Fer-De-Lance

"I don’t know… Oh yes, sure. He was here Saturday for dinner."

"Do you think there is any chance that he killed your father?"

Larry stared. "Oh, for God’s sake. Is that supposed to shock me into something?"

"Do you, Miss Barstow?"

"Nonsense."

"All right, nonsense. Anyhow, who suggested first that Bradford should certify it as a heart stroke? Which one of you? Him?"

Larry glared at me. His sister said quietly, "You said you wanted me here to see the agreement was observed. Well, Mr. Goodwin. I’ve been patient enough."

"Okay. I’ll lay off of that." I turned to her brother. "You’re sore again, Mr. Barstow. Forget it. People like you aren’t used to impertinence, but you’d be surprised how easy it is to let it slide and no harm done. There’s only a couple of things left. Where were you between seven o’clock and midnight on Monday evening, June fifth?"

He still glared. "I don’t know. How do I know?"

"You can remember. This isn’t another impertinence; I seriously request you to tell me. Monday, June fifth. Your father’s funeral was on Tuesday. I’m asking about the evening before the funeral."

Miss Barstow said, "I can tell you."

"I’d rather he would, as a favor."

the servants, and the He did.

"There’s no reason I shouldn’t. Or should either. I was here, at home."

"All evening?"

"Yes."

"Who else was here?"

"My mother and sister, the Robertsons."

"The Robertsons?"

"I said so."

His sister spoke. "The Robertsons are old friends. Mr. and Mrs. Blair Robertson and two daughters."

"What time did they come?"

"Right after dinner. We hadn’t finished. Around seven-thirty."

"Was Dr. Bradford here?"

"No."

"Wasn’t that peculiar?"

"Peculiar? Why? But yes, of course it was. He had to address a meeting in New York, some professional meeting."

"I see. Thank you, Miss Barstow." I turned back to her brother. "I have one more question. A request rather. Does Manuel Kimball have a telephone at his hangar?"

"Yes."

"Will you telephone him that I am coming to see him and that you would like him to give me an interview?"

"No. Why should I?"

Miss Barstow told me, "You have no right to ask it. If you wish to see Mr. Kimball that is your business."

"Correct." I closed my notebook and got up. "Positively correct. But I have no official standing in this affair. If I call on Manuel Kimball on my own he’ll just kick me out on my own. He’s a friend of the family, anyway he thinks so. I need an introduction."