boucher book oct28.pdf - Index of

468 Anthony Boucher
“I’ll think about it,” said MacVeagh confusedly. “I’ll let you know—”
“Before midnight, John. I must be gone then,” said the printer.
Even an outsider to Grover would have guessed that the man waiting in the office
was H. A. Hitchcock. He was obviously a man of national importance, from the
polished tips of his shoes to the equally polished top of his head. He was well preserved
and as proud of his figure as he was of his daughter’s or his accountant’s; but
he somehow bulked as large as though he weighed two hundred.
The top of his head was gleaming with unusual luster at the moment, and his
cheeks were red. “Sit down, MacVeagh,” he said, as authoritatively as though this
was his own office.
John MacVeagh sat down, said, “Yes, Mr. Hitchcock?” and waited.
“Terrible thing,” Mr. Hitchcock sputtered. “Terrible. Poor Agnes— Some passing
tramp, no doubt.”
“Probably,” John agreed. Inhabitants of Grover were hard to picture as murderers.
“Anything taken?”
“Jewelry from the dressing table. Loose cash. Didn’t find the wall safe, fortunately.
Chief Hanby’s quite satisfied. Must have been a tramp. Sent out a warning to state
highway police.”
“That was wise.” He wondered why H. A. Hitchcock had bothered to come
here just for this. Molly would bring it to him shortly. He felt a minor twinge
of regret—passing tramps aren’t good copy, even when their victim is a magnate’s
sister.
“Hanby’s satisfied,” Mr. Hitchcock went on. “You understand that?”
“Of course.”
“So I don’t want you or your girl reporter questioning him and stirring up a lot
of confusion. No point to it.”
“If the chief’s satisfied, we aren’t apt to shake him.”
“And I don’t want any huggermugger. I know you newspapermen. Anything for
a story. Look at the way the press associations treated that strike. What happened?
Nothing. Just a little necessary discipline. And you’d think it was a massacre. So I
want a soft pedal on poor Agnes’ death. You understand? Just a few paragraphs—
mysterious marauder—you know.”
“It looks,” said MacVeagh ruefully, “as though that was all it was going to be
worth.”
“No use mentioning that Philip and Laura were in the house. Matter of fact, so
was I. We didn’t see anything. She’d gone upstairs. No point to our evidence. Leave
us out of it.”
MacVeagh looked up with fresh interest. “All of you there? All of you downstairs
and a passing tramp invades the upstairs and gets away with—”
“Damn clever, some of these criminals. Know the ropes. If I’d laid my hands
on the— Well, that won’t bring Agnes back to life. Neither will a scare story. Had
enough unfavorable publicity lately. So keep it quiet. Don’t trust that reporter of
yours; don’t know what wild yarns she might bring back to you. Thought I’d get it
all straight for you.”
“Uh-huh.” MacVeagh nodded abstractedly. “You were all together downstairs,