"Not knowin' about no killin', Mr. Carroll--I thought they'd got together and talked things over an' decided to call off the elopement!"

"You did--" Carroll paused. "And the first time you knew of Warren's death?"

"Was when I read the newspapers the next morning."

"Then why," barked the detective, "did you make the blunt statement that Mrs. Lawrence killed Warren?"

"Because," said Barker simply, "I believe she did."

"How could she have killed him? When and how?"

"That's easy," explained Barker quietly. "If I'm right in thinkin' that they was goin' to call off the elopement--they could have seen that taxi standin' against the curb and he could have got in without bein' seen. It was awful dark where the taxi was standin' an' the driver says himself that he was over in the restaurant gettin' warm. So what I thought right away was that Warren got in the taxi, an' she called it. That was so they wouldn't be seen gettin' in together at that time of night. Then I thought they drove off. And then--"

"Yes--and then?"

"It was while they were alone together in that taxi, that she killed him!"

CHAPTER XIX

LABYRINTH

Long after William Barker left the room--held in custody under special guard--David Carroll and Chief of Police Eric Leverage maintained a thoughtful silence. Leverage wanted to talk--but refused to be the first to broach the subject which each knew was uppermost in the mind of the other. And it was Carroll who spoke first--

"Well, Eric," he said dully, "you called the turn that time."

"Reckon I did, David."

"It looks mighty bad for Mrs. Lawrence--mighty bad." He hesitated. "I wonder whether Barker told the truth when he said he had been calling on Mrs. Lawrence to apply for a job?"

"Why not?"

"Because when valets or butlers apply for domestic positions they don't go to the front door, and Barker did on both occasions he visited that house. No, Leverage--I don't think he told the truth there."

"Then what _was_ he doing at the house?"

"Mmm! Just struck me, Eric--that he may have been trying a little private blackmail."

Leverage arched his eyebrows: "On Mrs. Lawrence?"

"Yes--on Mrs. Lawrence. You see, it's this way: according to Barker's own story he knew everything which transpired at the station. If we believe what he told us, and if he is correct in his belief that Mrs. Lawrence did the killing, then we know he is the only person who--until now--had any knowledge of the ident.i.ty of the woman in the taxicab. That being the case, and Barker being obviously not a high type of man, it is certainly not unreasonable to presume that he was capitalizing his information."

"Seems plausible," grunted Leverage. "But where does it get us?"

"Just this far," explained Carroll. "Unless Barker was applying for a position at the Lawrences--where they not only do not employ a male servant, but have never employed one--he was not seeking employment anywhere. He has been taking life pretty easy, all of which is indicative of a supply of money from outside. And I fancy that Mrs.

Lawrence would pay a pretty fancy price to have her name left out of this rotten scandal."

Leverage held Carroll with his eyes: "Do you believe Barker's story, David?"

"Believe it? Why, yes. Most of it anyway."

"You believe Mrs. Lawrence was the woman in the taxicab?"

"I've got to believe it."

"Do you believe she killed him?"

"Evidence points to that answer, Leverage. You see, Barker's story impressed me this way: it is the only sane, logical solution of the killing which has yet been advanced. Neither of us has ever yet hit upon an answer to the puzzle of the body in the taxicab. What Barker tells us is perfectly plausible--" Carroll paused--

"You see," he continued, "from the first I have maintained that Mrs.

Lawrence is a decent woman--innately decent. I will even admit that her domestic life was so miserably unbearable that she would entertain the idea of eloping with Warren: that she went so far as to attempt to carry that idea into execution. But I am also ready--and eager, too, if you will, to believe that when she reached the stepping off place she must have reneged. That woman couldn't have done anything else.

"We are fairly well satisfied--from Barker's own story--that there had been nothing wrong in the relations between Warren and Mrs. Lawrence up to that night. But we are pretty sure that they met at the station to go away together. What is more reasonable than to presume that she lost her nerve at the eleventh hour: that, unhappy as she was at home, she was unable to take the step which would forever make her a social outcast?

"Very well. If that is true, we have them at the station at midnight. The weather is the worst of the year. They are standing in the dark pa.s.sageway between the main waiting room and the baggage room. No light is on the corner of Jackson street. They see only one taxicab on duty.

For all they know--the last street car has pa.s.sed. They conceive the idea of making a single taxicab do double duty--and, knowing that the driver is across the street drinking coffee and getting warm--Warren gets into the cab from the blind side, Mrs. Lawrence returns to the waiting room as the accommodation rolls in, she picks up Warren's suit-case which had been left there, steps to the curb and summons the cab, in which Warren is hiding all the time. Sounds all right so far?"

"Perfectly," said Leverage. "Go ahead."

"Walters gets the signal and drives up. Mrs. Lawrence gets in. He drives away. And then--"

Leverage leaped forward eagerly: "Yes--?? and then?"

"Well," said Carroll slowly, "we don't know what happened in that taxicab. We believe that Mrs. Lawrence is a decent woman. We know that Warren would have gone through with the elopement. That being the case, we can fancy his keen disappointment. Under those circ.u.mstances, Eric--a good many things could have occurred in that taxicab which might have justified Warren's death at her hands."

Leverage crossed to his desk, from the top drawer of which he took a box of cigars. He was frowning as he recrossed to Carroll and offered him one. Then, with almost exasperating deliberation, the head of the police force clipped the end of his own cigar, held a match to it, replaced the box in his desk and took up his post before the fire--with his back to it so that he could watch Carroll's face.

"You really want to believe that story, don't you, David?" he asked gently.

"Yes."

"And yet you know it is shot all full of holes."

"How?"

"For one thing," said Leverage slowly--"how do you explain the fact that it was a.32 that killed him. Not that a .32 is any big gun--it isn't--but it does make a considerable racket."

"The shooting probably took place at the R.L.&T. crossing while the train was pa.s.sing. The sound of the shot may have been drowned in the roar of the train--not entirely smothered of course, but sufficiently blended with the other noise not to attract the attention of the half-frozen driver. And, the cab being stopped there, it must have been at that point that Mrs. Lawrence--panicky over what had occurred--left the taxi."

"You're a dandy little ol' explainer, Carroll. But you've forgotten one other important item."

"What is it?"

"The address Mrs. Lawrence gave--981 East End avenue. That address was a stall--we know it was a stall. We were hot on that end of it the night the body was found. And if those two people were trying to get home, Carroll--if Warren was already in the cab and Mrs. Lawrence gave the address--and if she wanted to get away from Warren and safe at home as soon as she could--she'd never have ordered Walters to drive to 981 East End avenue!"