your
head. Miss Farris. You kept your eyes closed too long
and fell off, and I didn't quite keep you from hitting
the floor. Want a drink of water ? Or maybe some
coffee ? "
" No, thank you."
" Okay. I was just asking, how many different
kinds of yarn did you use in that material besides
the bayeta ? "
Jean remembered that she wasn't speaking.
A little later District Attorney Skinner arrived
and was politely introduced. Soon after that, Jean
felt a surge of relief when she saw that Cramer was
departing. Skinner might be difficult, but he
couldn't possibly be as bad as Cramer. She decided
to abandon her policy of silence ; she would go
crazy if she tried to keep that up all night. She
wished that she had accepted the offer of coffee,
but she wouldn't ask for it. She would answer all
harmless questions, but slowly, after thinking them
over.
Among New York lawyers, District Attorney
Skinner was generally considered to be one of the
three cleverest cross-examiners in the city.
At two o'clock, her eyes burning, her head
buzzing intolerably, and her fingers aching from
their desperate grip on the edges of her chair seat,
Jean told him she was being tortured. He said he
thought that was far-fetched and went on, " You
say that because right now your values are all
FR1;RED THREADS 131
distorted. Naturally. You have to look at it with
common sense. What are we actually doing to
you ? Keeping you up all night, that's all. Lots of
people stay up all night fairly frequently without
any compulsion; I expect you've done it yourself
occasionally. It's the compulsion that makes you
call it torture, and that's why I say it's farfetched."
His voice was calm and not high-pitched, but
had a rasp in it which was like a steel rake on Jean's
raw nerves. He went on, " We're as much under
compulsion as you are; you should be intelligent
enough to see that. We can't possibly let up on
you, and we're not going to. We're mighty careful
about taking unwarranted liberties with respectable
citizens of good standing and good connections.
We wouldn't be doing this if all we had on you was
some sort of vague suspicion. You don't seem to
realise what we do have on you. It's the same, for
instance, as if Carew had been shot, and we found
the gun that shot him in your possession, and you
refused to tell where you got it. The fact that the
yarn you used is identical with the piece found in
Carew's hand is an absolutely definite link with the
murderer, and it has got to be traced. That's our
compulsion. Aside from the fact that we are the
agents of justice, Carew was a millionaire, killed in
a sensational manner under bizarre circumstances.
More than a month ago. We've got nowhere, and
the press and the public are howling at us. Now we
get--open your eyes I Miss Fan-is I Open your eyes I
Open your eyes I Open----"
She dragged them open.
" Now we get a direct trail to the murderer, and
you try to keep it blocked. We can't possibly let
up on you, and we're not going to let you go. With
the evidence we have, nothing any lawyer can do
will get you out. I'll be here with you until six
FR1;132 RED THREADS
o'clock. Inspector Cramer is taking a nap, and at
that time he'll return and go on with it. Sooner or later, of course, you'll fall asleep, and a matron
will put you to bed. We'll let you sleep a couple of
hours and then wake you up and give you something
to eat and resume. It will go on that way."
Skinner, frowning, pulled at the lobe of his ear
and gazed at her. Abruptly he demanded, " Where
did you get that yarn, Miss Farris ? "
Jean said in a thin and querulous tone, " You
might as well let up on me. I don't care if it goes
on this way forever."
" You will though," Skinner rasped. " You've got
a surprise coming. I've told you before, and I tell
you again frankly, I don't think your emotions are
enough involved for you to hold out. You're a
woman. You're just trying to shoot square with
someone, and that's not strong enough for a woman,
It may be now, but wait until twelve hours from
now, or twenty-four. It would be different if a
deep emotion were concerned ; for instance, if you
were shielding a brother or a father or a man you're
in love with. If it is something like that, as I told
you, we will let up. In that case, I think you have
enough stamina to beat us. We don't want to waste
our time. It can't be a brother or a father. Is it
a man you love. Miss Farris ? "
Jean strained to keep her eyes open. Questions
like that. were dangerous ; she had a dim recollection
that he had almost caught her, long ago,
by starting on that line. She let her eyes close and
then strained them open again, and told him,
" There's no use trying that again. I won't answer
anything like that."
CHAPTER TWELVE
in a large room on the 32nd floor of a Madison
Avenue building in the Forties, Samuel Aaron
Orlik sat at his desk, his arms folded and lips
screwed up, staring at the knob of the door twenty
feet away. The room was beautifully furnished, in
excellent and quiet taste. The polished and spacious
top of the desk was bare except for an onyx penstand,
an empty letter basket, a crystal glass ashtray,
and a morning newspaper which displayed a
prominent headline :
ARREST IN CAREW MURDER CASE
Orlik moved his right forearm sufficiently to expose
the watch on his left wrist: ten after nine. He
grunted impatiently, and at that moment there was
a soft buzz and he swivelled to reach the phone on
its bracket. In a moment he said, " Well, I told
you to send him in, didn't I ? " Then he got up
and went to the door and opened it. He shook
hands with the tall dark young man who presently
came down the hall, allowed him precedence in
entering and, back in the room, closed the door.
The visitor said in a tone of displeasure, " This
is a waste of time, my stopping here. We could have
met downtown. I told you on the phone----"
" Please, Mr. Carew. Have a seat." Orlik himself
sat. " Now, you might as well sit down. This has
to be discussed."
" I don't see why." Guy Carew remained standing.
" You know as much about it as I do. I told
you everything yesterday when I gave you that
133
FR1;134 RED THREADS
piece of yarn I got from Miss Fan-is. They've got
on to it somehow, I don't know how, and it doesn't
matter. The only thing that matters is to get down
there and make them turn her loose. My God, she's
been there all night! I didn't know about it until
I saw the paper----"
" I did. I knew at midnight."
" What ? " Guy stared.
" I said I learned of it at midnight. I know lots
of people who are glad to tell'me things." Orlik
folded his arms. " You confounded millionaires I
When Hutchings & Osbom asked me to take this
I was inclined to turn it down. I hate millionaires
for clients ; I'd rather have one who has to mortgage
his home and borrow on his insurance to pay me ;
they expect less and they appreciate more. But I'm
giving you my very best----"
" Not sitting there, you're not. You've already
delayed it an hour."
" And I'm going to delay it ten minutes more to
tell you something. Granting that I'm the best
criminal lawyer on feet, do you think I can run
down to Centre Street and snap my fingers and all
the doors will fly open ? Look here, Mr. Carew.
I'm presuming that you've told me the truth, and
the whole truth, about everything, including that
jacket and the yarn that was in it. If that is so,
there is no way in God's world to get that young
woman away from the police until they either learn
what they want to know or become convinced they
can't get it out of her, and it will take some convincing.
I heard of it at midnight, and I've been
working on it, and it looks certain that somehow
they've got hold of a piece of that yarn and compared
it with their piece. Nothing else would account for
the way they're handling it; they wouldn't dare ;
Cramer might have taken her down on suspicion,
RED THREADS 135
because he really has guts, but Skinner would have
got cold feet when the lawyers began to show up,
as they did before midnight. Also that Delaney
woman nearly tore the building apart. I've had
several reports from friends of mine. And no one
has even been allowed to have a glimpse of her.
That means Skinner's sitting tight, and when he's
sitting tight he's sitting pretty."
Orlik unfolded his arms, leaned forward, and
elevated his chin to look up. " I only hope to God
she has enough sense and guts to keep her mouth
shut. One of those lawyers is pretty good, a fellow
named Raleigh, and they'll have to let him see her
this morning and he'll buck her up. You say go
down there and get her out ? I can't even go, let
alone get her out. The minute I put in a peep for
her, we might as well make a signed statement that
you gave her the jacket, since they know I'm your
lawyer."
" All right." Guy still stood. " We'll make a
statement. Anything. I can't let her--I tell you
she's been there all night----"
" My God I " Orlik spread out his hands. " She
had to spend the night somewhere. They're not
hurting her any. That would be fine, to admit you
gave her the jacket, with the story that the last
you saw of it was when you put it in the closet
Tuesday afternoon, and the next you saw of it was
two weeks later in your own room. As I say, I'm
accepting your story, Mr. Carew. I'm accepting a
good deal. I know I'm not defending you against a
charge of murder, and I'm not likely to be, with
the alibi you have. But let them once learn that
that piece of yarn came from your jacket, and they'll
be like the mule--blind on one side of the face and
can't see out of the other. As I've said before,
they're either going to solve it or they're not. If
136' RED THREADS
they don't, you say you want me to solve it. In that case, I must be handicapped as little as possible.
I certainly don't want to have----"
" That can wait," Guy snapped impatiently.
" Certainly I want you to solve it, but you haven't
done it yet, and I guess it can wait while we get
Miss Farris released. Right this minute that's all
I'm interested in. I realise that it's preferable to
do it by a process of law ; that's why I phoned you,
and that's why I stopped here when you insisted.
You're my lawyer and I'm paying you. Are you
going to do it ?"
" You mean this morning ? To-day ? "
" I mean now."
" I can't." Oriik spread out his hands again. " Haven't I been telling you ? Damn it, I don't
dare appear for her. They won't hurt her. If she's
willing to stand the gaff--hey I Mr. Carew I "
Guy, striding toward the door, paid no attention.
He turned the knob and pulled, and passed through.
He was ten paces down the hall when he heard
trotting footsteps behind him and a voice low but
tense with fury : " You go down there and make
a fool of us and I warn you, I throw it up I I'm
out! I'm your attorney and you've got to take----"
Guy, without slackening, told him calmly, " All
right, get out and go to hell." He reached the outer
door, let himself through, walked along the public
corridor to the elevators, took a down car, pushed
rudely ahead of others at the main floor, went to
the street, found a taxi at the curb, gave the driver
an address, and hopped in and sat on the edge of
the seat. To a Cherokee his face might have suggested
a thunderbird mask in a corn dance.
At a quarter to ten Jean Farris had no idea
whether it was eight in the morning or six in the
I, REDTHREADS 137
afternoon. If she had been wasting energy on hope,
her hope would have been that it was afternoon,
on the ground that the more time there is behind
you the less there is in front. History was vague
and even unimportant. She knew, or rather,
supposed, that some time around dawn she had
* collapsed and been carried to bed ; at least, she had
at some hour or other found herself lying under a
, cotton blanket on a couch with her shoes off, after
being coerced somewhat roughly into life by a
large woman in a blue uniform who kept sneezing
in her face. She had eaten part of something they
brought her on a tray and swallowed two cups of
surprisingly good coffee, and had been escorted
back to the room in the basement by a man in
uniform who refused to speak to her. In a few
minutes Inspector Cramer appeared and proceeded
to complete the process of waking her up, though,
of course, not by touching her. It was really hate
that woke her, hatred of his voice, which was like
a prolonged nightmare persisting after sleep had
been torn away.
" Feel a little better. Miss Farris ? You had a
good nap, nearly two hours. I want to ask you . . ."
Respite finally came—morning, afternoon, she
didn't know, for they had refused to tell her the
time—when the door opened and a man entered,
three paces in, and beckoned to the inspector.
Cramer went out with him, after saying something
to a policeman who was on a chair over by the wall.
The policeman got up and strolled to the chair
Cramer had vacated, but remained standing and
said nothing. Though she couldn't see very well
with the light in her eyes and his in shadow, it
seemed to Jean that he had a decent and friendly
face, and she asked, " What time is it ? "
He shook his head. " Sorry, miss." Then he
FR1;138 RED THREADS
glanced around at the door and, keeping, his head
turned that way, suddenly thrust out his left arm
to its full extent, displaying a wrist-watch. Jean
peered and made it out: ten minutes to ten. She
said, " Thanks." He looked up at the ceiling and
murmured barely audibly, " Don't mention it."
In the hall, outside the door, Inspector Cramer
was being presented with a problem. The man who
had come for him had told him succinctly, " Guy
Carew's here asking to see Jean Farris."
Cramer's eyes widened. " Where ? "
" A reporter spotted him in the hall--Alien of
the Gazette--and jumped for his throat. You know
that baby. So I took him upstairs to your office.
Burke's got him."
" What does he say ? "
" He just says he understands Miss Farris is here
and he wants to see her."
" Did you tell him she's here ? "
The man looked pained. " No, sir. I made him
spell her name."
" I'll be damned." Cramer gazed at the tip of
the man's nose for a full minute. " Is the commissioner
here ? "
" No, sir."
" God Almighty. Maybe it's going to bust. Wait
a minute, let me think." Slowly he pulled out a
cigar, stuck it into his mouth nearly to its middle,
and clamped his teeth on it. He elevated his chin,
and slowly and devastatingly chewed. " No good,"
he muttered. After he had chewed for two minutes
he removed the cigar and hurled it down the hall,
and said with decision : " Send a man in to keep
Bingham company with Miss Farris. We don't
want any solos on this case. I'll see Carew upstairs.
You go up and wait with Burke. If I send for Miss
Farris, don't call in the photographers."
RED THREADS 139
He swung oft down the dingy hall, turned a
corner at the far end, and rang for an elevator.
The elevator man saw the scowl on his face and
stiffened to a more military posture. Getting off at
the third floor and entering, down the hall, a door
marked " Homicide Bureau," he strode through the
ante-room without glancing aside and past a series
of doors in a partition until at the end he opened
one. It was a medium-sized room, innocent of
luxury, with three windows, an old well-scarred
desk, and chairs with faded leather seats. Cramer
sat at the desk and pulled the telephone across, and
in a moment told the transmitter, " Send Mr.
Carew in here."
The door opened and Sergeant Burke appeared,
following the knob in. The visitor passed through,
and Burke went out again with the knob. Cramer
stood up and extended a hand across the desk.
" How do you do, Mr. Carew. I'm Inspector
Cramer."
" I beg your pardon." Guy stood four feet short
of the desk. " I suppose I have no right to act like
an Indian, since I've accepted the white man's
money and clothes and education, but certain
things—I'm sorry. I only shake hands with friends."
Cramer grunted. " Okay. Suit yourself. Have
a seat. I understand you want to see Miss Jean
Fan-is."
" Yes. I do."
" What makes you think she is here ? "
" The newspapers. You arrested her. She is here.
Isn't she ? "
Cramer nodded. " Yeah, she's here. Been here
all night. What do you want to see her about ? "
Guy had stepped forward with a gleam in his
eye and a muttered exclamation. " Oh, you
admit——"
140	RED THREADS
" I don't admit anything. I just say Miss Farris
is here. What do you want to see her about ? "
" I want to see her. I demand it as the right of a
friend. She has committed no crime. It's not
legal----"
" Now wait a minute, Mr. Carew. Let's leave it
to the lawyers what's legal. You're not a lawyer,
are you ? You're a citizen and I'm a cop. Let's
take it easy. You say you want to see Miss Farris,
and I say okay. Certainly you can see her."
Guy stared at him suspiciously. Paying no
attention to that, he sat again, pulled the phone
across, and spoke into it: " Burke ? Is Stebbins
there ? Tell him to go down and get Miss Farris
and bring her in here. Right away." He returned
the instrument to its cradle. " You might as well
sit down, Mr. Carew. She'll be here in a minute."
" Thanks." Guy turned to face the door and
remained standing. He was directly between the
desk and the door, and Cramer pushed his chair
to one side on its castors to have an unobstructed
view. Then he sat and regarded the back of Guy's
head, with his lips compressed and his eyes steadily
speculative. He could see Guy's shoulders lift and
fall with breathing, and counted twenty-eight respirations
in a minute. He opened his mouth
to speak, then decided not to, and the silence continued.

The door opened. Stebbins' technique differed
from that of Burke ; he flung the door ahead of him
and permitted the visitor to enter first. Jean came
in two steps, with the light of the windows against
her, and then stopped dead. Cramer was half out
of his chair, to see better. Dishevelled and pale as
she was, the swift colour showed in her cheeks
almost startlingly. " Guy I " she gasped. Then,
suddenly aware of the inspector stretching his
FR1;RED THREADS 141
neck and staring, she jerked erect and bit her lip,
already raw from biting. She extended a polite
hand and forced a polite tone: " Mr. Carew!
This is a surprise I "
But Cramer had also heard Guy's low answering
" Jean I " So he told himself grimly, " Uh-huh,
I guess I'm a bad guesser," and stood up.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
guy, without moving, said, " You look very bad.
You've been here all night. You look awful."
" I . . . do I ? " With a swift fluttering hand
Jean brushed at her hair. She tried to laugh : "I
didn't know there was company, or I'd have tried
to fix up."
Guy whirled fiercely on the inspector : " This is
a damned outrage I It's brutal! We'll see if you
can----"
" Please I " Jean was after him, catching his
arm. She got in front of him and compelled his
eye. " There must--I guess you misunderstand.
This has nothing to do with you, Mr. Carew, really.
They are just asking me some questions about a
piece of yarn which I don't care to answer. It's
perfectly all right for them to ask, only I happen
to be stubborn about it." She waved a hand and
tried another laugh. " Let them go ahead, I don't
mind. I had a good sleep and a good breakfast,
and I can stand it if they can." Her voice sharpened.
" You are not to interfere. It's none of your
business."
Guy, frowning down at her, met her gaze and
saw the significant gleam in her eye. Silence.
Finally he muttered, " Your eyes are bloodshot.
FR1;142 RED THREADS
There's dirt on the side of your face." He moved
abruptly and pushed at a chair. Here, sit down."
" Thanks, I've been sitting all night--I mean I
can stand all right." But she sat.
So did Guy. He pulled another chair within a
yard of hers and, seated, gazed at her again. Finally,
he levelled his eyes at Cramer. "I'm much obliged
to you, Inspector, for letting me see Miss Farris.
I'm thinking over what she said. I'm not very
quick-witted. I'm not thick, but I'm a little slow.
I started to blow up a minute ago, and of course
that was dumb. What you're doing with Miss
Farris is either legal or it isn't. If it is, I can't stop
you, and if it isn't, you'll soon be stopped by the
law. But since you were good enough to let me see
her, maybe you'd tell me something. I've only
read the newspaper. What is she here for ? "
Cramer, who had been impartially dividing his
gaze between them, now let Guy have it all. " Certainly,
Mr. Carew. She's here because she has vital
information connected with the murder of your
father and refuses to divulge it."
" What information ? "
" She had in her possession some bayeta yarn
identical with the piece found in your father's
hand. She won't say where she got it."
" What makes you think it's identical ? "
" We know it is. We got a sample from her file
and compared it microscopically."
" What . . ." Guy hesitated. He went on,
" What happens if she refuses to tell ? I've asked
a lawyer. I'm asking you."
"You're asking the right man." Cramer smiled
grimly. " We'll continue to try to persuade her
that it's her duty to tell. We'll do our best to show
her that if she doesn't tell it creates an uncomfortable
situation for her as well as for us. Except
RED THREADS 143
when she falls asleep----" He shrugged. " We'll
fight any legal steps taken to release her, and unquestionably
we'll fight successfully, with what we
can show the court. I may add that if developments
show that she has been shielding the actual criminal,
she will be subject to prosecution as an accessory."
" I see." Guy sat. He took a look at Jean, then
turned back to Cramer. He took a breath. " Well,
she isn't shielding the criminal. She's shielding me» I gave----"
"Guy! Guy!"
" No, Jean. You sit down--I gave her that yarn
myself. It was part of a jacket--Jean, damn it, do
you think I can let you carry this when it belongs
to me ? "
" Yes, I do I " She was glaring at him. " You
needn't be such a frightful snob I I was enjoying
it!"
" Yes, you were. Not much. I'm not a snob--or
maybe I am--you remember what I told you
yesterday morning about a cad--the nuances are
too fine for me." Guy returned to the inspector :
" So Miss Farris got the yarn from me. Was there
anything else you wanted of her ? "
" That was the main thing."
" Then let her go. Send her home. You've kept
her up all night and she needs rest. Send her home,
and I'll give you whatever details you want."
" We'll send her pretty soon." Cramer spoke as
if words might shatter eggshells. " We haven't
abused her any." He looked at her. " I'd like to
have you confirm Mr. Carew. Did you get that
yarn from him ? "
" No I "
Guy stared at her. Cramer demanded, "Oh, you
didn't ? "
Jean's eyes were defiant at the inspector. " I
144 RED THREADS
didn't mean no. Nor yes either. I've told you a
thousand times that I will never tell you where I
got that yam, and I won't. If Mr. Carew wants to pretend that he gave it to me, he can."
Cramer observed dryly, " It looks like you don't
want to go home."
" Nonsense." Guy leaned ; touched her arm.
" Look here, Jean. You should never have been In
this at all. This is my battle and I can fight it. I
release you from the promise you made. I command
you to confirm what I said."
" You command me ? "
" Yes."
" Well, of all the----" Her eyes were wide at
him. " You big fool! You should never have come
here 1 I was doing all right 1 And now you command me!"
Cramer growled, " She means she don't take orders. 'I could have told you that."
Guy, looking a little bewildered, had hold of
Jean's elbow. He stammered, " I only meant--
damn it, I told you I don't know how to get along
with women I Jean, I beg you I I beg you, Jean I
I've told him anyhow. Don't be stubborn. I would
never be stubborn with you."
" All right," she said shortly. " But I won't go
home, not right now."
" You won't need to," Cramer assured her.
" There will be a few little details. Did Mr. Carew
give you that yarn ? "
" Yes."
" Was it part of a jacket ? "
" Yes."
" Okay-- Now, Mr. Carew, the jacket. Tell me about it."
" There's not much to tell." Guy looked straight
.at him. " It was mine. It was made for me last
FR1;RED THREADS 145
April by a Choctaw woman in Oklahoma from a
piece of a bayeta blanket. I had it with me when
I came East a month ago, the day before my father
was killed. I showed it to two men, along with
other things I had brought. That afternoon I took
it with me when I went to the tennis court with
Miss Tritt. I put it on after the game and wore it
to the house, and left it in a closet in the side hall
when I put the balls and rackets away. I told Miss
Fan-is yesterday I wasn't positive about that, but
since then I've thought about it, and now I'm sure
I did, because when Buysse came I took him there
and showed it to him. That was the last I saw of it
for two weeks. I never thought of it or looked for
it, since my mind was occupied with something else.
