Deadlock by Fenisong Ruth

Author:Fenisong, Ruth [Fenisong, Ruth]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery, Pulp
Publisher: Doubleday & Company
Published: 1952-09-11T05:00:00+00:00

Morgan Woodruff walked into his own tidy livingroom. He had no eyes for the personable figure of Gridley Nelson. He saw only the invader of his privacy, and to that invader his words were addressed. “It’s my turn now. You’ve finished with my wife.”

“Not quite,” Nelson said.

“Yes you have—and managed to upset her thoroughly.”

“Mrs. Woodruff does not appear to be a woman easily upset,” Nelson said. What Mr. Woodruff appeared to be, he thought, was a man making a valiant attempt to swim to shore through a heavy sea of fatigue, and he thought further that in spite of this and in spite of the sensitive quality of his mouth and eyes, Woodruff managed to convey an impression of gristly toughness.

“Mrs. Woodruff is not easily upset,” Morgan said. “So you must have really put your shoulder to it. I suppose policemen are the same the world over. I noticed that during the war, with few exceptions, men who put in for M.P. jobs were too cowardly to become honest criminals. They had to satisfy their sadistic urges under a blanket stamped ‘legal.’”

Nelson’s tone expressed polite interest. “Did you have many encounters with M.P.’s during the war?”

“If your curiosity outlasts this session, I doubt you’ll have difficulty in checking my war record.”

Joss said proudly, “His war record was wonderful.” She had reentered the room quietly. She had, taken time to comb her hair and wash her face. Moisture still clung to her eyelashes.

Morgan said, “You needn’t have come back, darling. He’s through with you. And don’t bother to defend us, because he’s not out to believe anything we say.”

Unexpectedly, she supported Nelson. “I don’t think that’s true. I think he’s only trying to do his work.”

“I wouldn’t call it a very good try,” Morgan said.

They might have been discussing an absentee. It was a new experience for Nelson, accustomed in similar circumstances to painful awareness of his presence. Morgan ended the brief exchange with a yawn. “That’s not to express nonchalance,” he said. “Annoyance, probably—or maybe hunger. It’s dinnertime, isn’t it, Joss? Hadn’t you better start preparations?”

“Dinner’s ready to serve. We’ll have it as soon as the lieutenant leaves.” She had obviously caught the pleading note in his voice, but was as obviously determined to remain in the room.

Nelson said, “I don’t want to prolong this. Mr. Woodruff, where—”

Morgan cut him off. “If you really don’t want to prolong it,” he said, “I know a short cut.” As though he were engaging in a one-man vaudeville act, he assumed the dual role of detective and suspect. “Woodruff, where were you at the time of the murder? Who—me? Yes—you. Well—it was my day of rest, so I went for a walk. Who did I bump into but Glen Williams. He invited me to lunch and accepted.” He thrust his hand out to grip the lapel of the unseen suspect who was himself. “You had lunch with the victim? Now we’re getting somewhere. Sure—don’t hit me, officer. We’re getting to the Gateau and the hour is one-ten.

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