Black Mask (Vol. 7, No. 5 — April 1950), British Edition

“There’s nothing to discover,” said Wolfe, “except Parry. The thing’s cut and dried. Parry and his wife didn’t get along. So he pushed a carving knife into her, grabbed what dough there was in the house and scrammed. The only problem is to find Parry. If you do that before us, I suppose you can claim the reward.”

It seemed to me that this was a fair and accurate statement of affairs. Sackler, however, seemed skeptical. He shrugged his shoulders and said, “You don’t mind my looking over the house?”

“No,” said Wolfe. “But I assure you Parry’s not here. And that’s all we’re looking for in this case.”

Sackler shrugged again and walked past Wolfe into an elaborately furnished living room. I tagged along behind him. There, seated in an arm chair at the far end of the room, smoking an exceedingly nervous cigar, was a portly man of middle age. His hair was graying and sparse. Tortoise-shell glasses gave him an owl-like expression. He stood up as we entered and looked at us inquiringly.

Sackler announced his name and mission. The portly man said, “I’ve heard of you. I hope you can find that dirty, little killer.”

Sackler said, “You mean Campbell Parry?”

The portly man regarded him curiously. “Of course, I mean Parry. Who else?”

“I don’t know,” said Sackler. “I’ve made no investigation yet.”

The other grunted. He said, “My name is Franklin. Harry Franklin. I’m Mrs. Parry’s business advisor, investment counsellor. She never should have married that miserable little man. He was only after her money.”

“Ah,” said Sackler, “she had more than he did, eh?”

“He had nothing save his salary.”

Sackler helped himself to a cigarette from a silver box on a taboret. He inhaled gratefully as if relishing the fact that the smoke was free.

He said, “Are there any suspects besides Parry?”

Franklin looked at him as if he were listening to a half-wit. “How could there be?” he exploded. “The case is cut and dried. No one was here last night, save an old servant, the Parry’s son and Parry himself. The boy’s only sixteen years old and a bit of a sissy. He wouldn’t murder a mouse.”

Sackler seemed taken aback at the vehemence of Franklin’s speech. He said, “I think I’ll take a look at the room where the body was found. Upstairs, isn’t it?”

“Second door on your left,” said Franklin. He sat down again and puffed nervously at his cigar. Sackler headed for the stairs with me at his heels.

But before we got to the second door on the left, we naturally enough, passed the first door on the left. It was open. Inside the room, a woman, extremely well dressed, about thirty-five, sat on the edge of a bed and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. Standing over her, futilely attempting consolation, was a pale-faced lad of sixteen.

Sackler paused in the doorway, then entered. He said courteously, “I just spoke to the deceased’s father at his office. He engaged my services. May I ask if you can tell me anything which may help in solving this murder?”

The woman took the handkerchief from her face and looked up at us. Her hair was red and her face was striking. All in all she was a beautiful woman.

She said in a harsh, flat voice, “I can tell you nothing, save that I wish I were dead instead of Agatha Parry.”

The boy said quickly, “This is Mrs. Abbott. Mrs. Robert Abbott. She was mother’s best friend. She’s all upset.”

There was a tremor in his voice and a dazed expression in his eye which indicated that he was quite upset, too.

“Then, you,” I said, “are young Parry?”

The boy nodded. “Arthur Parry.” He paused for a moment, then his voice broke and he said, “How, how could dad have done a thing like this?”

The Abbott woman uttered something between a cry and a sob and buried her face once more in her handkerchief. Sackler turned to me and spread his palms upward.

“Well,” he said, “let’s take a look at the place where they found the body.”

The Parry bedroom was in a state of mild chaos. Twin beds thrust themselves out from the far wall. One of them had been slept in; the other was still made. A bureau stood at one side of the room. Its drawers had been pulled out. Their contents was scattered all over the floor. Sackler looked around the room, sighed and walked about slowly.

He did this for some five minutes. Whether he was thinking or looking for something I didn’t know. I did know that I was rather bored and considered he was wasting time. The only point in the whole case was to find the missing Parry. It was a cinch that he wasn’t in this bedroom.

I got bored. I wandered idly out into the hall. I could still hear sounds of faint sobbing coming from the next room. I strolled along and peered around the doorway. The Abbott woman’s face remained in her handkerchief. Her shoulders shook convulsively. Young Parry stood at her side, obviously uncomfortable.

He patted her tentatively on the shoulder. He said, “Try not to cry so much, please. Let’s try to remember that mother is in heaven.”