My father had been murdered. I didn't know until
four days ago that a piece of bayeta yarn had been
clutched in his hand."
Guy's jaw worked. He controlled it and went on,
" On Wednesday, July 2ist, I met Miss Farris. A
friend of mine who knew that one of my methods of
trying to promote the welfare of the Indian tribes
was to have them instructed in modern weaving
took me to her workshop. I was extremely impressed
... by her talents and achievements ..."
He turned his head and blurted abruptly at Jean, *-' Other ways too." To the inspector again : "I
invited her to drive with my friend and me to
Lucky Hills the following day and see some Indian
things there. She came. That was Thursday the
22nd. We went into my room, and there, lying on
a chair, was the jacket. As I said, I hadn't seen
it since July 6th. I thought it would be--that is,
I thought I would like to see Miss Farris wear
something of her own design with bayeta yarn in
it--the yarn that was used by the Indians centuries
ago. I offered it to her and she was kind enough to
FR1;146 RED THREADS
take it and say she would use it. When she left,
after dinner that evening, she took it along."
Guy looked at Jean. " If I had had any idea--
if I could have known it would mean getting her
into this----"
Jean muttered, " Forget it."
Cramer said, " Yeah. Of course at that time you
didn't know the yam had been found in your
father's hand."
" No. The police saw fit to keep that secret."
Jean offered, " And of course that proves that the
fact that the jacket belonged to Mr. Carew--I
mean, since he didn't know the yarn had been found
in his father's hand----"
Cramer grunted. " Neither did the murderer
know it. If he had known it was there he would
never have left it there. Not even the murderer
had any reason to suppose we were interested in
bayeta yam until four days ago, when that newspaper
reporter got hold of it and made the rounds.
.... Who were the two men you showed the jacket
to?"
" Amory Buysse and Wilson. The Cherokee
Indian."
" Yeah, I know him. When and where ? "
" To Wilson, in my room, unpacking my trunks,
early in the afternoon. To Buysse, in the hall
closet where I had put it, around half-past six."
" Did any one else see it ? "
" Yes. Miss Tritt of course, but I don't believe
anything was said about it. Leo Kranz must have
seen it, but I don't know whether he especially
noticed it. I had it on, I suppose, when the Barths
arrived and I was introduced to them. That was
when we left the tennis court."
" You hung it on a hook in the closet ? "
" No, on a hanger. On the rod."
RED THREADS 147
" And you never thought of it again for over two
weeks ? "
" No. As I said, under the circumstances----"
" I know. But you were at Lucky Hills most of
the time, and you wore clothes. Did you never go
near that closet ? "
" No. Or maybe I did. It wasn't my personal
closet. Outdoor things were kept there--sweaters
and so on. If I did go near it I didn't notice the
jacket or think to look for it."
" In spite of the fact that it was made from an
old bayeta blanket ? " Cramer was slightly brusque.
" As rare and valuable as that ? And a gift, a keepsake
? And your mind was so occupied that you
never thought of it once ? "
" You seem to be arguing." Guy's eyes had
narrowed a little. " I'm not defending my thoughts ;
I'm just telling you."
" And I'm commenting on the laws of probability.
You shouldn't be squeamish, sir; after all, the
presumption is that your interest in this case is
identical with ours. Who was the friend who went
to Lucky Hills with you and Miss Fan-is on July
22nd ? "
" Walter Vaughn of the Bureau of Indian Affairs.
He had come to New York to see me."
Cramer scribbled on a pad. " In Washington
now ? "
" I suppose so. His office is there."
" Was he present when you found the jacket in
your room and gave it to Miss Fan-is ? "
" Yes."
" Was the jacket in good repair ? "
" Not very. It was made from a piece of old
damaged blanket which had never been restored.
It had been cleaned, but there were a couple of
small holes in it, and it was somewhat frayed."
148 RED THREADS
" So that if a man had grabbed at it he might
easily have pulled off a piece of yarn."
" Yes. Quite easily."
" If I put all this in the form of a statement, I
suppose you'll have no objection to signing it ? "
" None at all."
Jean interposed, " Wait a minute, Guy. I don't
think you ought to sign anything until your lawyer
sees it. Haven't you got a lawyer ? "
"I had one. Sam Orlik."
" Then I think you should send for him, and you
shouldn't do any more talking until he's here. I'm
sure you shouldn't sign anything——"
Cramer put in smoothly, " Now, Miss Farris.
Please. I submit that Mr. Carew owes us a little
co-operation. After all, he has known for four days
that we were moving heaven and earth in the
effort to trace that yarn, and he knew all about it,
and said nothing. I don't say that's siispicious, I
only say——"
" But you think it's suspicious." Jean was sharp.
" It was you who told me that in a murder case
it's an entirely new set of rules. I understand that
one of them is that you suspect everybody, and I
think you have a nerve to ask for co-operation from
a man under suspicion. Mr. Carew only came here
because he thought I was in a hole, and I—I think
it was wonderful of him to do it——"
" Certainly it was. I agree absolutely. I also
agree that he should stand on his legal rights, and
particularly that he should refuse to sign anything,
if there was a chance that he might incriminate
himself. But there isn't. You said we suspect
everybody, but we can't very well suspect Carew
of murdering his father when he has an airtight
alibi."
"Oh! He has——"
FR1;RED THREADS 149
" An alibi. Sure. He's had it from the beginning.
That's another of the items the police have seen fit
to keep to themselves, hut I might as well relieve
your mind of any fear of a murder charge against
Mr. Carew. His father was killed between ten
minutes to six and a quarter past seven in the
morning. When Wilson, the Indian, went to the
house at half-past seven to report what he had
discovered in the tomb, he found Portia Tritt in
Guy Carew's room. An hour later she told the
police that she had been there with him continuously
for over five hours, since 2 a.m. Mr. Carew confirmed
it."
Cramer saw Guy's brows meeting and his face
darkening. He saw Jean's glare of incredulity, the
quick intake of her gasp, and the stiffening of her
body. He went on smoothly, " Since then, both of
them have on various occasions repeated the statement.
They both refuse to tell the object of her
visit to his room, or what was being discussed
during that five and a half hours, but that doesn't
affect the alibi as an alibi." Cramer shrugged.
" Some people might sort of raise their brows at it,
his father's fiancee in his room with him all night,
but he just said a while ago that the nuances 'are
too fine for him. Anyhow, that's none of my--you
wanted to say something, Miss Farris ? "
Twice Jean's mouth had opened and closed again.
She had glanced to her right for one bright instant
and met Guy's dark inscrutable scowl, and hastily
away. Now she gazed miserably at the inspector's
blandness and said in a painfully flat voice, " I
don't believe it."
Cramer shrugged again. " Ask him."
Jean turned her head, and all she saw was the
scowl. She stood up. Her shoulders swayed a little,
and she jerked them to rigidity. She spoke to
150 RED THREADS
Cramer : " I seem to have--misunderstood. I've
been pretty stupid. If I may--may I go now ? I'd
like to go home----"
She turned and took two firm steps. Cramer
made no move, but Guy did. One stride took him
to her, and his grasp on her shoulders wasn't gentle. " Wait, Jean. This time I do command you----"
" Let go of me I "
" Oh, no. You listen." Guy turned her, by force,
so that they were facing Cramer, and spoke to him :
" You too. I let you go on talking because I deserved
it. I'm not quick-witted, but I'm not too
dumb to live. You were being slick. You guessed
I'm in love with Miss Farris. I am. I've never been
in love before, but I am now and I have been ever
since I saw her, and I don't want anything as much
as I want her good opinion. You saw that and you
worked up to this, but I don't resent it because I
was sick of the damn lie anyhow. Portia Tritt
wasn't in my room five hours. She was there five
minutes. She came to tell me that she had been
to my mother's tomb and found my father lying
there dead." Still gripping Jean's shoulders, he
turned her, again by force, so that she was facing
him, and demanded of her, " Do you believe me ? "
She had to tilt her head far back to look up at
him. He shook her a little and repeated, " Do you
believe me ? " Their eyes met, his down, hers up.
She nodded. In a moment she nodded again. He
released her and said gruffly, " Now you can go
home. You're played out. You go home and go to
bed."
" Oh, no." She tried a smile, but her lips trembled
and she gave it up. " You can't command me twice
the same day. I'm going to stay----"
Cramer's voice sounded crisply : " Will you sit
down, please ? I mean you, Mr. Carew. I think he's
RED THREADS 151
right, Miss Fan-is. You're free to go. In fact, you
are to go."
Jean returned to her chair, sat down, met his
eye and told him, " If I go I'll be carried."
Guy sat down too. The inspector looked from him
to her, and finally grunted. " Okay. We'll see. . . .
Now, Mr. Carew. I take it for granted that you
realise what you're doing. You say it was a lie
about Miss Tritt being in your room with you from
two till seven-thirty ? "
" I do. She was there four or five minutes."
" What time did she arrive ? "
" Around 7.25. I was up, and bathed and dressed,
ready to go downstairs——"
" What time did you get out of bed ? "
" I got out of bed twice. The first time was at
6.15, I had set the alarm. I got up and went to the
window to see if the sun was shining. I stood there
for perhaps twenty minutes, and there was a bright
sun constantly, and I said an old Cherokee chant of
gratitude."
" Because that meant your father wouldn't marry
Miss Tritt ? "
" Yes. Of course no Cherokee is a sun worshipper
to-day, but I know the old chants. I lay on the bed
again, but didn't go to sleep. At seven I got up and
bathed and dressed. There was a knock on the door
and I said come in and it was Portia Tritt. She was
pale and trembling. She said my father was lying
on the floor of the tomb, dead."
" How did she know that ? "
" She had'seen him. She had got up early and
gone for a walk—I suppose she was as anxious about
the sunshine as I was—and had looked inside the
tomb enclosure, and had seen Wilson lying there
unconscious, bound and gagged. Then she had seen
that the tomb door was partly open, and had gone
FR1;152 RED THREADS
and looked in. She saw a body on the floor, and
had entered and found it was my father."
" And went straight to your room ? "
" No. I asked her about that later. She couldn't
have, if she saw Wilson still bound and unconscious. She said she had been badly frightened and shocked,
and I suppose she was. She said she left the enclosure
at the far end, the north, and went round
about to the north wing of the house, where she had
left the door unlocked. She sat in her room thinking
about it, and she decided that I had killed my
father to keep him from marrying her. Then she
decided to come to my room and see how I acted
and have a talk with me. So she came."
" She actually told you all that ? "
" Yes. Not all at once. It came out gradually.
I saw a good deal of her after that morning."
" Yeah, I know you did. Does she still think you
killed your father ? "
" I don't know. I'm no good at telling what a
woman thinks. She had been there only a few
minutes when Wilson came. You know what
happened then. Later a state policeman. Captain
Goss, was asking us about our movements. It
happened that I was present when he was questioning
Miss Tritt. I was astonished when I heard her
tell him that she was in my room with me from two
o'clock until the time Wilson arrived, but my face
doesn't show astonishment much. I was too bewildered
to tell Captain Goss at that moment that
she was lying. Then I considered it. I decided she
had done it to conceal something important, perhaps
even a knowledge of who the murderer was,
and I thought it gave me a hold on her. I didn't
realise that it gave her a hold on me. I knew that
I as well as the others would be suspected by the
police, and I figured her story would remove sus-
RED THREADS 153
picion from me and leave me unhampered in my
own efforts to learn the truth. I suppose it did
work that way, but it hasn't helped me any to be
unhampered; at least, I haven't accomplished
anything. I've kept it to myself. I haven't even
told my lawyer. Now it comes out like this."
" So it does." Cramer spoke slowly. " Is it out
now ? All of it ? "
" It is. You asked me a while ago if I would sign
a statement. I will. I'll dictate it myself, or you
,»
can——
" No, thanks." Cramer compressed his lips and
sat silently regarding him. Finally he heaved a
sigh. " I'll tell you, Mr. Carew. If I'm going to
charge a man with a crime, there's no law in this
state that compels me to warn him not to incriminate
himself. It's often done, but that's just courtesy;
in most cases we don't bother. But naturally,
you're in a special category. You're a millionaire,
and you're going to have lawyers who can toss oak
leaves through a window screen. You've already
got Sam Orlik. So I'm much obliged, but I don't
want any signed statements, to give Orlik an excuse
to start yelling about duress. The next questions
you answer will be asked by the district attorney."
He pushed a button on his desk. Jean stared at
him, then at Guy, and Guy nodded at her grimly.
She demanded, " But, Guy—what does he mean—
he can't——"
Guy said, " All right, Jean. Don't worry. I'm
glad that damned thing is out of my system. I
want to say—in case I don't get another chance for
a while—how grand you were to stick it out all
night—just because you promised me. Of course I
would have done as much for you, and more, because
I love you, but you did it just because you had
promised. That was pretty damn swell——"
FR1;154 RED THREADS
The door had opened and Sergeant Burke was in
the room. Cramer beckoned him to the desk.
" Is the commissioner in the building ? "
" Yes, sir. He came a few minutes ago."
" Good. Phone him I'll be right up. Then phone
the district attorney and tell him to come at once to
the commissioner's office, urgent. Have you had a
report from Portia Tritt's shadow this morning ? "
" Yes, sir. She hadn't left home at ten o'clock."
" Okay. Send a man to bring her down here
immediately. Better send Stebbins. I hope he gets
her before she's off on a week-end--anyhow, get
her no matter where she is. Leave a man in here
with Miss Farris and see that she does no phoning.
As soon as Portia Tritt arrives, turn Miss Farris
loose and put her in a taxi. Keep Mr. Carew----"
Jean burst out, " I don't want a taxi! I'm going
to stay----"
" Don't be foolish. Miss Farris. You're going
home--at least, you're going out of this building----
Keep Mr. Carew in McConnell's room, with two men.
Search him, if he doesn't object. If he objects,
watch him. He can make one phone call, to his
lawyer, Sam Orlik. Nothing else. If Orlik shows
up--or rather when he shows up--don't let him see
Mr. Carew until you get word from me or the commissioner
or the district attorney. You'd better
get Mr. Carew out of here first---- All right, Mr.
Carew ? "
Guy stood up. Jean stood too, and went close to
him, faced him. Her voice was steady : " Guy ...
is this the way it goes ? Is there nothing to do ?
Simply nothing ? "
He shook his head. " Thanks, Jean. Not a damn
thing. It'll come--it'll work out."
" I know it will." She put out her hand. "Shake."
Cramer demanded gruffly, " Well, Burke ? "
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
at half-past eleven Eileen Delaney, haggard as to
countenance and lamentably untidy as to apparel,
was sitting at her desk in her office, talking on the
telephone in a harsh but energetic voice.
" What do you mean, argument on the motion at
two o'clock ? Argument with who, the judge ?
Then what ? When does he decide ? Tomorrow
or next day I That's impossible I I'm telling you,
Mr. Raleigh--for God's sake, let me alone I That
wasn't for you, someone's here pulling at me. I'm
telling you, if she has to wait until to-morrow or
next day, my opinion of justice and everything
connected with it, including lawyers--wait a minute,
hold the wire, I'm having my clothes pulled off----"
The tugging at her sleeve, by the chunky woman
from the ante-room, did indeed seem purposeful.
Miss Delaney turned to glare at her : " Can't you
wait till I'm through ? "
Cora said, " Miss Fan-is is back I She's here I "
" What ? She's what ? "
" She's here I She just came back I She's----"
Miss Delaney dropped the telephone, leaped from
her chair, almost trampled Cora, and rushed from
the room. Through another room, another door,
into Jean's chamber. Jean was there at the big
table, perched on her stool, her head down, buried
in her crossed forearms. Miss Delaney stopped short
ten feet away and made a noise in her throat.
Jean raised her head. " Oh. Hallo, Eileen. I'm
late to work again."
" Well, hallo." Miss Delaney snorted. " You look
like flotsam and jetsam. What in the name of
God----"
155
156 RED THREADS
" Please." Jean put up a hand. " Don't ask me
any questions of any kind whatever. I never want
to hear another question as long as I live. But I
want to ask you one--right now, and get it over
with. When a detective came here yesterday and
asked you for a piece of yam and you got it out of
my file----"
" It wasn't a detective I It was a newspaper----"
" No. It was a detective. Investigating the
Carew murder. That piece of yarn you kindly gave
him has put Guy Carew in jail. Did they come for
the rest of it this morning, and the scraps ? I was
too tired to look--anyhow, it doesn't matter now.
The place doesn't seem to be messed up much."
" Yes, they came. They got it." Miss Delaney
stood regarding, in mingled concern and disapproval,
her partner's pallid face. " I didn't understand it,
from the newspaper, and I don't understand it now.
So that man was a detective. He said his name was
Parker and he wanted it for publicity in the Town
and Country Register. The clever, dirty, doublecrossing,
slimy crocodile."
" All right. You couldn't help it." Jean wearily
brushed back her hair. " They didn't search here
this morning, did they ? Did they go through my
desk ? "
" No. They were here when I came, and they had
a warrant, so I gave them the scraps and the rest of
the yarn." Miss Delaney moved to the table.
" Look here, Jean. If I'm responsible for all this,
I'm perfectly willing to crawl off and die. I feel like
a worm. What's Guy Carew in jail for ? Murder ? "
Jean nodded.
" Well. Can I do anything ? "
" Nothing. Thanks, Eileen. Except you'll need
a lot of patience. I'm afraid I won't be much good
around here for a while."
RED THREADS 157
Miss Delaney snorted. " Nor anywhere else. At
least not to-day. Look at you I You ought to be in
bed. Listen . . . Jean ? Under the circumstances
... I withdraw the remarks I made that day before
yesterday about Guy Carew. I've never seen him,
and it would suit me all right if he went to Alaska
and lived in a tent . . . but I'm for you twentyfour
hours a day. So if there is anything I can
do . . ."
" No, thanks. If there is, I'll let you know. You
might tell Cora I don't want any phone calls and I
don't want to see anybody."
" I will." Miss Delaney turned abruptly and left
the room.
Jean let her head fall on to her arms again. Her
head was no good ; it was like a choked shuttle ;
it wouldn't work. What she ought to do was go to
bed and sleep for twelve yours, but she wouldn't.
It was an inexpressible relief to rest her head on her
arms like this. What was it he had said just as that
policeman came in the room ? "Of course I would
have done as much for you, and more, because I
love you ..." Surely that was direct enough.
It would be impossible to say it more directly and
positively than that. Then what he had said to the
inspector : " You guessed Fin in love with Miss
Farris. I am." That was direct too, but it was more
like a cold statement of any fact, just any kind of a
fact. The other was better ... it was more ... it
was better ... "Of course I would have done as
much for you, and more, because I love you . . .
because I love you . . . because I love you ..."
She jerked her head up, jerked herself erect,
blinking. So I That was how far gone she was I
Putting herself to sleep by letting those words
sound in her ears, inside her head, over and over
again I That would be a big help, wouldn't it ?
158 RED THREADS
But there was something she had wanted to do that
might be a help--what the dickens was it--of
course I She climbed down from the stool, went to
the bowl in the corner alcove, and with a washcloth
gave her face and neck a good dousing in cold
water. After a vigorous rub she went to her desk
and took some papers from the centre drawer.
Thank goodness Eileen hadn't made them search
for the yarn and scraps I She sat down, unfolded
the papers, and read the one on top :
" Thursday, August 5, 1937.
" A little after eight I went to the house, took the
evening paper to my room, and spent fifteen minutes
or so reading it. About 8.30 I took a shower and
dressed for dinner. About 9.5 I joined the party on
the terrace.
" melville earth."
It was written in pencil, in neat tight characters,
and was reasonably legible. She re-read it, frowned
at it a while, and went on to the next.
" I was withe mi frend Buyys all that time. He
was and I was under a tree redy to stay to eat. And
mi frend Buys sed to me now it is 9 ocloc mi frend
wilson and we will see what this Mrs. barthe will
have to eat for us then we come here.
" woodrow wilson."
That one was in letters half an inch high, crooked
and sprawling. Jean thumbed through the others
and pulled one from the middle :
" I spoke a few words with Miss Fan-is, on the
lawn where the party had been, at about ten minutes
past eight. A little later, about 8.30, on the side of
the house where we are now eating. Miss Tritt and
RED THREADS 159
three other ladies came up and we talked. About
ten minutes after that, we were joined by others
and I was introduced to them. The conversation
was continued until we were called to the table.
" guy carew."
Jean put that one off to the right, by itself, and
found the one signed by Portia Tritt. It agreed
with Guy's. Next she read Buysse's, and found
that it corroborated Wilson's. There was one,
surprisingly, from Mrs. Barth ; it recounted trips
from guests to kitchen to butler to terrace, which
obviously left no opportunity for crowding in assault
and robbery at a distant spot in the grounds. She
took up the last one :
" It was about a quarter past eight when I was
saying good-bye to Mrs. Davison Little and Clan
Bryant, who were leaving in Bryant's car. I strolled
around with a vague idea of finding Mme. Bernetta,
and saw the deer in their enclosure and went to. look at them. There was a group of four or five
people near the fence some distance away. At one
minute before nine, by my watch, I left and came to the house and was directed to this terrace.
" leo kranz."
Jean frowned at that one, and read it over before placing it with the others. As near as she could see,
the papers were very little help. She hadn't needed
evidence to prove that Guy Carew had not knocked
her on the head. As for the others, either Kranz or
Barth might be suspected, and of course it was
quite possible that although Buysse and Wilson had
been together, they had not been sitting under sl tree. And the cold water on her face and neck
hadn't helped her head any; she simply didn't
l6o RED THREADS
have the energy to hold it up and think both at
the same time ; but she must think ; her arms were
folded on the desk and her head went down .to
them. . . .
Something had hold of her shoulder, and a voice
was irritatingly and persistently repeating her
name. " Jean I Jean I Jean, wake up I "
She struggled, and was erect. " What---- Oh,
Eileen. What--good Lord I I went--what time is
it?"
" One o'clock. Ten after. There's a man here--I
tried to chase him, and couldn't. His name is Orlik.
Guy Carew's lawyer."
