Flynn’s Weekly Detective Fiction. Vol. 27, No. 2, September 24, 1927

He bent down, hesitated, and then, in response to her unspoken appeal, kissed her. Then, gritting his teeth, he left the room, and joined his inquisitors in the study.

“I understand you wish to speak to me?” he said.

Detective Crook regarded him quietly for a second. He saw a well set up man, of about thirty-five, with keen, rather haggard eyes, and a pleasant manner. There was no external evidence of great strength or of great weakness. If one woman saw everything in him, the majority would not have noticed him in a crowd.

“We want you to help us solve the mystery of Mr. Sherman’s death, if you can,” answered the detective. “Will you sit down?”

“Thank you,” replied Mr. Henderson. “Is there any mystery then?”

“You think not?”

“I understood it was suicide. Surely—” A new look suddenly leaped into his eyes. “Surely, you’re not suggesting—”

“We’re not suggesting anything,” interposed Crook quietly, “but we’re exploring everything. That is just our normal job. Now, you were with Mr. Sherman last night—”

“What’s that?” cried Mr. Henderson, jumping up. “I was not — I was at home.”

Then he sat down again, rather weakly. He knew he had made a slip, and was wondering whither it would lead.

“Oh, then I must have been mistaken in my conclusions,” proceeded Crook. “Mr. Sherman had a visitor — that we know. There were two glasses — one you see on the table, by your side — the other lies on the floor, broken.” Mr. Henderson followed the detective’s gaze fascinated. “We conclude that the visitor may have come by the French window, and that, if he murdered Mr. Sherman—”

“Murdered him!” Moisture rose to Mr. Henderson’s forehead.

“—he must have left by the same way, because he could not have let himself out of the front door and bolted it afterward. The reason we thought it might be you, Mr. Henderson,” added Crook, “was because your butler says you were not at home last night — he told me that himself less than an hour ago — and, also, because we found this on the floor by the curtain.” He produced the button. “It is the button missing from your brown suit, now hanging in your wardrobe.”

Mr. Henderson stared at the button, and did not speak for a full minute. Then he smiled, but it was not a happy smile.

IV

“You know your job,” he said bitterly. “Are you accusing me of having killed Mr. Sherman?”

“Not till we’ve heard anything you may have to say — isn’t that right, inspector?” said Detective Crook.

The inspector nodded his head.

Another minute went by. All at once Mr. Henderson clenched his fist impotently.

“The devil of it is,” he burst out, “if I had killed him, there’d have been a motive.”

Crook frowned.

“Don’t you want to let us find that out?” he inquired.

“No, by God, I don’t!” cried Mr. Henderson. “I know something of police ways, and I’m not going to have this matter dragged out through the mud! The quickest way will be to tell you now. I’ve tried to keep this quiet — for Mrs. Sherman’s sake, not for mine — but, I see, you will have it!”

“You’re not bound to say anything, you know,” the inspector reminded him.

“Thank you, inspector. Isn’t that what they tell a man after they’ve arrested him? Well, that doesn’t matter. The simple truth is that I am in love with Mrs. Sherman, and she loves me. But, as God is my judge, we’ve done no wrong. One can’t help one’s feelings, but one can prevent oneself from giving way to them and being a cad.”

“I admire you for your candor, Mr. Henderson,” said Crook, “and, if I may say so, I think you are adopting the right tack. Did Mr. Sherman know of this position?”

“He must have. It wasn’t till last night, though, that I realized it.”

“What happened last night?”

“He’d asked me to come and see him here — in this room — at eleven o’clock. He said it was some private matter; that I was to let no one know, and that I could come through the garden. Perhaps foolishly — I came.”

“Why foolishly?”

“Well — I half guessed what was in the wind. That was why I obeyed his request to secrecy. Mr. Sherman was an ugly man when roused. He... oh, but never mind that. The point is, I came. No one saw me come, I think.

“There was something odd in Mr. Sherman’s attitude — I noticed it at once — but I couldn’t make it out. We had a glass of wine together — I couldn’t well refuse — and then he suddenly laughed. A... a beastly laugh. And he taxed me with... with having betrayed his wife.”

The speaker paused, and covered his face with his hands. Then he raised his head again, and continued more quietly:

“I saw red. No, I didn’t kill him, but I almost believe I could have. You don’t know Mrs. Sherman — her patience and her purity — and when he made his foul suggestions — well, I went for him. He clawed at me, and I knocked him down. It must have been then that he grabbed off my button.