" Orlik ? " Jean got to her feet. She brushed at
her hair. " Orlik. Yes, that's right." She blinked
and rubbed her'eyes. " I want to see him. Send
him in here."
" You've had no lunch. You ought to be----"
" Ask Cora to bring me a sandwich and coffee.
Two or three sandwiches. I realise I'm starving."
After a few more protestations, which Jean waved
aside, Eileen went. The door opened to admit Sam
Orlik. He introduced himself, waited for Jean to
offer a hand, took it with the proper flavour of
formality, and accepted an invitation to a chair.
The aim of his pale eyes at her face could not have
been called a stare, but it made Jean uncomfortable.
She had been stared at all night, with that maddening
light blazing in her eyes. ...
He said conversationally, " I have a message for
you from my client, Mr. Guy Carew. He wishes to
apologise for the trouble he has caused you. I told
him it would be necessary for me to see you as soon
as possible, and he wishes to apologise for that also."
" That's silly," Jean declared. " Is he--did they
keep him----"
" He's under arrest, yes. For murder. He is now
RED THREADS l6l
on his way to White Plains--the crime was in
Westchester County."
" That's silly too. How can they arrest a man
for murder when it's obvious he didn't do it ? "
" Well, obvious----" Orlik shrugged. " I was
a little surprised myself that they shot the murder
charge, but of course their tongues have been
hanging out for a month and their nerves are upset.
I don't know if I would say they're silly. Mr. Carew
had motive--aside from his father's intended
marriage and other complications, an heir to a
great fortune always has motive, naturally. He
had opportunity. The fact that the yarn came from
a jacket which he owned is a damaging bit of circumstantial
evidence. Very damaging. Worst of all--
it would be for a jury--is his offering a false alibi."
" He didn't offer it! Portia Tritt----"
" He accepted it, he confirmed it, and later he
repeated it." Orlik shrugged, and added dryly,
" Now he admits he lied. That's very bad. I may
be able to keep it away from the jury; I certainly intend to try."
" That's twice you've mentioned a jury." Jean was
frowning. " Surely--do you mean there's a chance
that there will actually be a trial? In a courtroom
?"
" They hold them in courtrooms. Whether they
can convict or not--they certainly have enough to
make it a hard case."
" My God." Jean stared. " I hadn't supposed--
I suppose their arresting him only meant he would
have to explain--they couldn't possibly convict him----"
" You're quite an optimist. So is Mr. Carew."
Orlik sighed. " I'll tell you. Miss Farris, I'm going
to be pretty frank with you, and in case you wonder
why I'll tell you. I figure that after your perfor-
l62 RED THREADS
mance last night, holding out against Cramer and
Skinner, you can be trusted, and God knows Carew
needs someone he can trust. I'd like to ask you,
when they kept you for fourteen hours to tell them
where you got that yarn, why didn't you tell ? "
" Because I had promised I wouldn't."
" Promised Mr. Carew ? "
" Yes."
" Then are you a good friend of his ? A real
friend ? Right on through ? "
" I don't know what you mean by ( right on
through.' I'm a good and real friend of Guy Carew."
" Enough so you'd go to some trouble to keep
him from being tried and convicted and electrocuted
for murdering his father ? "
" Of course----" Jean shivered, then her
shoulders were held rigid. " That's incredible. It's
monstrous. But of course I would."
" Good. That's fine. As I said, I think you can be
trusted. I hope to God you can. Don't think I'm
rushing you unnecessarily, because I'm not. I'm
being frank with you. Cramer was a fool to let you
go, and Skinner and Anderson are a pair of nincompoops
not to nab you right now and get you under
heavy bond. They're apt to realise that any minute,
and that's why there's no time to lose. Here's what
I want you to do. The Rosaria sails in less than
five hours, at six o'clock. You go down there now,
and I mean now, and get on board. I considered
details in the taxi coming up here. Your name will
be Ruth Gunther. Therein be a man there within
an hour with a couple of thousand cash for you,
and a ticket--now wait a minute, wait till I----"
" Nonsense I You mean run away ? Me ? Why
should I ? "
" Because you're the key witness in the case
against Guy Carew. Because if you don't----"
FR1;RED THREADS 163
He stopped abruptly at a knock on the door and
the sound of the knob turning, and turned his head
sharply. But it was only Eileen Delaney, with a
tray holding three sandwiches, two eclairs, and a
container of coffee. Jean tried to wave it away,
but Miss Delaney paid no attention. She placed the
tray before her partner, removed the lid of the
container, made a curt remark about the foolishness
of starving, and departed. Sam Orlik gazed
at the door after it had closed behind her, listening
to the retreating footsteps from the other side, and
then turned to Jean :
" That your lunch ? Go ahead, don't mind me.
Get it down. I was saying, you're going to be the
key witness for the state. Their most damaging piece
of evidence, by far, will be the fact that the yarn
found in Val Carew's hand came from his son's
jacket. But they can't possibly prove it without
you. They can't produce the jacket, because it
doesn't exist any more. Any piece of yam or scrap
of material they try to introduce, I can absolutely
have it excluded, because they can't show it came
from Guy's jacket. I understand you unravelled the
jacket with your own hands, and you did the weaving
yourself. That right ? "
Jean nodded.
Orlik nodded back. " There you are. They'll
fuss around with it, but if I can't keep it out I'd
better start chasing ambulances. Without you on
the witness stand, the yam simply can't get into
the case at all. And with the yam out, I'll stand
a better than even chance of licking them. After
it's over you can come back. Of course all your
expenses will be paid, and they don't need to be
modest expenses, since there's plenty of money--
now, what are you shaking your head for ? Didn't
you say you're a good friend of Guy Carew ? "
FR1;l64 RED THREADS
" I am."
" Well, haven't I made it plain enough ? "
" You've made it perfectly plain." Jean's gaze
was level at him. " Several things. But maybe I'm
wrong. You sound as if you believe Guy--Mr.
Carew is guilty. And he isn't."
Orlik gestured impatiently. " That's immaterial.
We won't get anywhere discussing that, though I
might mention that he deceived me, his attorney,
about that Portia Tritt alibi. But that has nothing
to do with it. My job is to get him turned loose if
I can, and if he is tried, get him acquitted. That's
all I'm interested in, and that's all I want, and
under the circumstances, believe me, that's all
any one has a right to expect. And if you are his
friend, and if you are intelligent enough to take
the judgment of a man who has been through----"
" No I " Jean was emphatic. " You mean run
away. I won't do that. I don't even ask you if
Guy knew you were going to ask me to, because I
know he didn't. Did he ? "
" No. It's our job, his friends' job----"
" I knew he didn't. He wouldn't want me to run
away. And if you, his lawyer, if you think he's
guilty, I think that's shameful. I not only know he
is innocent, I have proof of it. Written proof."
Orlik's eyes widened. " You have what ? Written
by whom ? "
" I have proof. Wait." Jean clambered from the
stool, went to her desk for the papers she had left
there, and returned with them and handed them
to him. " There. Read those."
The lawyer took them, got nose glasses from his
pocket, and went through them, rapidly but methodically.
He removed the glasses, holding them in his
fingers, and demanded, " Well ? "
" Well, that proves Guy is innocent." Jean was
RED THREADS 165
back on the stool. " Did you know that on Thursday
evening someone knocked me on the head and stole
my skirt and jacket ? "
" Yes. Carew told me about it yesterday, when
he gave me the sample of yarn you gave him. I
presume these are the reports of their activities
made by the guests at Mrs. Earth's request."
" They are. Do you notice what Guy wrote ?
Do you notice that from half-past eight till nine
o'clock he was with several people and it can be
confirmed by them ? Don't you realise that the
murderer had got in a panic because he had learned
of the yarn found in Val Carew's hand, and he knew
the yarn in my suit must be the same and could be
traced, and so he followed me, or found me, and
took it ? "
(< And so ? " Orlik asked calmly.
"So it couldn't have been Guy Carew! " Jean
was shrill. " Good Lord, don't you see ? If it was
the murderer who took my suit, and if Guy was
somewhere else when that happened——"
" Sure, I see." Orlik thrust the papers into his
pocket and sat back. " I'm going to ask you to let
me take these; there might possibly be a use for
them, though I doubt it. Your deductions from
them are full of holes. Your hypothesis that it was
the murderer himself who assaulted and robbed
you is pure assumption; it might have been done
for another reason, or it might have been done by
a confederate—Buysse or Wilson or both of them, or
even Kranz or Barth—and it has no effect on the
evidence regarding the murder itself. And it's so
far from proving Carew innocent that it would even
add to the presumption of his guilt. Who else knew
that the yarn in your suit had come from his jacket ?
If he was the oaly one who knew that——"
" He wasn't. They all knew it. Someone asked
l66 RED THREADS
me where I got the yam--it was Portia Tritt--and
I told them. They were all there together."
The lawyer shrugged. " Even so, it doesn't prove
anything. Another point: I suppose you have a
good memory, and if you go on the stand you will
probably remember that Carew went to you and
asked you to promise to say nothing about the
jacket he had given you. Imagine a jury chewing
on that. That will be just fine."
" Well ... I don't know. I ... I might not remember
it ... if I had to. ... Oh, I hope it
won't come to that! Surely there is a way. ..."
" You hope \ " Orlik jumped up and leaned at
her ; his voice was low compressed scorn. " You
and your miserable feeble little hope! And you
say you're his friend I One hell of a friend you are,
Miss Fan-is I ' One hell of a friend I " His pale eyes
gleamed to annihilate her; she didn't know that
she was witnessing a sample of the famous spontaneous
combustion of Sam Orlik, usually reserved
for the courtroom. " No, I didn't tell Guy Carew
I was going to ask you to run away--thank God
I didn't i Thank God he'U never know that you're
too brave and fine to run away! He won't even
know it when he's sitting in the electric chair
waiting for them to turn the juice on; he won't
know, unless I explain it to him, that of all the
people who helped to put him there, you----" he
pointed a rigid finger--" are the bravest and the
finest! Friend I Good God I "
" That----" Jean stopped because she didn't
want her voice to tremble. She tried to control it:
" That won't help any. That's just silly heroics."
Orlik had turned his back; he whirled again.
" Oh, you sneer at heroics ? You sneer, do you ? "
He lifted his hands and dropped them; the gleam
faded from his eyes. " Let me tell you something,
FR1;RED THREADS 167
Miss Fan-is." His voice was calm and persuasive.
" I've seen this happen time and time again. It's
always with optimists like you. You won't pay
the price because you think you won't have to.
Then the day comes when panic hits you and you'd
be willing to pay twice over, a hundred times, but
you can't, because you're insolvent. In this case
I hope to heaven that day never comes . . . but
I always hope that, and sometimes it comes anyway.
Now let's discuss this thing like reasonable
people. . . ."
An hour later Sam Orlik departed, defeated. In
the end he tried to compromise on something more
temporary and less ambitious, a mere excursion to
another state; but Jean resisted even that. She
wouldn't run away.
At half-past two she was still perched on her
stool, chewing mechanically and methodically on the
sandwiches and drinking lukewarm coffee from the
container. Now and then a little shiver ran over
her. The food had no taste at all, and it was an
effort to swallow. A little thought flitted like a
momentary shadow among all the others which
were chasing around in her head : that she would
probably have indigestion, and that too would be
a new experience. She frowned it out of the way,
and went on chewing and trying to think.
There must be some way, there simply must be,
of learning the truth. Could facts actually be
buried so that no one could ever find them ? And,
not finding them, could people actually go ahead
and do something so horrible, so unspeakable . . .
but that wouldn't do. That was hysterical drivel,
and wouldn't help any. Certainly facts could get
buried and certainly people could do horrible things.
The point was to prevent' it. She must really think.
FR1;l68 RED THREADS
Mechanically she reached for the last sandwich.
At three o'clock, with an air of decision, she
pulled the telephone to her, put it to her ear and
dialled a number. There was a wait of a few moments
then she made an inquiry and a request, and after
that a long wait followed. Finally she spoke again :
" Mrs. Earth ? I hope I didn't interrupt anything
important. This is Jean Farris. It's much
better, thank you, it still aches a little, nothing to
speak of. Yes, I suppose you did. Yes, it is dreadful,
in the papers like that, but there it is and I
don't suppose it will kill me. I want to ask you a
favour, a very great favour. Of course you haven't
heard that Guy Carew is under arrest. . . . Oh,
of course, the radio. Yes. Yes. I'm sure you didn't,
neither did I. What I want to ask you is to arrange
to have Mr. Earth, Mr. Kranz, Mr. Euysse, and Mr.
Wilson--the Indian--at your house this evening at
half-past eight o'clock. I realise that perfectly, I
said it is a very great favour, and you must know
I wouldn't ask it if it weren't of vital importance.
I know that, Mrs. Earth, and I assure you I wouldn't
make such a peculiar request. . . . Yes, it is
connected with the arrest, in a way. No, certainly
not. No, just those four, it won't be necessary to
include Miss Tritt. The newspapers and the police
know nothing about it, and they won't know, I
give you my word. It will be a great favour to me,
and I hope and believe it will also be one to Guy
Carew. Yes, it will have to be at half-past eight,
and they must all be there or it won't do any good.
No, thank you very much. ..."
She hung up, sat a moment frowning, looked in
the book for a number, and dialled again.
She made three more telephone calls in succession.
The first was to the office of a theatrical agent on
Eroadway, and since it was a Saturday afternoon
FR1;RED THREADS 169
in August, the fact that repeated attempts got no
answer was not surprising and therefore no great
disappointment. The second was to the editorial
office of Variety, where she talked for three minutes
with a hoarse and hearty man whose name she
didn't learn, and who gave her so obvious a suggestion
that she was ashamed not to have thought of
it herself. The third was the headquarters of the
Federal Broadcasting Company, and there, after
some difficulty, she got through to the man she
wanted.
" Mr. Marley ? . . . Of course you didn't recognise
the name Jean Farris. . . . Oh. Thank you
for being delicate about it; I forgot the morning
papers had made me famous. I met you a couple of
months ago at Alien Lockhart's penthouse, but of
course you've forgotten. I had on a yellow dress
and I stepped on you when we danced, and you
invited me to come to the FBC studios and be
personally escorted by you, but of course that
doesn't distinguish me. Anyway, you did invite
me, and now I'm in trouble and need some help. . . .
No, nothing like that, what I want is a man who
can imitate birds. . . . No, birds, birds that sing.
I know you have people who imitate all sorts of
sounds, and I want a man who can imitate a whippoorwill,
and I must have him by seven o'clock.
... Of course not, I didn't suppose you would
have him right there, but surely you know where
you can get hold of one. No, I must have him by
seven o'clock to-day or it won't do any good. You
are wonderful and I promise never to step on you
again. You can call me here, my number is--no.
If you don't mind, I'd rather come to your place
and wait, that would save a little time. I'll have
to listen to him and see if he's good enough. I'll be
there inside of half an hour. . . .
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
at one 0'cl.ock Inspector Cramer had offered Portia
Tritt to District Attorney Anderson of Westchester
County, but Anderson had begged him to keep her
and carry on ; and had accompanied the request
with such glowing praise of the energy and brilliance
which Cramer had already displayed that it would
have been churlish not to acquiesce. So orders
had been issued to serve a tray lunch to Miss .Tritt
in the private room she was being permitted to
monopolise, while Cramer had eaten with the commissioner.
Afterwards over an hour was consumed
by the urgencies- of a misunderstanding among
racketeers in the Fillmore Market district and a
suspicious suicide on West End Avenue ; and it
was after three o'clock when the inspector was
again alone in his office and was able to tell Sergeant
Burke to bring Miss Tritt.
Burke said, " She's got holes gnawed in the door."
Cramer nodded wearily. " Sure. Pull her out
through one of them."
He arose when Burke escorted her in, waited till
she was seated, and then resumed his chair and
screwed up his lips at her. She certainly knew how
to dress, he thought, and she also knew how to
carry it, he would hand that to her. And though
her grey eyes looked indignant and scrappy, there
was also a wary caution in them. Quite a woman.
And a godawful liar.
She was saying, "I've been kept here over four
hours. I know it's useless to start screaming, but I
came without protest when you sent for me, and
it's outrageous and unreasonable to isolate me like
a criminal and keep me waiting four hours."
170
RED THREADS 171
Cramer said, " Uh-huh. I know it is. I'm sorry.
I apologise. So now let's make it as brief as we can.
A few little things have come up since I saw you
yesterday afternoon. For instance, you were telling
me that at 11.25, that night at Lucky Hills, you
went outdoors to see what the weather looked like,
and because it was cool you went first to the side
hall to get a jacket."
He opened a drawer of his desk, took out a folded
paper, opened it up, and walked over to her. " Here.
This is a diagram of the ground floor of the house.
Would you show me which hall and which closet it
was that you got the jacket ? "
She took the paper and studied it a moment, then
pointed with a finger. " That one." He stooped to
look, then retrieved the paper, folded it, and returned
to his chair.
" Much obliged. I believe that's the closet where
the tennis balls and rackets are kept ? "
" Yes."
" Was it your own jacket you got ? "
" No, nothing of mine was there. I didn't want
to go upstairs. A lot of miscellaneous stuff was in
that closet."
" What kind of jacket was it you took ? "
" I don't know." She hesitated. " I really don't
remember."
" When you came back in, at one o'clock, did you
return it to that closet ? "
" No. It was out of my way, going to my room,
so I wore it ... no, I didn't either. I remember
that. I was in the upper hall before I remembered
I had it on and it wasn't mine, so I took it off and
left it there in the hall, on the arm of a seat under a
mirror."
" That was in the north wing ? "
" Yes, my room was in the north wing."
172 RED THREADS
" Was the jacket still there in the morning ? "
" I don't know. I didn't notice, and it was so
dark——" She caught herself abruptly and her
eyes flickered, then she went on with admirable
calm, " I mean, in all the excitement, when I left
Guy Carew's room——"
" That's all right," Cramer put in. " Don't mind
a little slip like that. We'll discuss that in a minute,
but right now let's finish with the jacket. Maybe
you remember that Guy had a jacket with him at
the tennis court that afternoon, and when you
finished he put it on and wore it back to the house."
She nodded. "Yes."
" Did you notice that jacket particularly ? "
" Not—I wouldn't say particularly. I saw it was
an old Indian weave—an antique—it had holes in
it."
" Did you know the red yarn in it was called
bayeta ? Did he tell you about it ? "
" Not that I remember."
Cramer grunted. " Okay. That jacket—the one
that Guy wore—was left by him in that side hall
closet—the one you showed me on the diagram—
when he put the balls and rackets away. Was it
that one that you took at 11.25 that night to wear
outdoors ? "
" I've told you, I don't remember what kind of
jacket I took."
" Do you remember that it was not that jacket ? "
" No."
" So it might have been that jacket ? "
" It——" She stopped, then at once went on,
" It could have been, yes."
" And whatever jacket you took, you left it in
the upper hall of the north wing and you don't
know whether it was there in the morning or not ? "
" That's what I told you. Inspector."
RED THREADS 173
" And that's the truth ? "
" Really——" Her eyes flickered. Then she lifted
a hand and dropped it, and shrugged her shapely
shoulders. " Yes, that's the truth."
Cramer leaned back and regarded her in silence.
At length he sighed and started again, " You know,
Miss Tritt, there are two or three ways of doing
what I'm going to do now. I could easily ask you
some trick questions that would put sweat on your
brow, excuse the expression. That might be fun and
it would serve you right, but it would be a waste of
time. The quickest and best way is just to tell you
that we know you've lied from the beginning about
what you did that night between 2 a.m. and 7.25.
The last time you did it was yesterday afternoon,
to me. Well, that's out. That lie's no good any
more. So suppose you go ahead and tell me what
you really did do."
Portia Tritt was smiling at him, but the smile was
confined to her lips, for her eyes were too intent on
their specific job to join in. She said with a little
laugh, " Really, Inspector! Of all the tricks, why
do you pick that one ? It's the most obvious of all."
" It's not a trick this time." Cramer sounded
patient. " I'm telling you straight. Of course you're
stubborn and you're intelligent, and you'll take
some persuading. I expected that. I suppose if I
told you that Guy Carew has been arrested under a
charge of murder, and gave you my word of honour
on it, you wouldn't believe that either."
She smiled again. " Certainly not. Would you
expect me to believe that sort of nonsense ? "
With a grunt Cramer pushed a button on his desk.
He observed grimly, " If it wasn't for the waste of
time, I swear to God I'd lock you up till this time
to-morrow and see what you think of it then. Did
you ever hear of something called obstructing
174 RED THREADS
justice ? And something nicer still, conspiring to
obstruct justice ?--Oh, Burke, are the rags out
with it yet ? "
" Yes, sir. All of 'em."
" Got one ? "
" Yes, sir."
" Bring it here."
He sat and looked at her. The smile had left her
lips, and the banners of indignation and defiance
no longer flew in her eyes, but they were quite
steady. When Sergeant Burke re-entered she didn't
turn around, and she gave him only a casual glance
as he passed on his way to the desk to hand his
superior a newspaper. Cramer waved it away:
""Give it to Miss Tritt."
She took it and it screamed at her :
GUY CAREW ARRESTED FOR MURDER I
Then Cramer lost her face, for it was bent over
the paper, bent low. It took her minutes to read
what there was of it on the front page, and Cramer
let her alone; but when her eyes moved up to the
top again and she started over he interrupted
brusquely :
" Once is enough, huh ? I don't suppose you
suspect me of forging a newspaper. That would be
a trick. Have they got your name in it ? "
She lifted her head, and the paper fell from her
knees to the floor. Apparently she had forgotten to
breathe while reading, for her whole body shook
with the urgency of a shivering inhalation.
" My God," she muttered. " It's ghastly."
"Yeah, it usually is. I warn you, Miss Tritt,
there'll be no tendency around here, or at White
Plains either, to let you down easy. You did obstruct
justice. You told the police a lie that gummed the
RED THREADS 175
works from the beginning, and you stuck to it.
There's only one thing to do now, come absolutely
clean, and be darned careful while you're at it. Tell
me now exactly what you did do that night from
two o'clock on."
Her shoulders sagged. " But it says there——"
Her hand fluttered to indicate the paper on the
floor. " And in the headlines. . . . Good God."
She stared at the paper.
Suddenly she straightened up and looked at
Cramer. " At any rate," she declared, " you can't
expect me to tell you anything now. I must have a
lawyer. You can't expect——"
Cramer blurted, " It's not what I expect. I'll just
tell you what I'm going to do. If you come clean
with me here and now so I can start a check up, I
won't keep you and I won't put a charge on you.
Not for the present at least, if the check up is good.
If you hold me up by calling a lawyer in and trying
to cover with legalities, I'll keep you on two counts,
as a material witness and also under a charge of
obstructing justice. You'll get out on bail, of
course, but you'll have a charge to beat, and there'll
be no consideration shown around here, or in the
district attorney's office either. Take your pick.
You can phone your lawyer right now if you want
to—here's a phone."
" But if I really have obstructed justice—I ought
to know——"
" That's your funeral. Take your pick."
She sat and stared at the newspaper, her lips
pressed tight, her brows drawn together, stiff and
motionless. After a while she muttered, " It's hard
to think straight, with—under the circumstances."
She sat and stared some more.
Suddenly she pulled herself up, looked Cramer in
the eye, and told him, " All right. You say if I
176 RED THREADS
tell you what I did I can go. Everything happened
as I said it did up to two o'clock. I returned to the
house at one and went to my room and sat there.
Around two I went to bed, and I slept some, but
not much and not very soundly. At half-past five I
was out of bed again, and a little later I got dressed.
At six-thirty exactly, which was the time the rays
of the sun were supposed to come through the
walls of the tomb, I left the house at the end of the
north wing corridor and cut right across the lawn
and through the grove of evergreens. I must
have——"
" See any one ? "
" No. Not a sign of any one. I must have got to
the tomb enclosure about twenty minutes to seven,
or a little before. What I intended to do was to be
at the gap when Val Carew came out. I stepped
into the gap and saw the Indian on the ground.
His hands and feet were tied with strips of his
shirt, and he was gagged. Then'1 saw the door of
the tomb was partly open, and I ran to it and tried
to see through the opening, but it was only a crack,
so I pushed it wider, and saw something on the
floor. I went in, and it was Val Carew, and he was
dead. I kneeled down by him to make sure, and
then I stood up, and I don't know how long I stood
there. When I left I could see the Indian lying over
by the gap, but I didn't go out of the enclosure that
way. I went around and left by the gap at the
other end, and kept beyond the shrubbery to circle
back to the house, because I didn't want any one
to see me. Perhaps that was foolish, but I only
half knew what I was doing. I got back in by the
door I had left unlocked and went to my room and
undressed and got into bed. I had decided to let no
one know I had been out. But lying there in
bed——"
FR1;RED THREADS 177
She shivered. " It was horrible. Val Carew lying
dead out there, and no one knowing, and time going
on all over that house. ... I got up and dressed
again and went to Guy's room and knocked on the
door and went in. He was up and dressed. I told
him. He was so stunned he couldn't believe me,
and I was still telling him when there was another
knock on the door. It was the Indian. He had
come to and worked himself loose and gone to the
tomb----"
" Yeah, I know. While you were in the tomb why
did you take that lance from the wall and why did
you go up the stone steps to the platform ? "
" I didn't." She stared. " Oh, you mean my
fingerprints. But I've told you how they got there.
Val Carew took me----"
" Was that the truth maybe ? "
" It was." She looked in his eyes. " I realise
I'm handicapped now. I told a lie, and everything
I say is suspected. But I told that one lie, and that's
all."
" Maybe. You've just described how you lay in
bed after you got back from the tomb, feeling
horrible. Guy Carew says that you told him that you
decided he had killed his father and you went to his
room to see how he would act. How about it ? "
" I ... I didn't. That isn't true."
" You mean you didn't tell him that ? "
" Possibly I told him something like that. Much
later. But I didn't really--I was much too
shocked----"
" I'll bet you were. I'd hate to tell you. Miss
Tritt, what I think it would take to shock you. And
I'm warning you, if you don't give me everything
straight this time, you will be shocked. Why did
you tell the police you had been in Guy's room from we o'clock on ? When did you think that up ? "
178 RED THREADS
" I didn't think it up. It just ... I knew, of
course, that he would be suspected, and I knew he
couldn't be guilty, and I thought it would save him
embarrassment, even misery——"
" Isn't it true that you and Guy thought it up
together ? That you concocted it in his room ? "
"No! We didn't!"
" Isn't it true that he admitted his guilt and you
agreed to shield him——"
" No. Why should he admit guilt ? He wasn't
guilty."
" Isn't it true that you made a bargain with him
that if he would marry you, you would provide
him with an alibi to safeguard him from a charge
of murder ? "
That, or something like it, went on for four hours.
The end, which came a little after seven o'clock,
was not an end in the sense that it arrived at a goal;
it was more like the end of a quarter in a football
game, a recess to stave off mutual exhaustion.
Cramer was hoarse, for something in the personality
of Portia Tritt made it impossible for him to keep
his voice down; and she was clenching her fists to
keep herself half-way under control, for she was
disarmed, at his mercy, and dared no offence. But
essentially she surrendered nothing. All Cramer had
on her, at the finish, was that she had lied about her
movements on the fatal night, and he had had that
when they began.
But he let her go. He had said he would ; and
besides, there was no good reason to keep her.
When she got to her feet she was trembling, but
soon had herself composed ; and a few minutes
later, down on the street, she appeared quite
natural and her voice was quite steady as she gave
a taxi driver the address of Nyasset House.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
melville earth's frosty eyes glittered with
annoyance. He demanded irritably of his wife,
" How the devil could I ? He's in jail charged with
murder. Hutchings & Osbom want blood. The
brokers say they're out of it, they're only bookkeepers.
The final settlement must be by Tuesday
noon, and I can't settle. For God's sake quit asking
me about it, it only aggravates me. And this
idiotic business--these people downstairs--why did
you agree to it ? "
" Haven't I told you ? " Mrs. Earth sighed. " She
said it would be a favour to Guy Carew. And after
all, Mel, it was in our house, at least on our grounds,
that she was beaten unconscious and had her
clothes stolen and had to walk to our door and ring
the bell in her underwear. If that happened to me
anywhere--at Mabel Clement's place, for instance----"
Mrs. Earth shivered. " Anyhow, I
told her I'd do it, and they're all waiting downstairs
and you're supposed to be there. Another thing, I
thought if I didn't humour her there's no telling
how much trouble she could make--I had enough
of it with those three detectives this morning, all
over the place and asking questions and poking
around, climbing the fence and falling into the
shrubbery----''
" Very well. It can't be helped. I'll be down
shortly."
" No, now. That's why I came up again. It's a
quarter to nine, and Miss Farris say she wants to be
there with us at exactly the same time as it happened,
which I admit seems silly, maybe the knock on the head did really affect her brain----"
179
l8o RED THREADS
" A lot of damned female nonsense," Earth
growled ; but he put on a coat and followed his wife
downstairs.
Two minutes later a procession of six people left
the house and took the circling path to the right,
towards the farther driveway. Jean Farris and
Mrs. Earth were in the lead ; behind them was
Leo Kranz and then Earth ; and Amory Euysse
and Woodrow Wilson were in the rear. Euysse
was dressed approximately as he had been on
Thursday, but Wilson wore his overalls with blue
shirt and red tie, and no hat. They followed the
others across the gravelled drive, and another
broad expanse of clipped lawn, along the edge of
the cutting garden with outbuildings at one end,
and through a wide stretch of meadow grass. From
there the boundary fence of the estate could be seen,
almost completely concealed by a riot of shrubbery.
The goal, apparently, was ten yards short of it, for
there Jean stopped, brushing the edge of a dense
thicket of birch saplings.
Mrs. Earth nodded. " This is the place, all right.
See, Mel, how they trampled those clumps of
violets ? No, over there. They told me they found
it by looking for the spot where Miss Farris had
lain down—right there, they showed me when I
came to look—of course it's nearly dark now and you
can't see it very well—and they thought they found
where he went to the wall, probably to throw the
clothes over it—only they didn't find any sign on
the outside, but of course it's all stones there and
there wouldn't be any footprints if he did come
back later to get them—is that right. Miss Farris,
is this it ? I suppose it is, since you brought us
here."
Jean nodded. " I know it by that bush, the one
with berries." Her heart was pumping. The dusk
RED THREADS l8l
was thickening fast, and she was afraid she wouldn't
be able to see well enough ; and even if she could
have seen better, her elaborate scheme seemed
fantastic and even silly, now that the moment had
come to try it. It would all depend on one swift
instant, one fraction of a second, and while the theory was all right, the successful application of
it by her looked hopeless. . . .
Buysse and Wilson, who had first stopped ten feet
off, had moved up in the gathering twilight to take a
look at the spot Mrs. Earth had indicated. Leo
Kranz asked, " Which way were you lying ? Where
was your head ? "
Melville Barth observed icily, " I believe. Miss
Farris, you wanted us here for some sort of experiment
? "
" Yes," Jean said. " I had some sort of an idea,
when I phoned Mrs. Barth, that we might do some
investigating together, but I didn't know then that
detectives had been all over it. Anyway, it's getting
dark. But there's one thing I'd like to try--first,
I want to show all of you exactly where I was
lying." She moved. " My head was right here.
Come closer, Mr. Wilson, if you don't mind, I
want the opinion of all of you--you too, Mr. Buysse.
My head was there, and I was on my back with my
eyes closed, and--I don't believe I've mentioned
this before--I heard a noise----"
Everybody jumped. Not at Jean's words, but at
a shrill earsplitting note that shattered the air.
Jean, not of course herself startled, had her eyes
strained to watch them. She had spent hours
thinking about this moment, and had reached conclusions
about it, but it happened so swiftly and her faculties were all so concentrated in her eyesight
that she didn't immediately realise that her conclusions
had been completely justified. It hapl82	RED THREADS
pened precisely as she had calculated : when that
piercing note sounded, five heads had turned with
a jerk and five pairs of eyes had sought to penetrate
the surrounding gathering gloom ; but then, almost
immediately, one of the pairs of eyes, and only one,
had turned swiftly to look at her and she had met
them ; and he stood so close to her that even through
the dusk she could see the change when the eyes
realised what they were doing. They turned from her again.
There was movement among the others. Mrs. Earth was exclaiming, " My God, it scared me to
death I But we were talking--I never heard of a
whip-poor-will--good heavens, what have you got
there ? "
That was for Buysse, who had acted. He had
dashed into the thicket of birch at their elbows,
there had been the sound of a brief scramble, and
now he emerged dragging something. They all
stared. Jean muttered weakly, " Oh, please,
please----" but no one heard her. They were
staring at Buysse's catch as he dragged it closer and
stood it up, grasping its collar. Leo Kranz stepped
closer to take a look. Mrs. Barth cried, " But
what--what----"
Barth demanded coldly, " Who the devil are you
and what were you doing there ? "
The man gulped, with Buysse still gripping his
collar. He was at least a foot shorter than Buysse,
with a little black moustache, big ears, and his
eyes popping out. He gulped again. Barth demanded,
" Well ? "
Jean saw there was no way out of it. She moved
over beside him : " Let go of him, Mr. Buysse.
It's all right, he's--he's a friend of mine. May I--
Mrs. Barth, this is Mr. Tamber. Mr. Roy Tamber.
I brought him with me when I came."
FR1;RED THREADS 183
" You brought him--Miss Fan-is, this is ridiculous----"

Tamber found his voice : "I didn't expect--I
didn't know----"
" All right, Mr. Tamber, I'm sorry. I'll pay you
B c double." Jean was trembling with excitement; she
' couldn't help it. " I may as well explain, because
it's all over anyway. I said I wanted to try an
experiment, and I did. I brought Mr. Tamber with
me and smuggled him in here. He makes noises
for the Federal Broadcasting Company, and I
wanted him to be a whip-poor-will, because a whippoorwill
sang close to me Thursday evening, just
before someone struck me. I wanted----"
Barth put in impatiently, " Absolute insanity.
I don't want people smuggled into my grounds----"
" Of course you don't, Mr. Barth. I didn't want
to be knocked unconscious in your grounds, either,
and I wanted to find out who did it. I assure you
I'm not insane, and one proof of it is that I did
i find out who struck me."
" My dear child----"
" Yes, Mrs. Barth, I did. I know now, absolutely
and conclusively, which one of you came from
behind those bushes Thursday evening and hit me
on the head and took my clothes. I can't prove it,
not yet. But there must be a way to prove it, and
I'll find it somehow. I want to thank you, Mrs.
Barth, for giving me the chance to do this. Come
on, Mr. Tamber, I'll smuggle you out again."
She moved. Tamber, who had been released,
moved after her.
" But, Miss Fan-is, you must explain----"
" I think the rest of us have a right----"
But Jean, with Mr. Tamber trotting after her,
was gone into the dusk.
184 RED THREADS
As, in Jean's roadster, they rolled along the
curving secondary road leading to Portchester, Mr.
Tamber cleared his throat and finally found his
voice. " Of course----" There was a squeak, and
he cleared his throat again and started over. " Of
course I knew there might be some danger involved
in it. I agreed to it, really, for the adventure. I
didn't mention it to you, but you must have known
I had read all about you in the morning paper.
Quite an unusual name, Jean Fan-is."
Jean, driving, muttered assent. Her mind, to
put it mildly, was occupied. Mr. Tamber went on,
" I've been an artist now nearly twenty years, and
this is the first time my work has been directly
connected with a murder. It was an adventure,
all right, but I wouldn't care to repeat it. That
fellow would make a good weight lifter in a circus.
What did you say his name was ? Miss Farris ? "
" I beg your pardon ? "
" That fellow that hauled me out. What's his
name ? "
" Buysse."
" Oh, yes. Odd name. As I say, I knew it was
connected with a murder, and I like adventure,
always have, but I wouldn't have agreed to do it
if I hadn't needed the money. I've followed the
Carew case pretty close. It was a treat to see that
Indian, a real treat. Most of the folks I talk with
think the Indian did it, but when I saw the paper
this evening and saw they had arrested Guy Carew,
I said to myself, well, they've got the right one at
last, but it certainly took them long enough. . . ."
He went on talking, as they rolled into PortChester,
turned right on the Post Road, and continued
south. Jean was aware that now and then
he turned to look behind them, but there was no
interruption to his verbal flow. The lights of a
FR1;RED THREADS 185
thousand cars flashed by, and a thousand thoughts
flashed along the avenues of her mind, but it was
impossible to shut her ears completely to his voice.
or even to his words. Finally, and abruptly, she
told him :
" I've just remembered that I have to make a
stop this side of Larchmont, to call on somebody,
and I don't know how long it will take. It might
be hours. Do you mind if I drop you off at the
Rye railroad station ? There's sure to be a train
before long.""
Mr. Tamber said that would suit him fine. And
that reminded him that for years he had been universally
conceded to be the best imitator of a
train whistle in the country. . . .
They rolled into the Rye station plaza, circled
a parked truck, and came to a stop. Jean offered
a good-bye, together with an expression of gratitude
for his performance and regret for its unfortunate
sequel. But Mr. Tamber made no move to
open his door; and Jean suddenly exclaimed,
" Oh, my Lord, I forgot, I haven't paid you I Will
it be all right if I mail you a cheque ? "
" Well ... a cheque would do." He sounded
doubtful. " The fact is, I could use the cash."
" Oh." Jean hastily got into her bag and explored.
" I said I would pay you double, but I
don't believe I have that much . . . here's thirty
dollars, will that do ? I'll send you a cheque for
the balance."
" This is quite all right." Mr. Tamber took the
twenty and two fives and made their edges flush
and neatly folded them. " I assure you this is
adequate-" He flung the door open and climbed
out. " Good-bye, Miss Farris, good-bye ,a and thank
you." He had backed off a step, but now he came
close again, stuck his head in the window, and said
FR1;l86 RED THREADS
in a tone low and hurried but carefully clear, " You ought to know that that car stopped under a
tree at the far end. New York TZ9205 has been
following us ever since we left." Then he whirled
and trotted off, and was on the station portico
before Jean realised what he had said ; and before
she could act on the impulse to call to him, he had
disappeared inside.
She stared at the station door which had closed
behind him, minded to go after him. But she had had enough of Mr. Tamber for the evening, and
besides, in his devotion to adventure he had probably
been imagining things. She peered the length
of the plaza and saw that there was a car parked
under a tree with its dim lights on, but at that
distance she could make out neither its licence
number nor its occupant. She shrugged, engaged
the clutch, rolled out of the plaza, and headed back
for the Post Road.
By the time she was two miles south of Rye, some
five or six minutes later, she was wishing that she
had done differently--at least, that on leaving the
plaza she had circled close enough to make out the
licence number--for it appeared certain she was
indeed being followed. The southbound traffic at
that hour, ten o'clock Saturday night, was thin ;
thrice she had slowed down to twenty-five and then
suddenly accelerated to fifty, keeping watch in the
mirror, and there was unquestionably a car behind
which neither overtook her when she slackened
nor lost much ground when she speeded up. Her
feeling was not so much alarm or even curiosity as
it was indignation; whoever it might be, it was a
damned impertinence. The indignation got hotter
in her breast; she pressed the pedal until the speedometer
showed sixty, and kept it there for a mile,
until the follower had had time to get into the pace,
FR1;RED THREADS 187
and then suddenly stepped on the brake, hugged
the curb, and came to a quick stop.
She saw in the mirror that the pursuer was stopping
too, fifty yards back. That was worse than
impertinent, it was insolent. With the top of the
roadster down, all she had to do to get a good look
was twist from under the wheel and kneel on the
seat, which she did. A highway light was so placed
that she couldn't make out who was in the car,
through the windshield, but the licence plate did
show TZ9205 or something very like it. With a
mutter of impatience she moved, thinking to get
out and walk back, but with her hand on the door
lever she stopped, arrested by a sudden little chill
of fear. Even on that main highway, with cars
roaring by in both directions, it was quite possible,
if a man was sufficiently desperate and determined.
She scrambled back behind the wheel, put the gear
in, and started off. In the mirror she saw that the
other car started too. All right, to the devil with
him. Her speedometer went to fifty. Let him play
tag if he wanted to and see what good it would do
him. Fifty-five. Sixty. On a curve her tyres
whined, and she eased up a little. She realised that
she had gone to sixty not by deliberate decision,
but because the little chill of fear had spread through
her blood almost to the indignity of panic, and that
infuriated her. What the devil was there to. be
afraid of ? Well--even on the lighted Post Road
there were short stretches flanked by woods--and
even where the lights were bright, after all, she
was in an open car--and a shot, coming from behind,
into the back of her head, as she whirled along at
sixty miles an hour--and she realised that her teeth
were clamped tight, her jaw rigid, as she gripped
the steering wheel----
It was intolerable. So as she entered the thickenFR1;l88 RED THREADS
ing of habitations which was Larchmont she slowed
down to thirty, and two minutes later, arriving at
the array of lights from a cluster of filling stations,
she slowed still more, rolled on by a short piece,
and stopped. When a glance in the mirror showed
her that the follower had likewise stopped, the
same distance behind as previously, she pushed the
gear to reverse and started to back. Back she
went, smoothly, alongside the curb, her head
turned, her left hand controlling the wheel, until
her rear bumper gently kissed the front bumper
of TZg2o5 ; then she stopped, pulled the gear to
neutral, pulled the hand brake, and switched off
the ignition.
A door of TZ9205 was flung open, and she sat
motionless, with her head turned again, and stared
as Amory Buysse and Woodrow Wilson clambered
out and approached her.
" Well! " she said, and breathed deep. " What
the dickens do you mean by following me like
this ? "
The Indian was stretching his wrinkled neck to
peer at her from behind his companion's shoulder.
Buysse, at the running board, towered above her
and had to look down. He said calmly, " We
thought we ought to have a talk with you. Right
away."
" Did you have to sneak along behind me ? "
" I wouldn't say we were sneaking exactly. We
just wanted to have a talk with you to-night, and
we didn't like to stop you--out on the road like
this----"
" What do you want to talk about ? "
" Well----" Buysse lifted a foot to the runningboard
and crossed his forearms along the rim of the
door. " For one thing, we'd like to ask a few questions
about Mr. Guy Carew. Also it might help
RED THREADS 189
for you to explain exactly what the hell you were
up to there at Earth's place tonight."
" What about Mr. Carew ? "
" He's in jail. Arrested for murder."
" I know he is."
" Sure you do. You ought to, you put him
there. Who did you calculate you was helping out
by telling the cops about his jacket and the yarn and so on ? "
" Why, I ..." Jean was gaping. " I didn't----"
" Somebody did, and you was there. That's one
question. The next one might be, is it Wilson here
or is it me you're trying to frame for cracking you
on the head ? You see, ma'am, I'm slow but I'm
not crazy. I realise that if they get Guy for the
murder, they've got to get someone else for the
attack on you Thursday, because he couldn't have
done that. After we signed those papers at the
dinner table there was some talk about where everyone
was. Guy was out of that. We might as well
get this settled first, who is it you're trying to frame
for it ? Wilson or me ? "
Jean found speech. " You're crazy. You say
you're not, but you certainly are. You've got everything
wrong side up."
" Such as ? "
" Everything. I didn't tell the police about the
jacket and the yarn."
" Somebody did."
" Certainly. Guy did himself. I was there. They
had kept me all night, trying to make me tell, and
I wouldn't, and Guy came and told them himself
so they would let me go. Also he told them it wasn't
true that Portia Tritt had been in his room all the
time, and that made his alibi no good, and that
was why they arrested him. They didn't put that
in the paper. I only tell you because I have----"
190 :, . RED THREADS
" Back up a minute." Buysse was scowling at
her. " You say he shed the Tritt alibi ? Guy did ? "
" Yes. She had lied about it----"
" But he did too. Guy's not a liar."
" No, but he thought that way he could find
out--he was being clever."
" He's not clever either."
" Certainly he isn't, but he thought he was. I
only tell you about it because I have to tell someone.
I'm glad you followed me and I'm glad I
stopped. I have to have help. Guy's lawyer is no
good, he even thinks Guy is guilty, and he wants
me to run away so they can't make me testify
about the yarn. I don't even know anything about
you, except what I can see in your face, and up to
an hour ago I even thought it might have been you
who killed Guy's father and knocked me on the
head. Now I know it wasn't."
" That's something. How do you know it
wasn't ? "
" Because I know who it was. I knew by th&
way he looked at me to-night when the whip-poorwill
sounded. That may sound silly to you, but I am
positive as if I had seen him do it."
" Maybe----" Buysse's voice was silky. " Maybe
you're going to say it was Wilson here."
" No. It was Leo Kranz."
A grunt came from the Indian. Buysse peered in
silence at Jean. She said, " I know it was. I'm
absolutely sure. But how am I going to prove it ?
How is any one going to prove it ? "
Wilson grunted again. Buysse finally took a deep
breath. He said, " It might be. Kranz. It might
be. But you can't prove it by having a man make
a noise like a whip-poor-will, not even to me."
Jean blurted, exasperated, " Damn it, I don't
want to prove it to you I If you're a real friend of
RED THREADS ^ IQI
Guy's you shouldn't be asking for proof, you should
be helping to find it! That's what I was doing
when I went to Earth's to-night, and now I don't
know what to do next."
" Well, I told you I'm slow. I'm willing to believe
you without proof, but that don't get Guy out of
jail. I'm no cleverer than he is, never have been,
but you seem to tend that way. If you've got any
ideas I can help with----"
" I don't know." Jean frowned at him. " I had
one, and I've used it up. But it isn't possible for a
man to do a thing, actually commit a murder, and
leave no way of proving it--is it ? There are so
many things--of course not the weapon, because it
was there in the tomb. And no fingerprints, because
he wore gloves. And if no one saw him on his way
to the tomb or coming back--but there must be
something. For instance, the jacket. He must have
worn Guy's jacket. He could have got it from the
closet in the hall without being seen, but what did
he do with it afterwards ? He couldn't have returned
it to the closet, or the police would have
found it; after the yam was found in Val Carew's
hand they searched everywhere for bayeta, so it
couldn't have been in the house. And if Kranz hid
it somewhere, where did he hide it and why ?
And how did he get it into Guy's room the afternoon
I was there and Guy gave it to me ? He wasn't
there that day. You see, Mr. Buysse ? There's an
idea, even if it's nothing wonderful. Where was the
jacket from the morning of the murder until the
day Guy gave it to me ?"
" I had it."
Jean stared, and Buysse jerked around to stare
with her, at the Indian.
He, in the light from the filling station glare,
looked imperturbable.
102	RED THREADS
Buysse demanded, " You had what ? None of
your damned tricks, now."
" Me ? " Wilson grunted. " No tricks. I had the
young one's jacket."
" You had it when ? "
" All that time. Like she say."
" Where did you get it ? "
" It was by me. When my life came to my head
that morning. When my life came back I work to
get free, first my hands then my mouth then my feet.
Then I look around, I see the young one's jacket on
the grass under the hedge. Then I see the door
open, I go and look, I see Tsianina's man dead.
That look good, now he not marry other woman.
I go get jacket and shake head at it, I think Tsianina's
son big damn fool, after he kill Tsianina's
man he leave jacket where any one can find. Maybe
not damn fool, may be take off jacket when he tie
me, then forget so happy when kill Tsianina's man.
Leave jacket by so happy forgetting, not by damn
fool. I have many cache where I keep things, no one
can find. I put jacket in cache, go to house to see
young one. Other woman there. He not act big
surprise, damn fool again. He send me go tell
you----"
" You damn jackass I " Buysse blurted. " All the
time you've been sure Guy did it, and I've been
sure you did it! Is this the truth ? "
The Indian shrugged. " Now this woman say
Kranz kill Tsianina's man. Good trick. Young one
in jail, get him out. Get him out, put Kranz in,
everything okay."
" Where did you cache the jacket ? "
Wilson grunted. " Maybe show you."
" You bet you will. Did you take it to Guy's
room the day he found it there ? "
"Me? Sure."
FR1;RED THREADS IQ3
" Why did you do that ? "
" Think may be young one worried where jacket.
Me not thief, me not keep anyway. Good day come,
take it from cache, take to his room."
" Is this the truth, Wilson? "
" Plenty truth, my friend Buysse. Plenty."
Buysse eyed him a moment in silence, then turned
to Jean. " I think it's the truth. I've known him
thirty years."
" You see I " Jean put a hand on his arm. " What
did I tell you ? There's bound to be proof, if only
somebody will find it! "
" Well, I wouldn't exactly call that proof that
Kranz murdered Val Carew----"
" No, but it helps to prove that Guy didn't!
Would he have put his own jacket under the hedge
and left it there ? And if he had, wouldn't he have
asked Wilson later what he had done with it ?
Wouldn't any one realise that if he had done the
murder and left the jacket under the hedge, then
when he found it that day in his room----" Jean
stopped with a frown. After a little she went on,
" No, that wouldn't fit. It's too complicated for me,
at least the way my head is now. I'm about half
dead. But what are we going to do about this
jacket business and Wilson ? Who are we going to
tell ? "
Buysse slowly shook his head. " Got me. Up to
twenty minutes ago I was giving odds that it was
Wilson that killed Val, and for a plugged nickel I'd
have broke his back for it, but I wouldn't have
liked to see the cops get him,' and no more would I
now. And while this whip-poor-will story of yours
is good and fancy----"
" It is not fancy I It's absolute fact. And someone
has to be told about Wilson and the jacket,
but who ? Do you know Orlik, Guy's lawyer ? "
194 RED THREADS
" I've met him. Got grease in his brains. He
made them turn Wilson loose at White Plains."
" I don't care if he did, I don't like him. He
wanted me to run away, and anyhow, he thinks
Guy is' guilty, so he's no good." Jean's frown
deepened. " I know another lawyer, but he wouldn't
like--I mean, I know him personally." She stopped
in perplexity. "It's utterly ridiculous, we've found
this Out, and what can we do with it ? Unless we
tell Inspector Cramer." She nodded. " I believe
that's it."
Buysse objected, " He'd only lock Wilson up
again."
" No, he wouldn't. Not only that. I may be
naive, and I've never hated any one as I hated
him last night, but I believe that what he wants is
the truth and he'll work to get it. That's the thing
to do, I'm sure it is. We'll go to him together in
the morning, and take Wilson."
But Buysse balked, and proved to be stubborn.
He had various objections, and Jean tried to overcome
them. They argued back and forth, with
Buysse still unconvinced, and he was finally coerced
to reluctant agreement by Jean's ultimatum that
she would herself see Cramer in any event, and if
she did that Buysse and Wilson would certainly
be sent for.
She asked Wilson if he would accompany them,
and he responded with a grunt which was interpreted
by Buysse as an affirmative. It was
settled that the two men would call at her apartment
at ten o'clock in the morning, Sunday, and
they would proceed en masse ; Jean gave Buysse
her address.
Buysse took his foot from the running-board, but
turned back to her to observe, " Look here, ma'am,
something I think I ought to mention. You've
FR1;RED THREADS 195
really got it cinched in your mind that Kranz
murdered Val Carew. That right ? "
"Yes. I know he did."
" That's going pretty strong. There wasn't any
whip-poor-wills in that tomb." Buysse shrugged.
" Anyhow, you got a little excited up at Earth's
to-night and told him to his face that you knew it
was him that cracked you on the head. If it was
him that killed Val, he'll figure that you feel the
same way sure about that, and being a murderer
he'll imagine maybe that you know more than you
do, and he might get himself worked up. What
kind of a place do you live in ? "
" Why--a flat. A walk-up. I told you the
address.
" Any men around ? "
" In my flat ? Certainly not."
" Are you all alone there ? "
" At night, yes."
" Well, I don't think you ought to be tonight.
You told Kranz right down his throat that you
know he's a murderer and you expect to prove it.
For instance, I don't think you ought to leave your
car in a garage and then go home alone. Wilson
and I would be glad to trail along----"
" Nonsense. I'm not afraid. Nothing will happen."
" Really, ma'am, I don't want to----"
" No, thanks very much, it isn't necessary."
She won that argument too, and three minutes
later had said good-night and was headed south
along the Post Road.
She nearly fell asleep in the bathtub. It was
well after midnight. The chicken salad which
Oletha had left for her in the refrigerator, and the
blueberry pie in the oven, had been attacked with
ferocity, and had been followed by two cups of tea.
FR1;196 RED THREADS
The temptation was almost irresistible to fall on to
the bed with her clothes on and let blessed sleep
take her, but the thought of warm water caressing
her skin was seductive too, and she dragged herself
to the faucet and turned it on. She would lie there
for ten minutes and consider the project of the
morning; often while in the bathtub she had got
excellent ideas for designs ; it seemed to loosen her
brain. But it didn't work ; instead, she found herself
trying to see Guy in jail, the kind of room he
was in, what he was sleeping on, if he wasn't sleeping
what he was thinking about; then she was dreaming
about an enormous door which kept opening and
shutting and every time it opened a whippoorwill
flew out; and then she was dreaming that she had
fallen into a lake of warm milk and someone was
pulling her down by the feet and trying to make
her swallow the milk. . . .
She jerked up, spasmodically splashing, and spit
out a mouthful of the bath water. " Good Lord,"
she muttered aloud, " I might have drowned myself."
She opened the valve to let the water out,
and stood up and turned on the shower and got it
cool. That revived her a little, but as she dried herself
and got into pyjamas and mules the drowsiness
began to return and she realised that she had never
been so played out in her life ; after all, she reflected
vaguely, walking across to the living-room wall
switch, there had been that blow on the head. . . .
The doorbell rang. She stopped on a forward foot,
startled. At this time of night ? Eileen, Oletha ?
The police ? Orlik had warned her that they would
be after her again soon, something about a bond.
She wouldn't open. Then they might ring all night.
Then she would disconnect the bell. There was a
short struggle, and curiosity and courage won.
She shuffled to the kitchen and pushed the button
RED THREADS 197
several times rapidly, and then hastened to the hall
to make sure that the door was locked. She stood
and listened, and in a moment heard footsteps on
the stairs. They approached, without. They halted,
and the buzzer sounded.
She called a little louder than necessary, "Who
is it ? "
" Telegram for Jean Farris."
It sounded like somebody with a sore throat.
She hesitated. " But—why didn't you phone it ? "
" Marked for delivery."
Her heart jumped. It hadn't occurred to her, but
it was quite possible that people were permitted to
send telegrams from jail, especially those who had
enough money to bribe somebody—because I love
you——
She turned the knob of the lock and pulled the
door open. A man came in with it, right against her,
and she retreated a step, gaping.
It was Leo Kranz.
The door was wide-open, and he stood there, in
its orbit; then, seeing her immobility, he stepped
sidewise, reached for the knob, and swung the door
shut. She recovered quickly enough to grab for
it, but missed its edge and banged. She retreated
again, two backward steps, stood straight, and
told him, " I can scream. If you move I will scream.
There are people above——"
" I know there are." He was motionless, staring
at her. His voice wasn't steady. It didn't tremble ;
rather, it vibrated like a tight wire. " There's
nothing to scream about. Miss Farris. I only want
to talk with you. Just a frank and friendly talk."
He moved a few inches forward, she moved as far
away, and his lips twisted with a smile. " I didn't
give you my name because I knew you wouldn't
let me in. Up there to-night I saw you looking at
IQ8 RED THREADS
me--and then what you said--you were mistaken.
You are making a mistake."
" Open that door and get out. I'll give you five
seconds. I'll scream in five seconds."
" You won't talk ? Then that means----" His
hand stirred ; Jean moved; the hand was still
again. The wire of his voice tightened : "I tell
you you're making a mistake. If I meant any harm
to you I could have struck you when you opened the
door. I only want to talk--to ask you----"
Probably if he had attacked her that instant,
that split second, there would have been no scream,
for Jean was momentarily dumb, stunned by a
fantastic mixture of physical fear that gripped her
stomach and an explosive impulse in her breast to
burst into laughter. It had struck her, when his
hand moved, that he was wearing gloves. On a
warm August night, dressed informally. Dressed
for murder. The polite gloves told her politely,
"Just in case I do harm you, in case I do have to
kill you----" It was funny, pathetic, dangerous--
deadly dangerous, like his voice---- It was doubtful
if he really knew what he was doing--he was
desperate--he was a murderer-'----- She would have
to scream--she must scream now--even if she
screamed he might do it anyway with that stick in
his hand--it would be better to leap for him,
scratch at him----
The door bell rang. Kranz's voice stopped,
chopped off the tail of a word. She moved--she
could back into the kitchen, but she didn't want
to leave the hall, that was nearest to the world--
she stopped. There was a fainter sound--that was
the bell ringing in the flat above--and other faint
sounds--someone was ringing all the bells in the
house--should she scream now ? Instead, she held
her breath, and heard the outside door, two flights
FR1;RED THREADS 199
open and close. Then heavy footsteps running
upstairs.
Kranz muttered something and made a movement
; she paid no attention to it, but stepped
forward and seized the knob of the lock and got the
door open. The footsteps came nearer, on the
second flight, then a man popped up at the stair
head and strode along the hall. Below, a door
opened and a gruff and angry voice called :
" Who the hell is that ? Who rang my bell ? "
Jean moved out to the rail and called down,
" All right, Mr. Lawson, it's a friend of mine!
Excuse it, please I "
She turned, and saw that Kranz had stepped out
too and stood there facing Amory Buysse. Neither
man said anything. Kranz turned to her :
" You're quite popular to-night. And all the
commotion--really----" He took a step.
" Wait a minute." Buysse was in front of him.
" How about it, Miss Fan-is ? Do you want him
for anything ? "
Kranz said, " I came to see Miss Farris. I wanted
to have a talk with her."
" All right, go ahead and talk."
" No." It was Jean. " There's nothing to say.
We'll -wait here until we hear the door close behind
you downstairs."
Kranz stared at her, then turned without a word
and went. Buysse followed him, five steps behind,
down both flights, and saw him leave and heard
the door click, and then went back up. Jean,
standing in her door, said, " Come in." Then, inside,
she closed the door, took him to the living-room,
and sat herself on the edge of a chair.
Buysse said apologetically, " I followed you
again, but not so close. I figured that if Kranz
killed Val he must be half crazy and he might do
FR1;200 RED THREADS
anything. I guess now he really did. I was hanging
around across the street----"
" God bless you. Where's Wilson ? "
" Over at my place asleep. What did Kranz
say ? "
" Nothing." Jean, sitting on the edge of the
chair, shivered convulsively. " He just said he
wanted to have a talk with me."
" Why did you let him in ? I mean up here."
" He disguised his voice and said it was a telegram.
I thought maybe it was from Guy. Then he
stood ... he said I was making a mistake."
Another shiver ran over her. All at once she giggled.
She bit her lip, gazing at Buysse, and giggled
again. " He had on gloves I Did you notice ?
Gloves I " She burst into laughter. " Isn't that-a, scream ? Isn't that funny ? Her head went back,
then forward; the laughter was a rushing crescendo.
" Gloves I " She rocked back and forth, the
laughter rocking with her.
Buysse scowled down at her. " God blame it,"
he muttered, " she'll wake the whole damn block."
He strode to the kitchen, came back with a glass of
cold water, and dashed it into her face. She gave
a gasp and slumped in the chair and the laughter
stopped.
Twenty minutes later she was in her bed sound
asleep, and Buysse was on the couch in the livingroom
with his shoes off, wiggling his toes in the
dark.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
at half-past nine Sunday morning Amory Buysse,
with his face washed, his hair combed, and his
shoes on, sat at the little table in Jean Farris's
living-room enjoying his second cup of coffee, having
consumed two dishes of sliced peaches and cream,
and four fried eggs with toast. He was enjoying
the coffee, but was nevertheless glowering at the
tablecloth, for he was far from easy in his mind.
He had told this stylish young woman that he and
Wilson would go with her to Police Headquarters, and they would; but he didn't like it. If he had
ever seen a cop that looked like a cop, it was Inspector
Cramer ; and in his opinion the cop who had
put Guy Carew in jail was a hell of a man to go to,
to help get him out. He was wishing to God he had
been born clever.
The door to the bedroom opened and Jean
appeared. She had been up since eight; had prepared
the breakfast--since Oletha didn't come on
Sunday--and eaten her share of it; had phoned
three times to Inspector Cramer's office; and had
been at average pains to produce the sartorial
effect which she now displayed. Her summer dress,
cream-coloured with tan stripes, was topped by a
hip-length jacket of the same material, her straw
falcon hat, the tan of the stripes, was at an angle
that stopped before it touched the tilt of freakishness,
and her brown suede pumps clicked with
modish Dorian heels.
She approached the table demanding, " What do
you suppose happened to Wilson ? We mustn't be
late. Didn't he say he was ready to leave ? "
201
202 RED THREADS
Buysse set down his empty cup and nodded.
" He'll be here. We'll make it all right. Probably
he's walking to save taxi fare—he sure hates to
turn loose of money—there he is now."
The bell had rung, and Jean hurried to the kitchen
to push the button. Buysse got up and went to the
hall to open the door. Jean started on a trot to
carry the dishes out, but on her second trip stopped
with the coffee-pot and sugar bowl in her hand at
sound of a voice she didn't know. After leaving
them in the kitchen she went to the hall. Wilson,
the Indian, grunted at her and she grunted back ;
and in the doorway stood a stranger who was telling
Buysse :
" Yes, sir, I know, but I had to see you. I tried
to get you on the telephone last evening, and
couldn't, so this morning I came in from Lucky
Hills and went to your rooms and Mr. Wilson was
there just ready to leave, and he said he was going
to join you, so I took the liberty——"
" Well, right now I'm going somewhere." Buysse
turned to Jean : " This is Richards, Val Carew's
valet. Guy has kept him on at Lucky Hills—what
is it, Richards ? Can you make it short ? "
The man hesitated, glancing at Wilson and Jean.
He was tall, narrow all the way up, with colourless
eyes and not enough flesh to round out his cheeks,
which in another hour at the most would be needing
a shave. He stammered, " I'm afraid I can't make
it very short, sir. It's quite—personal. I wouldn't
like—with other people——"
Jean said brusquely, " He can wait here till we
get back."
" All right, Richards ? Will it keep ? "
" How long will you be, sir ? "
" Oh, maybe a couple of hours. Maybe more.
Cut out the sirs. I don't like 'em."
RED THREADS 203
" Yes, sir." Again he hesitated. " The fact is,
I've worked myself up to do this. It's really quite
shameful. Absolutely shameful. I should hate to
have to sit here—if there is any way of avoiding
it——"
" Who's it shameful to ? "
" To me, sir."
" What's it about ? Has it any connection with
the murder of Val Carew ? "
" I hope not, sir—I sincerely hope not. But there
is that to be considered, and that's why I came——"
Jean put in, " I said we'd be there promptly at
ten, and it's a quarter of. Listen, Mr. Buysse, I'll
go along with Wilson, and you come as soon as you
can."
Buysse frowned. " I don't like the idea of Wilson——"
/
"
It's all right.'/ Jean moved. " I can take care
of him as well as^ that lawyer could. You come as
soon as you can. Be sure the door's locked when
you leave."/ She touched Wilson's elbow. " Come
on."
The Indian grunted, and followed her.
Inspector Cramer sat at his desk with a mangled
cigar between his teeth and watched the door close
behind the departing Sergeant Burke. To his left,
across the desk from him, Woodrow Wilson sat, in
blue overalls and blue shirt with red tie, the slits
of his eyes only two more wrinkles among the
ravines of his leathery old 'lace; to his right Jean
Fan-is, though not so picturesque, was just as
certainly a picture.
Cramer said, " You'll have to make it snappy.
I'm seeing you only as a favour. The Carew case is
back in the hands of District Attorney Anderson
of Westchester County, where it belongs. But just as
204 RED THREADS
a favour to you. Miss Farris--what's on your
mind ? "
Jean took a breath, looked him straight in the
eye, and said, " One thing is that I know who killed
Valentine Carew."
" That's pretty good for a start." Cramer wasn't
impressed. " Who was it ? "
" Leo Kranz. Also he hit me on the head Thursday
evening and took my clothes. Also he intended
to kill me last night, and he probably would if Mr.
Buysse hadn't come."
Cramer studied her a second, then leaned back.
*' Listen, Miss Farris. I've got an appointment at
10.30. You have no idea of the number of goofy
stories that have been told in this room, and the
amount of rambling I've had to listen to. I didn't
have you down for goofy, and I wouldn't have
thought you were a rambler. If you really have
got something you should take it to District Attorney
Anderson, that's where it belongs, but I'll take it
if it's short and to the point. First, Kranz murdered
Carew. Go ahead."
Jean shook her head. " No, first he hit me. I
mean I'll tell you that first. There at Earth's
Thursday, I was lying on my back on the grass
with my eyes closed, right at the edge of a thicket.
Suddenly there was a loud shrill sound, it seemed
right at my ear, and I jerked up, sitting. It was a
whip-poor-will. Just as I realised what it was, the
blow came. When I came, to my skirt and jacket
were gone. You know about that."
" Yeah, I know."
" Well, yesterday afternoon I was trying to think
of some way I could do something, and it occurred
to me that I hadn't mentioned the whippoorwill
to any one. No one knew about it. I decided to try
an experiment. I phoned Mrs. Barth and made
RED THREADS 205
arrangements, and I got hold of a man who could
imitate a whip-poor-will and took him into Earth's
place without any one knowing he was there. Last
evening at dusk I went to the same spot by the
thicket with Mr. and Mrs. Earth, Mr. Euysse, Mr.
Wilson, and Leo Kranz. I took them there on a
pretext--it doesn't matter. They were all close to
me, looking at me as I talked, when the sound of a
whip-poor-will came from right behind me, from the
thicket. They were all startled and looked around.
The call of a whip-poor-will is very loud and startling
when it's that close. Eut I wish you could have
seen Loe Kranz. After a fraction of a second he
turned and looked directly at me, and the expression
in his eyes was plain as words, ' vVhat's
this, a trick ? ' That's exactly what his eyes said,
and no one else looked at me at all, they were looking
for the whippoorwill."
Jean leaned forward, and her voice trembled with
earnestness : "I know it, Inspector, I absolutely
know it, it was Leo Kranz who hit me I "
Cramer grunted. " Done with that ? "
<( Why--yes."
" Then Kianz murdered Carew. Try that one."
She shook her head again. " That comes last.
And I said--they were looking for the whip-poorwill--and
one of them found it. Euysse, He dragged
the man out of the thicket, and I had to admit I
had brought him, and I was excited and I told them
that I had learned who had attacked me at that
spot. Kranz already knew that anyway, from the
way I looked at him when he looked at me, or at
least he suspected it. Then I took the man away
and put him on a train at Rye and went home. After
I had eaten something and taken a bath it was past
midnight. I was just going to turn off the light
when the doorbell rang. I punched the button for
206 RED THREADS
downstairs, and when I asked through my hall door
who it was he said a telegram. I opened the door
and it was Leo Kranz. He pushed in and closed
the door. He had gloves on. He said he wanted io have a talk with me, that I had made a mistake,
but the way he looked and the tone of his voice-- if you could have seen him and heard him----"
Cramer was frowning. " What do you mean, he
had gloves on ? "
" I mean he had gloves on I An August night,
and he was dressed in an ordinary sack suit, the
same one he had worn at Earth's. I know it sounds
silly sitting here telling it, but he had gloves on
because he didn't want to leave fingerprints at my
flat. And he had his heavy walking stick."
" What happened ? "
" Buysse came. He had followed me--I had had
a talk with him and Wilson and told them about
Kranz--and he had followed me and was watching
across the street. He rang the bell, all the bells, just
as I was going to scream, and he came up and I
opened the door--and Kranz said he had only
wanted to talk with me and went away."
Cramer said dryly, " Buysse was on the job,
wasn't he ? By the way, I thought you said he was
coming here with you."
" He'll be here later."
" Okay, go ahead."
" You . . ." Jean gazed at him. " You're so
cold! "
" Yeah, I know. I used to get overheated. This
case is something special for you. Miss Farris. For
me it's just part of the twelve hours. It has to be,
or I wouldn't last. Go ahead. I'll comment when
you finish."
" I guess that's all." Jean forced her voice to be
calm and businesslike. " I mean, all the facts. I
FR1;RED THREADS 207
didn't tell you I could prove it was Leo Kranz, I
only said I know it was. It's obvious that if he
attacked me Thursday evening, he murdered Val
Carew. He had learned on Tuesday that a piece of
the yam had been found in Val Carew's hand,
and he heard me say there at Earth's that the yarn
in my suit had come from the jacket, and he wanted
to destroy it so it couldn't be traced----"
" It wasn't his jacket, it was Guy's."
" But he had worn it! He must have I He could
have got it from the hall closet as easily as Guy,
couldn't he ? He did it deliberately, so he could
leave it under the hedge and throw suspicion on
Guy. Then when he learned----"
" Wait a minute. Leave what under what hedge ?"
" The jacket. I'll come to that later. When he
learned that Guy was out of it on account of the
alibi Portia Tritt gave him, he was frightened. He
was already uneasy because the jacket hadn't been
found, as he had expected it to be, and with Guy
safe from suspicion he was frightened, and when
he learned that a piece of the yarn was found in
Val Carew's hand he was in a panic. So at Earth's
that day, when he heard that the bayeta yarn was
in my suit, he was in still more of a panic, and he
saw me going across the grounds and followed me,
and knocked me unconscious and took the suit.
Another thing. Guy couldn't have done that. At
the time I was attacked he was talking to a group
of people on the terrace."
" Wilson or Buysse could have done it for him."
"Me? Damn fool."
They were both startled ; they had forgotten the
the Indian's silent presence. Jean ignored his
contribution : " They could have, but they didn't,
because I know it was Kranz." She spread her open
hands. " Inspector, listen to me. I know I can't
208 RED THREADS
prove Kranz killed Carew. I can't prove anything.
But haven't I told you--isn't this enough to make
you doubt Guy's guilt ? To make you think about
it, to work at it ? " ^
Cramer shook his head. " It's not my case any
more. Miss Fan-is."
" You made it your case to put Guy in jail!
Can't you make it your case to get him out ? "
" The lawyers get 'em out, I don't. My job is to
get 'em in."
" The right ones or the wrong ones ? Don't you
care which ? "
" Sure, I care." Cramer slowly scratched his head.
Finally he heaved a sigh. " I promised to comment.
Well, you haven't said a thing with any nourishment
in it. Yesterday I gave it as my opinion to
the commissioner and the district attorney that
there was enough evidence to convince a jury of
Guy Carew's guilt, and if I was asked for it again
now I would repeat it. I like you. Miss Farris.
Usually I get sore at people who hold out on me, it's
part of my make-up, but I didn't get sore at you
Friday night. I liked you then, and I like you now,
and that's why I'm not a damn bit comfortable this
minute, whether I show it or not. I think Guy
Carew killed his father, and I think it can be proved
that he did. You don't agree with me, and that's
natural, but it makes me want plenty of corroboration
for any statement you make."
Jean met his gaze with her lips pressed tight together.
He tossed his mangled cigar into the cuspidor
and went on, " And what is it you tell me ?
That you saw a look on Kranz's face when a man
made a noise like a whip-poor-will! Maybe you did
and maybe you didn't; you're in a good condition
for, imagining things. Then you tell me Kranz
came to your apartment and got in by saying it
FR1;RED THREADS 209
was a telegram, and he had gloves on because he
intended to kill you, and Buysse appeared and
saved your life. But all Kranz said was that you
were making a mistake and he wanted to have a
talk with you. That right ? Did he attack you ?
Did he put a hand on you ? Do you claim that he
even threatened you ? "
" No. Not in words. But if you had seen him----"
" But I didn't. And you know as well as I do that
you're in no state of mind to see straight or hear
straight. If I was inclined to bear down, I might
make it stronger than that. I've seen desperate
people before, and some of them just as likeable
people as you are. You've admitted that you hadn't
mentioned about the whip-poor-will to any one.
Maybe because there wasn't one ? You sat around
yesterday afternoon trying to think of something to
do, and may be you thought of the whippoorwill
gag, and frankly, I think you might have done
better. It's too fancy----"
Jean flared. " But I--I wouldn't lie about it! "
" No ? You wouldn't ? Do you mean to tell me
you wouldn't think up a lie if you thought it would
save Guy Carew from the electric chair ? "
" But I didn't have to----"
" But would you ? "
Jean met his eye. " Yes, I would. Of course.
But not a lie that would implicate any one else.
Never. And I am implicating Leo Kranz."
" You sure are trying to. And I don't know,
maybe I'm too old and got too thick a crust, maybe
you can make a dent in Anderson up at White
Plains. Go on up and try. He'll see you ; in fact,
he intends to see you, and I'm surprised he hasn't
done so already. But if you want some unofficial
advice, what you had better do is try it on Carew's
lawyer. Sam Orlik knows how to make use of any210 RED THREADS
thing, even a whip-poor-will." Cramer glanced at his
watch. " And now--I'm sorry, but I've got an
appointment----''
"But I'm not through." Jean sounded determined,
and looked it. " There's something else--
and you can't say it's my state of mind or accuse me
of lying about it, either. Because it's a fact. I know
where the jacket was from the morning of the
murder until the day Guy found it in his room and
gave it to me."
" Yeah ? Where ? "
Jean fumed to the Indian. " You tell him, Wilson.
Tell him about the jacket."
The Indian stirred a little, then was immobile
again. The dry rattle sounded : " Me. I have
jacket."
The inspector's eyes shot to a new target. " Where
is it ? "
Jean said impatiently, " He means he had it."
Wilson asserted imperturbably, " I say I have it.
My words no good ? " He grunted scornfully. " I
have jacket many days. When my life come back
that morning I work free I look around I see jacket
on grass under hedge. I see tomb door open and
go find Tsianina's man dead. I no like jacket there,
too much around, I hide him. Then I go tell Tsianina's
son what I find in tomb. After many days,
fifteen days, it come like lightning in my head,
why, sure, I know about that jacket. That jacket
belong Tsianina's son. Of course. Damn fool. I
get jacket from cache, put it in his room on chair.
Of course. Happy to remember."
" I see." Cramer, pulling thoughtfully at his lip
with a finger and thumb, said that and stopped.
He sat and stared at the wrinkled old face, his own
forehead wrinkled as though in violent distaste.
Finally, still staring, his hand reached out for the
RED THREADS 211
button on his desk, found it and pushed. In a
moment the door opened to admit Sergeant Burke.
Cramer said crisply, "I'll be busy here a little
longer. Tell McConnell to take those two men,
separately of course, and get going. He'd better
start with Pinkie Frick. I'll join him as soon as I
can."
" Yes, sir. There's a man out there that wants
in. His name is Amory Buysse. He just came."
" Keep him until—— No. Send him in."
" There's another man with him, I don't know
who he is."
" He can wait. Send Buysse in."
" Yes, sir."
The sergeant went. No one spoke. It was a
minute before the door opened again and Buysse
appeared. He crossed, glanced at Jean and then
at Wilson, and looked without marked friendliness
at Cramer.
" Good-morning, Inspector."
" Good-morning. Pull a chair up."
Jean blurted, " Inspector Cramer says I'm lying
about the whip-poor-will and that Kranz came to
my apartment last night just to have a talk."
Buysse sat down and put up his brows at her.
" Well, you wanted to come here. I knew that was
about what you'd get."
Cramer declared, " Miss Farris is exaggerating.
Anyhow, we've passed that." He turned to the
Indian : " Now you. You know what I can do to
you if you tell me lies."
Wilson shrugged. " No lies. Plenty truth."
" Okay. You say that when you came to that
morning you were bound hand and foot. You
worked yourself free, and looked around, and saw
the jacket under the hedge. After you had gone to
the tomb and saw what was there, you hid the
FR1;212 RED THREADS
jacket before you went to the house to see Guy
Carew. That right ? "
The Indian grunted.
" Then, fifteen days later, you got the jacket
from where you had hid it and took it to Guy
Carew-'s room and left it there in his absence.
Right ? "
Another grunt.
" How do you happen to remember it was exactly
fifteen days ? "
Buysse said shortly, " That's your ignorance.
Indians always count days for everything."
" Good. Good thing you're here, Buysse, much
obliged." Back to Wilson : " How did it happen
that you didn't tell the police about the jacket ? "
" No one speak of jacket. No one ask."
"I'm aware of that. That was their ignorance.
Why didn't you speak of it ? "
" Not here." With his middle finger Wilson
tapped his temple, then flipped the finger to the
wind. " Clear out."
" Why did you hide it ? "
" Not hide to keep. Me no thief."
Cramer's voice went up a little. " Why did you
hide it ? "
" Habit of Cherokee Indian. Everything put
away."
" That's fine. And you say you didn't know whose
it was, and fifteen days later it popped into your
head like lightning that it belonged to Guy Carew,
so you got it and took it----"
Jean broke in, " That's silly I It's perfectly
obvious why he said that, and why he hid it!
Because he knew it was Guy's jacket, and he
thought Guy had killed his father, and he wanted
to shield him! He told Mr. Buysse and me
that last night--that's when we learned about it.
FR1;RED THREADS 213
There's no sense in bullying him about anything as
obvious as that." She got up and went over and
put her hand on the Indian's shoulder, and bent
down to face him. " Listen, Wilson. Don't be
afraid of anything. Don't be afraid of the truth.
The truth is going to come out, and we want you
to help with it. Don't be afraid of it. I think it
was wonderful of you to try to shield Tsianina's
son; it was beautiful. Do you know the word
beautiful ? "
" Sure. Sun, water, fast cloud----"
" That's it. It was beautiful. And I promise you
that no harm will come if you tell the whole truth--
if you will accept my promise. I don't know much
about a Cherokee Indian's opinion of a woman,
I've only read about it in a book. Will you trust a
woman ? "
He shrugged. " Trust one day maybe. Find out."
" Well, make it to-day. You can trust me, I swear
you can. I swear it! Do you know what it means
when I swear ? "
" Sure. Goddam hell and Jesus----"
Cramer snorted. " Okay, Miss Farris. Fine.
Did you rehearse it ? "
She straightened and wheeled. " Rehearse
what ? "
" Oh, the little act. Sentiment and humour all
together--very pretty. My God, do you think I'm
a ninny ? This isn't any better than the whip-poorwill--in
fact, it's even worse. I get the idea, of
course. If Wilson found the jacket under the hedge
it couldn't have been Guy who left it there, because
he wouldn't have been fool enough to leave his
own jacket on the scene. I'll admit there's a little
subtlety to it, but----"
Astonishment stopped him, for Buysse suddenly
roared, " Shut up I " Then Buysse turned to Jean :
FR1;214 RED THREADS
" I said he was a cop, didn't I ? He's a cop and he
acts like a cop."
Jean, disregarding him, was standing against the
edge of the desk, as close as she could get to Cramer,
facing him, her eyes flashing. " Yes," she told him
scornfully, " you are a ninny I You are a complete
fool! You had the nerve to say you like me. God
help the people you don't like I You have accused
me twice of lying, of deliberately making up things.
You accuse me of inventing this story for Wilson.
Good Lord, if Buysse and Wilson and I wanted to
invent something, couldn't we do better than this ?
If we were willing to endanger a man who might be
innocent ? I can invent one right now. When Kranz
left the tomb after murdering Carew, Wilson wasn't
still unconscious; he only pretended to be. He
opened his eyes enough to see Kranz going by and
leaving through the gap in the hedge, after he had
put the jacket there on the grass. He has kept still
about it up to now because he was afraid to talk.
Also Buysse, out of his bedroom window, saw Kranz
going toward the tomb and coming back again, and
he has kept silent because he didn't want to testify
against an old friend. How do you like that ? "
She hit the desk with her fist, and her eyes blazed.
" I could do much better if I had ten minutes to
think it over I And you are stupid enough to accuse
me of making that up for Wilson I And of inventing
the whip-poor-will in an effort to put it off on
Leo Kranz I You are a ninny I "
Silence, except for Jean's breathing. The Indian
muttered, barely audible, " Maybe good woman."
Buysse said, " Sit down. Miss Fan-is. Sit down
and cool off."
Cramer stirred in his chair. At length he conceded,
" Okay. As Buysse says, I'm a cop. I'll string along
with the Indian, maybe good woman."
FR1;RED THREADS 215
Jean was still glaring at him. " Do you believe
me ? Do you believe everything I've told you ? "
" Now don't shove. My capacity for believing
people ain't what it used to be. Let's say you've
made a point, I'll agree to that. Sit down, and we'll
--what do you want, Wilson ? "
The Indian had reached forward to tug at Jean's
sleeve. She turned to face him. He looked up at
her:
" You say tell truth. All truth ? "
" Yes, Wilson, all of it. Everything."
He peered up at her, and she let her eyes meet
him straight. At length he nodded as if satisfied,
looked at the inspector and spoke :
" Okay. Damn fool maybe. In tomb I see
Tsianina's man on floor dead. I lift one eye more
open, dead. I tnink he forget Tsianina, daughter
of chief, he look at other woman, now dead. I
happy to think, very happy. Then I think young
one do good maybe. Then I think fact about
Cherokee life. Old far life, gone. I happy to think.
I get knife, real Cherokee knife, I scalp Tsianina's
man, first time I scalp, come off hard. I put scalp
in belt of old Cherokee chief on wall. I go out,
wash hands in dew, hide jacket, go to see young
one." He grunted. " Plenty truth."
Buysse was looking at him disapprovingly, with
compressed lips. Jean had backed off a step.
Cramer gazed and said, " Well, by God."
Wilson observed, an afterthought, " Knife plenty
dull."
Buysse muttered at him, " You damn old cuss."
He turned to Jean : " You win as far as I'm concerned.
Kranz did it. I couldn't swallow it before,
because I simply couldn't believe that he had taken
that scalp. I know, he might have done it to throw
suspicion on Guy or Wilson, but even so I couldn't
2l6 RED THREADS
believe it. But by persuading Wilson to tell the
truth you've fixed him. He committed a crime.
They call it mutilating a corpse."
Jean shivered. Cramer growled, " I'm not interested
in mutilating a corpse." He glared at
Wilson. " Damn you, anyway, and your plenty
truth I " He glared some more, in silence. Suddenly
he arose, pulled a jack-knife from his pocket,
opened the large blade, walked around the desk,
and extended the knife in his hand.
" Here. You say you scalped Carew ? Show me
how you held the knife."
Wilson grunted. " How you think ? Teeth
maybe ? Damn fool." He took the knife and gripped
its handle. " I hold him that way."
" Yeah ? " Cramer's eyes narrowed. " And you
scalped him, and put the scalp in the belt of that
outfit on the wall, and threw the knife down----"
" Me ? " The dry rattle was contemptuous.
" Head full of rabbit soup ? You think ? Take doeskin
moccasin, wipe fingerprints from knife. Put
back moccasin, knife on floor."
" How did you happen to think of fingerprints ? "
" Movies." Wilson shrugged. " See movies two
days every week. Movies full of fingerprints. You
know ?
Cramer looked disgusted. He took back his knife
and snapped the blade shut, and returned to his
chair. Jean, sitting again, jabbed at him, " I
suppose I invented that too."
Buysse observed, " That seems to settle the
scalping. You thought an Indian scalped him. All
right, an Indian did. But an Indian didn't kill
him."
" So you say, ".Cramer snapped. " You say Kranz
did it. Huh ? For what ? He had been a close
friend of Val Carew's for fifteen years. So he
RED THREADS 217
murdered him for the lousy quarter of a million
legacy he would get ? No. Kranz is worth a million
or more himself, and his affairs are in good shape."
" It wasn't that," Jean blurted. " It was Portia
Tritt."
" What about her ? "
" Carew was going to marry her."
" Baloney. Kranz killed his old friend because he
didn't want to lose a good publicity agent ? "
" Of course not. He killed him because----"
Jean stopped short.
" Well ? Because what ? "
Jean shook her head. " I--I shouldn't. Everything
else I've told you, I know, but I don't know
this. It's only gossip."
" Then I'll take it for gossip. If you mean he
was in love with her, her lover maybe, naturally
we've thought of that but we haven't got anywhere
with it. Is that what you mean ? "
She shook her head again, more firmly. " I
won't talk about it. I shouldn't have said what I
did, because I don't really know it."
" Suit yourself." Cramer glanced at his watch.
"I'm late. I'll give you folks some good advice.
You've cooked up a nice mess of hash, and the
best thing you can do is go and dump it on Sam
Orlik. He's Guy Carew's lawyer and he has a right
to it. I was chiefly responsible for this charge
against Guy Carew, and I still think he's guilty,
but I have no more desire----"
" You can't think he's guilty I "
" Pardon me. Miss Fan-is, but I sure can, and I
do." Cramer leaned towards her and extended an
upturned palm. " Now look here. Use some common
sense. You seem to have an idea- that you came
here this morning with evidence. Evidence of what ?
I mean evidence for a court and a jury, or even for
2l8 RED THREADS
a prosecutor. Nothing whatever. For the sake of
argument, let's say you've got me believing that
Kranz killed Carew. You haven't, but let's say
you have. Let's say I'd like to go to District
Attorney Anderson and tell him that I think I made
a mistake and that Guy Carew is innocent and
Kranz is guilty. Anderson asks me why. I tell
him. First, the whip-poor-will stunt, for which we
have only your word, and it can't be corroborated.
Second, that Kranz went to your apartment wearing
gloves and said he wanted to have a talk with you.
Third, that Wilson found the jacket under the
hedge and hid it. Fourth, that it was Wilson who
scalped Carew."
Cramer spread out both hands.- " Wouldn't I
make a hot impression with that ? Anderson would
have me committed for lunacy I And here, let me
put it another way. Let's say that Kranz is actually
guilty, he really did kill Carew, and I'm convinced
of it and want to prove it. I'm telling you straight,
I wouldn't know where to start. There's not a
shred of evidence against him. I'm not saying he
couldn't have done it. I'm only saying there's
nothing whatever to show that he did, whereas
there are four damaging and conclusive proofs that
Guy Carew did. I mean conclusive enough for a
jury------"
" Back up a minute." It was Buysse, wearing a
scowl. " You say there's no evidence against Kranz
or any one but Guy. If I present you with a little
scrap, will you follow it up ? You personally ? "
" I've already said, Mr. Buysse, it's not my
p,, cp_____''
" I know, I heard you, and I heard Miss Farris's
reply, and I think it was a good one. I'm not
offering anything to brag about, but it's a fact I
don't think you know, and I think you ought to
FR1;RED THREADS 219
hear it. The reason I'd rather have you hear it than
Orlik is because you've got official investigating
power, and he hasn't. Will you follow it up yourself
? "
" I'll tell you that when I hear it."
Buysse tightened his lips. Then he opened them
again : " All right. I wish to God there was some
place to talk besides here. I brought a man down
here with me. His name's Richards, Val Carew's
valet. He's outside. Have him brought in here."
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
clarence richards was obviously scared. He sat
on a chair which had been placed between Jean and
Buysse, and gulped every few seconds, with his
colourless eyes fastened on a corner of the inspector's
desk and his hands twisted together in his lap.
Nor did he seem to be able to speak at the first
invitation.
Cramer demanded impatiently, " Come on, Richards.
Let's hear it."
He stammered, " I didn't think--the police----"
Buysse was impatient too : " Didn't I tell you
the police can't touch you unless there's a complaint,
and there won't be any ? "
" Yes, sir." He gulped again. Then he looked at a
button on the inspector's vest and plunged: "I
promised Mr. Buysse to tell you about the impression
of the key Miss Tritt wanted me to get."
" Okay." Cramer's eyes narrowed. " Shoot."
" Well----" Another gulp. " It was in June,
the last Saturday in June. Miss Tritt was at Lucky
Hills for the week-end. She came to me--she said
she supposed I would be putting out Mr. Carew's
clothes while he was in the bath, and I said yes.
She said she supposed I knew that Mr. Carew
carried the key to the tomb in a special pocket on
his belt and I said yes. She said she supposed his
belt would be with me putting the clothes out and
not in the bathroom and I said yes. Then she offered
me a hundred dollars if I would make an impression
of the key on some wax she had, and I said no. I
was very much shocked."
He glanced from right to left, but there was no
220
RED THREADS 221
vocal commiseration for his shock, so he assaulted
the silence again : " That evening she came back to
me. She offered me one thousand dollars. I said I
would think it over. I didn't promise, I just said
I would think about it. I got to thinking about my
radio. I had a radio in my room, an old seven-tube
Hostetter, and a new Clarkson had just come out,
the very finest in the market, and I had seen one
and been permitted to try it during a visit to New
York—its price was three hundred and fifteen
dollars——"
Cramer grunted. " Did you 'take the impression
of the key ? "
" Yes, sir. Yes, sir, I did. Two of them."
" With the wax Miss Tritt gave you ? "
" Yes, sir."
" When ? "
" Sunday morning, sir."
*' Did you give her the impressions ? "
" Yes, sir."
" Did she pay you the thousand dollars ? "
" Yes, sir. Not all at that moment. She gave me
two hundred, and the balance the following Wednesday."
"
What did she want to get into the tomb for ? "
" I don't know, sir. She said she would do no
harm, that she only wanted to prepare a surprise
for Mr. Carew, but it would be of such a nature that
he would never know she had been there, and there
was no chance of his discovering about my—my
co-operation. I would never have done it if I had
thought there could be harm in it."
" Sure you wouldn't. Then what ? "
" Nothing, sir. That was all."
" Do you know how often she used her duplicate
key or when she used it ? "
" No, sir, I know nothing about it." For the
222 RED THREADS
first time Richards' eyes met those of the inspector.
" But I repeat, sir, I believed her assurance that no
harm would be done. She was very direct about it,
very convincing. Do you know the lady, sir ? "
" I've met her."
" Yes, sir. As I say, that was the last week-end in
June. So it was just nine days later that Mr. Carew
was murdered in the tomb. I was very much
shocked. I thought about it, I sat in my room
thinking about it. It didn't seem possible that Miss
Tritt had done it, and anyway, the murderer hadn't
used a key to get into the tomb, because Mr. Carew
was already in there. But I had had strong regard
for Mr. Carew, he had been very good to me, and
I felt very miserable about it. I decided I must
tell someone. I thought perhaps I should tell the
police, but I didn't want to, and what I finally did,
I went to Mr. Kranz and told him everything and
asked his advice."
" Why Mr. Kranz ? "
" Well, he was Mr. Carew's oldest friend. He had
been there often, for years, and I thought——"
" Did he give you any advice ? "
" Yes, sir. He remarked about the murderer not
using a key, and said it would be very embarrassing
for me to tell the police, which, of course, agreed
with my view. He said he would consider it, and
if it seemed necessary to inform the police he would
do so himself and save me the embarrassment. He
was very kind."
" He sure was. Then what ? "
" Nothing, sir. Nothing at all. I don't know
whether he told the police or not. I was never
approached."
" I approached you myself Friday morning. Day
before yesterday."
" Yes, sir, of course. I mean——"
FR1;RED THREADS 223
" I know what you mean. If nothing else happened,
why did you come here to-day ? "
" But something did happen, sir. I came here
because Mr. Buysse insisted on it. Yesterday afternoon,
as soon as I learned that Mr. Guy Carew had
been charged with murdering his father and put in
jail, I was very miserable again. I began thinking
again. It looked very uncertain whether I had
gone to the right place for advice when I went to
Mr. Kranz. I knew that at one time he had been
extremely intimate with Miss Tritt, for once at
Lucky Hills I had seen them clasped in each other's
arms, kissing and so on----"
" When was that ? "
" Last summer, sir. Nearly a year ago."
" Did you see that more than once ? "
" No, sir. In a way, you might say, if you will
pardon the freedom, once was quite enough."
" Okay. And Guy Carew's arrest got you thinking
again ? "
" Yes, sir. I didn't know Mr. Guy very well, I
had seen little of him, but when I heard he had
been arrested I was very much shocked. I felt sure
that Mr. Carew would not have wished his son to be
suspected of killing him. I still could not believe
that Miss Tritt had lent herself to murder, but after
all the key she got was for that tomb, where the
murder was. So I felt I should have more advice,
and since Mr. Guy was in jail the only one left was
Mr. Buysse. I tried to telephone him last evening
from Lucky Hills, but there was no answer, so this
morning I came to town to see him. He was very
kind, but he insisted I should come here."
Richards hesitated, then went on, " There is one
thing, sir, I should like your opinion on." He
reached in his pocket and pulled out a bulky envelope.
" I have six hundred and three dollars
224 RED THREADS
and fifty cents left of that money, after buying the
radio and a few odds and ends. I brought it with
me. What would be the ethical thing for me to do
with it ? "
" Stick it----" Cramer stopped himself. " Here,
give it to me. You'll get a receipt for it. It may
be wanted as evidence. Did I hear you say that
Mr. Buysse told you that the police can't touch
you ? "
Buysse broke in, " You did. I wanted to get him
down here. His offence was against Val Carew, and
he's dead. I undertook to guarantee that Guy will
make no complaint."
Cramer grunted. He sat a moment regarding
Richards, and then asked him, " You never saw the
key Miss Tritt had made from the impressions you
gave her ? "
" No, sir."
" You have no idea whether she had it made or
used it ? "
" No, sir."
" Are you ready to swear that you took the impressions
at her request, and gave them to her, and
she paid you for them ? "
" If I have to, yes, sir."
" I mean, what you've told me is the truth ?
Every word of it the truth ? "
" Yes, sir."
" And you've held nothing back ? "
" No, sir."
" If I bring Miss Tritt here, will you repeat your
story, just as you have told it, in her presence ? "
Richards squirmed. But almost at once he
nodded firmly. " Yes, sir. I should hate to, but it's
my own fault. On account of that radio. Yes,
sir."
The inspector turned abruptly to Buvsse. " Yon
RED THREADS 225
win," he snapped. " Maybe this has nothing to do
with the murder, in fact I would offer odds that it
hasn't, but I'm going to follow it up for my personal
satisfaction. No woman is going to make a monkey
out of me if I have anything to say about it. I
may need Richards later on, so I'll keep him for
the present——"
" I'll keep him for you, Inspector."
" Much obliged, but I'll attend to it." Cramer
reached to press the button on his desk.
Buysse shook his head. " No, I'll keep him.
You see, I gave him a promise and I'd like to keep
that too. We'll be around, no matter when you
want him. All of us. We have nothing else to do, and
we'd like to keep sort of in touch with the situation.
If you don't mind."
Cramer grunted. The door opened, and Sergeant
Burke entered. Cramer addressed him :
" I want Portia Tritt and Leo Kranz here as quick
as you can find them. If they balk, take them as
material witnesses and no apologies. When they
come, keep 'em separated, and let me know. I'll be
in McConnell's room." He got up.
Burke glanced around. " Any of these——"
" No. They're just slumming." The inspector
stalked out.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
commissioner humbert sat and looked glum.
District Attorney Skinner stood with his back to
a window, his hands thrust into his trouser pockets,
and told Inspector Cramer in an energetic and
belligerent tone :
" You admit yourself that it probably has nothing
to do with the murder. Damn it, all I'm asking for
is a little discretion, a little regard for realities.
Portia Tritt is no particular friend of mine, but she
knows a lot of people and they're making my life
miserable. I repeat, Cramer, you can't treat people
of standing and influence like you treat a bunch of
gangsters. You simply can't get away with it.
Another thing. I'm called in from the golf links to
the telephone to hear the pleasant news that you've
hauled in Portia Tritt again as if she were a bag of
potatoes, and I break my neck getting down here,
and what do I find ? After digging up evidence
against Guy Carew and persuading Anderson to
paste a murder charge on him, which alone is a
ton of dynamite----"
Humbert put a hand up. " Now wait a minute,
Skinner. Be fair. Cramer didn't persuade us to
arrest Carew. He placed the evidence before us,
and the decision was made by all four, including
Anderson."
They were in the commissioner's spacious and
comfortable office, at three o'clock Sunday afternoon,
with the shades drawn to exclude the hot
August sun. Humbert, who had breakfasted at
noon at the Churchill, had a highball at his elbow
on his desk ; Skinner had finished one ; Cramer,
226
FR1;RED THREADS 227
who had lunched on salmon sandwiches and milk
in McConneU's room, joining in the attack on
Pinkie Frick between bites, had refused his and
continued to chew on a cigar.
The district attorney shifted to an aggravating
tone of pained remonstrance : "I am willing to
concede. Inspector, that Miss Tritt was difficult in
her interview with you yesterday, but it's our business
to deal with difficulties in a diplomatic manner.
Certainly we should never permit our personal
feelings to become engaged, no matter how trying
the circumstances, and I strongly suspect that you
are bearing Miss Tritt a grudge merely because
she was--er, guilty of a misrepresentation. I
assure you I am not trying to suggest----"
<( Nuts."
" I beg your pardon ? "
" I just said nuts." Cramer took his cigar from
his mouth. " I'm not a microphone, I'm only a
police inspector. You don't have to make a speech,
just say what you mean, that people who are in a
position to make trouble have to be handled differently
from those who aren't. I know that, and I
try to string along, whether I like it or not. I have
to. Sure, I admitted this probably has nothing to
do with the murder, but it was in the investigation
of a murder that Miss Tritt concealed something
that we had a right to be curious about, not counting
her phoney alibi for Guy Carew. Also I admit my
personal feelings are a little bit engaged; I'm a
man and I've got 'em. But the chief point is this :
How would you like to have the Carew case go to
trial, and the state's case in and the tabloids hitting
new circulation highs, and then explode and blow
the roof right off the courthouse ? I know it's
Anderson's case, not ours, but we wrapped it up and
delivered it to him, and everybody knows it. That's
228 RED THREADS
what's on my mind ahead of any personal feelings.
Yesterday I would have given 100 to I that Guy
Carew was guilty and could be convicted. Right
now I'd give 93 to i, or maybe 92. I don't like the
loss of that 7 or 8 points, and my intention is to
look into it."
Cramer stuck his cigar in his mouth and took it
out again. " The commissioner here is my superior
officer. If he orders me to apologise to Miss Tritt
and send her home, I'll--I'll send her home. Otherwise
I'll ask her some questions, and I'll get answers."
" I haven't suggested that you send her home I
It's perfectly proper to question her, of course! I
only say----"
Humbert broke in, " Why don't both of you cut
it out ? Good God, it's after three o'clock I Where
is she, Cramer ? "
" Third floor."
" Is Kranz there too ? "
" Yes."
" Well, have them brought down here. Both of
them."
" I strongly advise--I want her first."
" Do you really think it's as important as that ? "
"No, sir. But it may be."
Humbert picked up his highball, and sighed.
"All right. Send for her."
Cramer went to the telephone on its bracket and
asked for Extension 19.
Portia Tritt wore a dull-green street dress, nearly
to her ankles, with hat and pumps of black patent
leather and a black lightweight summer wrap, faced
with the dull green of the dress. She came in a few
paces and stopped. Cramer and Humbert arose.
Skinner crossed to her and they shook hands. Commissioner
Humbert was introduced, and a chair was
FR1;RED THREADS 229
placed for her. She was quite gracious and amiable,
considering the serious inconvenience she had been
compelled to submit to. Cramer sat again, with his
lips screwed up. Skinner took a chair to her left
and told her:
" Dick Elliott phoned me and I came right down.
We're sorry you had to wait so long, but the inspector
was busy with some malefactors and we
didn't dare interrupt him."
She smiled. " I imagine the inspector deals with
so many malefactors that he hardly knows how to
act with commonplace people like me." She turned
to Cramer, with the smile intact. " Isn't that
so ? "
Cramer unscrewed his lips. " Maybe it is, ma'am.
I'd never thought of it." He turned to the commissioner.
" r j I proceed, sir ? "
Humber nodded. " Go ahead."
She repeated the smile. " More questions. Inspector
? "
" Yeah, a few." He shifted in his chair to face
her better. " I'm going to begin. Miss Tritt, with a
couple of remarks. The district attorney here has
just accused me of having personal feelings about
you, meaning that I'm sore. All right, I am, I
admit it, and I'd like to explain why. You gave us
a phoney alibi for Guy Carew. Okay. I've busted
hundreds of phoney alibis, it's part of the day's
work. Yesterday afternoon you made it tough
going for me every step of the way, and I wasn't
sore about that; I hadn't supposed you were a
jellyfish. But I gave you a good deal. You could
have been held and charged without any trouble at
all, but I let you go. This minute you could be,
and you should be, out on bail, bonded for an
appearance, but I let you go. In spite of that, what
do you do ? Two things. First, you get a bunch
230 RED THREADS
of your friends to phone the mayor and the commissioner
and the district attorney and maybe the
superintendent of sewers in an effort to tie knots
in my tail. My tail don't bend that easy. Second,
even worse, when you left my office yesterday,
going with no strings attached on account of my
generosity, you were still holding out on me. So
I'm sore, I admit it, but I didn't get you down here
to satisfy a personal grudge. I sent for you to tell
you that you're through holding out. This time I
want all the facts you've got."
Portia Tritt smiled at him, let the other two have
a taste of it, and then gave it back to the inspector.
" Really," she said, " I'm over thirty years old.
You'd find some of my facts pretty dull."
" We'll skip those. We'll skip all that aren't
connected with the Carew murder. Here's the first
one I want: What did you do with the duplicate
key you had made for the door of the tomb Carew
was found murdered in ? "
The smile disappeared. It didn't return ; but her
composure did short of two seconds. Her voice was
almost good enough: " What makes you think I
had one ? "
" Not any personal feeling," Cramer asserted
dryly. ' Maybe you think I was trying to take you
by surprise, but I wasn't, because I don't have to.
I'm not really asking you for facts, because I already
have them ; what I want from you is an explanation
of them. On Sunday, June 27, nine days
before Carew was killed, Richards, his valet, gave
you two wax impressions of the key to the tomb.
You had furnished the wax. You paid him two
hundred dollars, and a few days later you paid
him the balance to make up the thousand you had
promised. Right ? "
The smile was gone for good. One of her hands
FR1;RED THREADS 231
was clenching the edge of the black and green
wrap. She swallowed before she said, " No."
He shook his head. " No good. Miss Tritt.
Richards is upstairs. Shall I have him brought
down here ? "
" No."
" But I'll have to if you don't admit it, which is
the only sensible thing for you to do. Did you--no,
wait a minute. I'll empty the whole bag for you.
I'll admit that I have no proof that you actually
had a key made. So I'll ask you that. Did you have
a key made from the wax impressions you bought
from Richards ? "
" No."
" Okay." He turned abruptly to the commissioner.
" I wish to detain Miss Tritt in custody--
remembering that she was responsible for the fake
alibi Guy Carew--until to-morrow noon. At eight
in the morning I'll send out squads with photographs
of that key to all locksmiths she would be
likely to go to. By ten o'clock we ought to know
who made one for her."
Humbert frowned. Skinner demanded, " Why
keep her in custody ? She won't murder the locksmith.
I thought you had proof----"
Cramer, disregarding him, addressed his superior :
" May I keep her ? "
Humbert pursed his lips. Then he leaned forward
: " Look here. Miss Tritt. Don't be stubborn
when it can't help you. If you did have a key made
we're bound to know it by noon to-morrow, and
you won't have helped yourself any by the delay.
Inspector Cramer was perfectly correct when he
said he was generous to let you go yesterday. I'm
afraid you can't count on much more generosity.
If you did have a key made I would certainly
advise you to say so. Did you ? "
232 RED THREADS
She looked at him, but not at Skinner. After a
moment she jerked her shoulders back, breathed,
and turned to the inspector. " Yes," she said.
" You got a key to the tomb ? "
" Yes."
•' When did you use it ? "
" I never used it."
" What did you get it for ? "
" I got it——" She swallowed. " What I got it
for has nothing to do with the murder you are
investigating. It was—it was silly. Just something
to surprise and please Mr. Carew. It was purely
personal between him and me."
" What was it ? "
She shook her head. " I assure you—I give you
my word—it had nothing to do with the murder."
" Will you tell what it was ? "
" No."
Cramer leaned back with a sigh. " You make it
tough. Miss Tritt, and you really shouldn't. We
might all be out of here, and you on your way home,
in five minutes, if you'd say what it was and get
it over. Since it had nothing to do with the murder.
You see, you're in this thing. You're in it for good.
You'll be on the stand at Guy Carew's trial, there's
no way out of it. If you tell us now when and why
you used that key, and it had no connection with
the murder, it won't come up at the trial at all,
and will never be made public. If you don't tell us,
you'll be questioned about'it on the stand. If you
tell on the stand, you may or may not be believed
because there'll be no chance to check up. If you
refuse to tell on the stand, everybody, including the
judge and jury, will think the key was connected
with the murder, and you may find yourself on the
spot."
Portia Tritt's eyes were intent at him. She said
RED THREADS 233
calmly, " They can't think the key was connected
with the murder. The door was unlocked when the
murderer went in."
" Who said so ? " Cramer demanded. " That has
been the assumption up till now, because no one
knew anything about a duplicate key. It wouldn't
be hard to suppose that the murderer got there
before Carew did, knocked the Indian out and
bound and gagged him, let himself into the tomb
and locked the door on the inside----"
" No," the district attorney put in. " Carew
would have seen----"
Cramer cut him off with a murderous glare.
" Damn it, is this a departmental conference or an
investigation ? " He returned to the charge : "I
don't know if you are aware. Miss Tritt, that your
attempt to manufacture an alibi for Guy Carew has
already put you in a difficult position. That's a
mild word for it. People don't often hear gossip
about themselves, so you may not have heard the
latest public morsel, that you and Guy Carew
conspired to kill Val Carew so you two could get
married and enjoy the fortune----"
" That's a lie I "
" I expect it is. But you're not in much of a
position to get indignant about a lie. And you must
admit it's logical. If you add to the other facts a
new one, that you got a key to the tomb and refuse
to tell what you used it for, I tell you frankly, it
may get to be worse than gossip." He leaned to
her. " You haven't asked for my advice and maybe
you don't want it, but take it from me, you are
already carrying a peak load on this murder and
another few pounds might break your back."
He straightened, shrugged, and said as one who
had made all possible concessions, " Thank God
it's your back and not mine."
FR1;234 RED THREADS
Portia Tritt wet her lips, and sat motionless, her
chin up, regarding him. No one said anything.
Cramer spoke again : " Another thing apparently
you don't understand. Mr. Skinner here is district
attorney for New York County. This isn't a New
York County murder, it's Westchester. If you are
held on charges, anything from murder accomplice
down, it won't be Mr. Skinner who will prosecute
you, it will be Anderson of Westchester, and I don't
think he----"
" I resent that! " Skinner interrupted hotly.
" I resent the implication----"
" You've got nothing to resent," Cramer retorted.
" I'm addressing myself to a misconception
Miss Tritt may have in her mind. She don't seem
to realise what she's up against. You know what
Anderson himself said here in this room yesterday
noon. I'm stating a plain fact when I say that if
Miss Tritt adds concealment about this key to that
fake alibi, it's better than an even chance that
she'll be locked up on a charge of complicity in
murder. I ask you, is that true ? "
Skinner looked sour. Portia Tritt wet her lips
again. She turned to the district attorney :
" Is that true ? "
Skinner finally nodded. " I'm afraid it is."
" That I--arrested for murder ? "
" Complicity--legally it's the same thing."
" And if I tell now what I did with the key, I
wouldn't have to tell it again "--she shivered--
" on the witness stand ? "
" Probably not, if it wasn't connected with the
murder." Skinner was frowning at her. " If your
use of that key had a possible relation to the murder,
I would advise you to submit to arrest, get a lawyer,
and leave it to him. If it had nothing to do with
the murder, tell us about it now. And if you do
RED THREADS 235
tell us, it will be best not to overlook any details.
I don't know what information Inspector Cramer
already possesses, but you can be sure that every
word you say will be rigorously investigated."
Her shoulders were drooping and her chin was
down. No one had her eyes ; her gaze was apparently
directed at the toe of her patent leather
pump. At length, and slowly, she returned it to
meet the unrelenting steady regard of the inspector.
" All right," she said calmly. " I used the key. I
got in the tomb with it."
" How many times ? "
" Once."
" Only once ? "
" Yes."
" When ? "
" Tuesday afternoon, the day before Val Carew
was killed. A little before four o'clock that afternoon.
At that time the old Indian was always in
the house taking a nap, and I knew I wouldn't be
seen."
" What did you do in there ? "
" I----" She stopped and glanced around, at
Humbert, at Skinner, and back at Cramer. " I
know what you've been thinking, naturally. That
my getting that key had some connection with the
murder, but it hadn't, none whatever. I haven't
wanted to tell it, and I still don't want to, because
it will sound ridiculous, and I don't like to sound
ridiculous any more than most people. Even less,
I suppose. But in fact it wasn't ridiculous, it was
sensible and practical. I went to the tomb to put
paper in the holes in the wall so the sun couldn't
come through."
Humbert's chair creaked. Skinner stared at her
with his brows up. Cramer asked, " Did you do it ? "
" Yes. I took some Pasilex----"
236 RED THREADS
" What's that ? "
" A cleaning tissue made of very soft paper.
That's the kind I use. I took some, and stuffed it
into three of the holes, because I wasn't sure which
one the sun would come through the next morning,
though you could tell pretty accurately, standing
on the platform. Then I went out again and back
to the house. That's all I did. I wasn't in there
more than five or six minutes."
Cramer's eyes were narrow. He said, stating a
fact, " You couldn't reach the holes from that
platform."
" Of course not," she agreed. " Not with my
arm. But—I've told you that Val Carew had taken
me there the Sunday before, to show me the tomb.
The idea of shutting out the sun had occurred to me
before, and that was why I had persuaded him to
take me inside, so I could look at it in advance.
I saw that there were lances on the wall with which
I could reach the holes from the platform, and that's
what I used, one of the lances. I put a piece of
Pasilex on the tip of the lance and pushed it in.
I used nine pieces of Pasilex, three in each hole."
She smiled, with no humour, at the inspector.
" Now, of course, you caught me in another lie. I
said that the fingerprints that were found were put
there on the day that Val Carew showed me the
tomb. That was true about those on the top of the
relic cabinet. But the ones on the lance handle
and the glass lid of Tsianina's casket and the lever
of the door were put there that Tuesday."
Cramer grunted. " Have you still got the key ? "
" No. I put it under a stone in the brook."
" Could you find it ? "
" Easily."
" This was on Tuesday afternoon, July 6th ? "
" Yes."
FR1;RED THREADS 237
€< And you left the Pasilex stuffed in the holes ? It was still there when you left the tomb ? "
" Certainly. That was what I went there for."
" How far in did you stuff it ? "
" Not far. Just in the entrances of the holes."
" And did you think that would deceive Carew ?
Didn't you realise he would know if the sun was
shining outdoors, and if it didn't come through to
Tsianina's face he would look at the hole, and would
be unable to see daylight through it, and would see
it was stuffed with something ? "
" Of course I did. But I knew a good deal about
how he felt about it. It was a genuine superstition
with him. The whole point, the only point, was
whether the sun did actually enter and shine on
Tsianina's face. If you are genuinely superstitious
about thirteen at table, it doesn't remove the curse
to know that someone deliberately arranged to
make it thirteen. Besides that, he did want to
marry me. He wanted to--very much. We had
discussed this, and he had as good as told me that
interference by a--by any agency, would not invalidate
the verdict. The only question was whether
or not, for those few moments, the sun entered."
" You mean he practically invited you to interfere."

" I didn't say that. But it almost amounted to
that. You can verify it if you want to, because one
of those discussions was in the presence of a mutual
friend, Leo Kranz."
She nodded. " He'll verify it."
Cramer looked at her in silence, with his lips
screwed up. Finally he heaved a deep sigh, and
shook his head. " Well," he declared, " I'd have
thought you'd learned better sense. Didn't Mr.
Skinner advise you not to overlook any details,
meaning you'd better tell the truth ? "
FR1;238 RED THREADS
" I understood it that way. I have told the truth."
" Oh, no, you haven't." Cramer's voice took on
an edge. " You have told an absolute barefaced
lie I You have said you stuffed the Pasilex in the
holes Tuesday afternoon, and left it there, and
didn't go back I Then what became of it ? The police
got there at eight o'clock Wednesday morning, and
they examined every inch of that tomb, and there
was no Pasilex in the holes or anywhere else!
Pasilex hell! " He leaned to her, and his eyes were
menacing. " I can't roughhouse you, I know that,
so what you'd better do is get a lawyer and dig in.
Let him juggle your lies a while. What I'm going
to do right now is phone Anderson of White Plains
and advise him to give you room and board as an
accomplice in first degree murder I "
He was on his feet, and she put out a hand to stop
him.
"No! Wait!"
He whirled on one foot and glared. She appealed,
" I haven't lied I I've told the truth I The police
didn't find it because it wasn't there any more!
It had been taken away I "
" Who took it ? "
" Leo Kranz."
" When ? Did he have a key to the tomb too ? "
" No." She was more composed. " He didn't
need one. That morning--when Val was killed--
when Guy went to ,the tomb he took Leo along.
Surely you know that. Guy left Leo there and went
to the house to telephone. Leo was there alone,
and he looked around, and saw something was
stuffed in the holes. He got a harpoon from the
wall and pulled the stuff out and saw what it was,
and kept it. He--he knew it was mine because it
was yellow Pasilex, and he knew I use that, and it
isn't very common."
RED THREADS 239
Cramer, still standing, demanded savagely, " What
did he do with it ? "
" He took it. He kept it."
" Has he still got it ? "
" Yes. He did have, two days ago. That was
when I learned he had taken it. He told me. I had
been wondering what had happened to it—I had
been wondering why the police hadn't found it, and
learned it was mine—and asked me about it. Leo
sent me—I went to see him, and he told me about
it."
Cramer sat down, very deliberately. He took a
cigar from his pocket, frowned at it as he rolled it
between his fingers, and then stuck it in his mouth
and clamped his teeth. With slow ferocity he
chewed.
Skinner asked irritably, " Time out for a cud ? "
Cramer ignored him. After a while he removed
the cigar and addressed the commissioner: " I'm
on a line, sir. May I follow it ? "
Humbert, with sharp eyes on him, merely nodded.
Cramer got up and went to the phone on its
bracket and spoke into it. After a little wait he
spoke again.
" Burke ? Send Leo Kranz to the commissioner's
office right away. You might bring him yourself,
you need the exercise."
CHAPTER TWENTY
leo kranz, with admirable control of his temper,
smiled.
Inspector Cramer had made changes in the
seating arrangement. He had requested Portia
Tritt to move to another chair at the district
attorney's left, keeping the one she had vacated for
Kranz. This put Kranz next to him, and also had the advantage that Portia Tritt would be on Kranz's
left and somewhat to his rear as he sat facing the
inspector. Sergeant Burke, requested to remain, had
a position against the wall.
Kranz said with his smile, " I've been kept incommunicado
up there for four hours, and I was
prepared to make a row. But when I see that you
gentlemen are missing your Sunday too, I realise it must be important, and----" He shrugged.
" Of course it's this dreadful business--I've never
been as horrified in my life as I was when I heard
that Guy Carew had been arrested."
They nodded. Cramer asked, " What's your
opinion of it, Mr. Kranz ? Do you think he's guilty? "
" No, I don't," Kranz said firmly. " I simply can't
believe it. Of course if you have proof, real proof--
and I suppose you have or he wouldn't have been
arrested. ..."
" Yeah. I just wondered how you felt about it."
Cramer got rid of the cigar. " There's .one or two
little questions I want to ask you. For instance, on
various occasions you have been asked if you knew
anything that might have a bearing on the murder,
and you have always said no. Why didn't you tell
us that Miss Tritt had a duplicate key to the tomb ? "
240
RED THREADS 24!
Kranz's eyes flickered. His head started to turn
for a glance at Portia Tritt, but seeing that he
would have to go more than ninety degrees to make
it, he gave it up. " Why," he said with composure,
" that seems apparent, doesn't it ? There wasn't
the slightest reason to suppose it had anything to
do with the murder."
" Then you admit you knew about it ? "
" Certainly." He smiled. " Since obviously you
know all about it."
" All or part. When did you first learn of it ? "
" The day after the murder. On Thursday.
Richards, the valet, told me what he had done and
asked my advice."
" And you told him to keep it quiet and didn't
see fit to mention it yourself ? "
Kranz upturned a palm. " I've explained, haven't
I, Inspector ? There was no earthly reason to
suppose it was relevant to your investigation. I
confess I was reluctant to involve Miss Tritt in unnecessary
unpleasantness."
" Did you know what Miss Tritt had used the
key for ? "
" No."
" Do you know now what she used it for ? "
" No."
Cramer grunted sarcastically. " You lie like a
gentleman. We know all about it."
Kranz's eyes narrowed a little, and for a moment
he was silent. " In that case----" he began, and
stopped; and this time his head went round far
enough to bring Portia Tritt into his line of vision.
She was sitting properly and still, her little pumps
decorously side by side, ankles touching, on the
Velatan rug which was the commissioner's personal
property, her shoulders up, her hands clasped in her
lap; but any familiar acquaintance would have
FR1;242 RED THREADS
wondered why her lips were so tight. No suddep
gleam or shadow in her eyes acknowledged Kranz's
glance.
Kranz returned to the inspector and finished his
sentence. " In that case, anything I might tell you
would be secondhand."
Cramer shrugged. " I'm not trying any tricks.
I don't have to. One thing about us cops, Mr.
Kranz, we have an idea that anything done around
the scene of a murder, especially shortly before or
shortly after, may be both relevant and material,
and we have a right to be told about it. It's an
idea that has often been tested, and we find it
pays to hang on to it. We don't want to involve
Miss Tritt in unnecessary unpleasantness any more
than you do, or anybody else, but we don't like to
leave loose ends hanging to make a tangle later on.
For instance, what if Guy Carew's lawyer finds out
about this key business ? We want to know at
least as much about it as he does, and we wouldn't
mind if we knew more. And frankly, since you were
an old friend of Carew's, we figure he'll probably
know about it, and we want to know too. Miss Tritt
has kindly given us a lot of information, and with
no disrespect to her, we want to check it. That's
natural, isn't it ? "
Kranz smiled a little. " I suppose it is. But I
maintain I had no reason to suppose it relevant----"
" Okay." Cramer waved it away. " Now, Miss
Tritt tells us that she used the key to get into the
tomb Tuesday afternoon, the day before the murder.
She had with her some pieces of a cleaning tissue
called Pasilex, and she took a lance and stuffed
them into three of the holes in the wall so the sun
couldn't get through to shine on Tsianina's face.
As she says, it may sound ridiculous, but it was
really sensible and practical. After the murder, she
RED THREADS 243
naturally began to wonder why the police hadn't
found the Pasilex, and she kept on wondering. She
couldn't imagine what had happened to it. Two
days ago she found out, when you told her that you
had it. You had removed it from the holes in the
wall yourself, with one of the harpoons in the tomb. Is that correct ? "
Kranz nodded. "Yes."
" Then--I don't want to overlook anything--
why didn't we find your fingerprints on the harpoon
handle ? "
Kranz smiled. " Because I wiped them off. It
was the scene of a murder, and I didn't care to
explain what I had been doing with the harpoon.
As I said, I didn't want to involve Miss Tritt----"
" Yeah, I remember that. How did you know
the stuff was hers ? "
"Why----" Kranz hesitated. He lifted his
shoulders and dropped them. " That's a luxury
article, quite expensive, and not many women use
it. I happened to know that Miss Tritt did. Also
it was yellow, which is the shade she uses. Also she
was present, there at Lucky Hills."
" So you felt sure it was hers as soon as you saw
it?"
" Yes."
" How did you happen to see it up there in the
holes ? "
" I was looking around. Guy had left me there
alone while he went to the house to telephone. After
the first shock of seeing Val there dead, I investigated
a little. I examined the floor, and looked
around, and went up the steps to the platform where
Tsianina's casket was. Standing on the platform,
I looked at the holes, and I noticed that by stretching
my neck I could see daylight, the bright sky,
through two of the holes that I could line my eye
244 RED THREADS
up with, but not through the three nearer ones.
The light was dim, but it looked as if there was an
obstruction in the entrance Jf the holes. I went
down and got a harpoon from the wall and went
back up and poked carefully, and pulled the stuff
out. From all three holes. I wiped off the harpoon
handle and replaced it, and picked up the pieces
where they had fallen to the floor. I took them to
the door, to the light, and saw what they were.
Naturally I was astonished. I was considering
what to do, when I saw Buysse coming, and I
stuffed them into my pocket."
Cramer looked stem. " Mr. Kranz, you were
deliberately removing evidence from the scene of a
murder."
" I know I was. I don't pretend it hadn't bothered
me, because it has, but it seemed to me a justifiable
thing to do, because it was inconceivable that it
was in any way related to the murder. Certainly
Miss Tritt had not killed Carew."
" Nevertheless, you were violating a law, and
making for yourself a decision which was the
function of the police. You say you stuffed the
Pasilex into your pocket ? "
" Yes."
" Which pocket ? "
Kranz put a hand on his right thigh. " This one.
My side trouser pocket."
" You're sure of that ? "
" Certainly." Kranz raised his brows. " Those
moments made an indelible impression. Inspector."
" Yeah, I suppose they did. You told Miss Tritt
two days ago that you still had the Pasilex. Have
you got it now ? *'
Kranz smiled. " Not with me."
" Where is it ? "
" At my home."
RED THREADS 245
" Whereabouts at home ? You see, Mr. Kranz,
I want that Pasilex. Whether it's evidence of anything
about the murder or not, I don't want any
one else to have it, and the safest way to avoid that
is to get it myself. Will you give it to me ? "
Kranz was frowning. " I don't like to."
" Why not ? "
" Well--there is still the question of involving
Miss Tritt----"
" She can't be more involved than she already is.
My possession of the Pasilex won't hurt her any.
Of course we can get it with a warrant, but why force us to take that trouble ? Where do you keep it
at home ? "
" I----" Kranz stopped. Then he shrugged.
" In my bedroom. I have a small safe there."
" Much obliged. Now to go back a minute. You
say that there in the tomb you put the Pasilex in
your side trouser pocket. Right ? "
" Yes."
" That was when you saw Buysse coming ? "
" Yes."
" A little later Guy returned. And soon after, a
few minutes past eight, the police came. Correct ? "
" Yes."
" From the time Buysse came until the police
arrived, did you go outside the tomb at all ? "
" Outside the tomb ? "
Cramer nodded. " I mean leave the tomb. Go
outdoors."
" No."
" Or while the police were there ? "
Kranz frowned. He lifted his head a little, slowly. ** Why, I went eventually, of course----"
" Yeah, I know. Around nine o'clock you and
Guy went to the house with Captain Goss. I mean,
did you leave the tomb between the time the first
FR1;246 RED THREADS
cops arrived and the time you left with Guy Carew
and Captain Goss ? I know you didn't, I've read
the reports and I know 'em by heart."
" Then why the devil do you ask me ? "
" Because I like to check things. Did you ? "
" No."
" And when you left the tomb with Guy Carew
and Captain Goss, and went with them to the house,
the Pasilex was in your side trouser pocket ? "
There was no answer. Something was happening
to Leo Kranz. The blood was leaving his face, his
lips were parting, and the tips of his fingers were
digging into his legs.
Cramer went on inexorably, " And it had been
there all the time, undisturbed ? "
Kranz was white, his mouth open, speechless.
Portia Tritt got up and took three steps to stare
at him. The others stared from their seats. Sergeant
Burke moved brusquely from the wall.
Cramer asked in a tense voice, " Got it at last,
have you ? It took you long enough I But you
finally got it, huh ? "
Skinner demanded irascibly, " What the hell did
he get ? "
" Plenty," said Cramer grimly. " As that Indian
says, plenty truth. He couldn't have found that
Pasilex when Guy left him in the tomb, and put
it in his pocket and kept it there, because when the
cops came he was searched, and searched good.
There was only one other time when he could
possibly have got it, and that's when he did get it--
when he went to the tomb before, earlier that
morning, and murdered Val Carew I "
Portia Tritt sank back into her chair.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
it was close to six o'clock when Inspector Cramer
left the elevator at the third floor and tramped
down the hall to the entrance to the homicide
bureau. From the side of his mouth a cigar was
tilted well on its way to the perpendicular. He
entered the office and was making a beeline across
the ante-room when out of the side of his eye he
caught a glimpse of something that stopped him.
He wheeled, looked a moment, and ejaculated :
" For God's sake I Have you folks signed a
lease ? "
The Indian, who had been stretched out on three
chairs, slowly raised himself, blinking. Clarence
Richards, confined to one chair, didn't move.
Amory Buysse lifted his eyes from a magazine.
Jean Fan-is moved her head a little; she was
seated next to Buysse, her shoulders sagging, her
eyes lifeless.
Cramer demanded, " Have you been sitting here
all afternoon ? "
Buysse shook his head. " We went out for a
bite to eat." He put the magazine down. "We
saw Miss Tritt going through here around three
o'clock, and Kranz over an hour ago. You didn't
send for Richards."
" I didn't need him." Cramer had crossed to
them. " I got along without him."
. " You got along ? "
" Yes. It's sewed up. Thanks to you folks.
Especially you. Miss Fan-is. I guess you're part
bulldog. Anyway, you were right. It was Leo
Kranz. It's him that's sewed up."
247
248 RED THREADS
Buysse stood, kicking his chair back. Wilson
yawned. Richards raised his colourless eye, looking
very shocked. Jean gasped, " What ? "
Cramer nodded. " It was Kranz who killed Val
Carew. As near as I can see. Guy is out of it and so
is everybody else. Anderson's on his way down
here now to get Kranz."
Buysse said, " You sure changed your mind in a
hurry."
" Yeah, I know." The inspector looked down at
Jean. He opened his mouth and closed it; then
opened it again and got it out: " Any time you'd
like to have a medal. Miss Farris, let me know and
I'll arrange it. You're okay. I've got a daughter
in High School and I'm going to tell her about you.
I think kids ought to have ideals."
Jean rose to her feet, but her knees buckled and
she sat down again. The colour had left her face,
but was coming back. " I guess," she said, " I've
been sitting down too long." She tried a little
laugh, but it was squeaky. " Do you mean it's all
over ? You can prove it wasn't Guy ? It's all
over ? "
" That's what it looks like, yes, ma'am."
" Well." Jean sat gazing up at him. Suddenly
she jumped to her feet. " Well! " she cried. She
wheeled to the Indian: " Did you hear that,
Wilson ? Am I a good woman ? "
Wilson grunted. " Damn good maybe," he conceded.

She pivoted to Cramer. " You did it! You
believed me all the time I You did it! " She faced
him, her hands up to his shoulders.
Cramer blushed. " Well," he admitted, "a
notion did finally come to me----"
" Of course you did it! I knew you would!
And I'd like to--you say you have a daughter ?
FR1;RED THREADS 249
Send her to me, right away, to-morrow, and I'll
take her to Krone and she'll have the swellest fall
outfit in New York I I'll design it right on her I If you want to come along I'll design something on
you too I " She giggled.
Buysse took two strides and reached to pluck
her sleeve. " Now here," he commanded firmly,
" don't you get started laughing----"
Wilson yawned.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
monday afternoon, two hours after lunch, Jean
was perched on the high stool at the big table,
frowning with disgust at an enormous sheet oi
squared paper which didn't have a mark on it.
Two chronological facts were in a bitter struggle
for the front of her consciousness: (i) that it
had been six days since she had done a lick of
work ; and (2) that it had been twenty-two minutes
since he had telephoned to ask if he might come. She
was tapping against a pin rack with a large red
crayon. The door behind her opened. She hastily
started to pretend she had been using the crayon
on the squared paper, then with a derisive grunt
threw it down, and turned the stool on its swivel.
Guy Carew said, " Hello, here I am."
Jean slid from the stool and met him, extending
a Hand. " Well! " She tried not to wince at the
squeeze he gave her hand, and said " Well! "
again.
Not being able to think of anything more to
say, she returned to the stool and sat on it and
looked at him. He sat down on a chair and looked at
her.
250 RED THREADS
She said, " You don't look--you look quite
fresh."
He nodded. " I had a bath and a change. You
look--you look all right."
" Thanks. Did you say you were phoning from
your lawyer's office ? I thought that was near here
somewhere."
" It's over at Forty-third and Madison. The
cross-town traffic was terrible. I left the taxi
and walked."
" Sure." She nodded in sympathy. " The
traffic."
" Yes, it's terrible." He crossed his legs and uncrossed
them again. " Orlik--that's the lawyer--
was telling me some things he had just learned
from Inspector Cramer. One thing I thought
would interest you--about the jacket. You remember
I left it in a closet in the hall when I came in
from the tennis court ? Portia Tritt has admitted
that later that evening, when she went outdoors,
she wore that jacket, and when she came in she left
it in the upstairs hall in the north wing. That
explains how Kranz happened to be wearing it.
He just saw it there and put it on. I suppose he got
the idea later of leaving it out there by the hedge
because he knew it was mine."
" I suppose so. I suppose you feel pretty sorry for
Portia Tritt, don't you ? I do."
" Yes. I feel sorry for everybody, including
Kranz. I feel particularly--it's my fault that you
were dragged into this----"
" Forget it," Jean said brusquely. *' Was it
pretty bad up in that jail ? Dirty ? "
" No, it was quite clean. There was a strong
smell of disinfectant, but that was better than
dirt."
" Did you--could you sleep ? "
RED THREADS 251
" Towards morning I slept some. They let me
smoke cigarettes until ten o'clock. Then I lay on
the cot and thought about you. I said some poetry
to myself about you. I'm not very familiar with the
kind of poetry you would know, but I'm an authority
on Indian poetry. Some of it I've had a real feeling
for, and some of it I haven't, but I have a new
feeling about it now. For instance, this song from
the Haida, translated by Constance Lindsay Skinner:
" * Beautiful is she, this woman,
As the mountain/lower ;
But cold, cold, is she,
Like the snowbank
Behind which it blooms.' "
" You didn't----" Jean stopped to swallow, " You didn't say that to yourself about me I "
" Yes. Many times."
" But that's absurd I I'm not at all cold I "
Guy shrugged. " I don't think it means cold in
a general sense. I'm sure it meant a specific coldness
to the Indian who sang it centuries ago; it
meant that he loved the beautiful woman but she
didn't love him. That's what it meant to me last
night. Then there was a Shoshone love song,
translated by Mary Austin :
**' Neither spirit nor bird ;
That was my flute you heard
Last night by the river.
When you came with your wicker jar
Where the river drags the willows,
That was my flute you heard,
Calling, Come to the willows I
" ' Neither the wind nor a bird
Rustled the lupin blooms,
252 RED THREADS
That was my blood you heard
Answer your garment's hem
Whispering through the grasses ;
That was my blood you heard
By the wild rose under the willows.
" ' That was no beast that stirred,
That was my heart you heard
Pacing to and fro
In the ambush of my desire,
To the music my flute let fall.
That was my heart you heard
Leaping under the willows.' "
Jean said a little faintly, " Well . . . that Indian
knew how to make love. It was a Shoshone who
sang that ? What would a Cherokee sing ? "
Guy, looking into her eyes, and seeing but not
believing, stammered, " I sang--I said--a Cherokee
song too, but I couldn't say it to you now because
it boasts--it is the song of a lover who had won----"
He stood up, pulled up by her eyes.
She said, " Sing it now--come here. Guy--sing it
now--Guy I "
He sang the boastful Cherokee song a little later. .
THE END