Tragedy Trail | Page 5

about ordinary things. She just went into the bathroom to get a drink and bring me one. She said something about the water tasting queer----"
"You didn't tell me that before," the detective interrupted. He stopped her further talk with a gesture and whirled toward the landlady.
"Mrs. Burke," he said, "let nobody use water from any of the faucets in the house. Make sure of it! We don't want another tragedy here! I'll take a bottle of that water along and have it examined immediately. And I'll take that glass, too. Keep everybody out of that bathroom until we have an expert investigate the plumbing and fixtures."
"But what--what does it mean?" Mabel Higgins gasped.
"Your chum was poisoned," the detective replied. "You didn't have any poison around, did you?"
"Oh, no!"
"The doctor tells me that this poison causes almost instant death. She took a drink of water and died. She made the remark that the water tasted queer. It is just a supposition, of course, but we can't afford to be taking chances. Mrs. Burke, I'd put this young woman in some other room, where she will feel more at ease, and have this chamber closed for the time being. We may want to make another investigation in here."
"Come downstairs with me, Mabel," the landlady said in motherly tones.
"I--I can't believe it!" the girl exclaimed. "I can't realize it. Just a short time ago she was sitting there by the table, working on the centerpiece. See? There is the needle stuck through the edge of the cloth, just as she left it."
She picked up the piece of embroidery, fumbled at the needle, the tears streaming down her cheeks again.
"Come on with me, dear," Mrs. Burke said, putting an arm around her as the doctor motioned to get her out of the room. "Let's go downstairs."
She led the weeping girl away, Mabel Higgins still clutching to her breast the piece of embroidery upon which her chum had been working just before she died.
The physician stepped out into the hall. The detective had filled a bottle he had found, with water from the faucet in the bathroom, and took possession of the glass from which Alice Patton had drunk a few seconds before death claimed her. He turned out the lights and closed the door, locking it and putting the key into one of his pockets.
"If I need you again before the inquest, doctor, I'll call you by telephone," he said.
"Glad if I can be of service in any way."
"Oh, there may be nothing much to this case; and, again there may be a great deal. A man never can tell in a case like this, especially at the first glance. We may have to call in Terry Trimble before we are done, and Heaven knows it isn't safe to call upon him unless the affair is highly unusual and puzzling. He has helped the police out of several bad holes recently. We hate to call upon him, of course--professional jealousy--but sometimes we find it necessary."
"I've heard that he is good," the doctor said.
"Good? He's a wonder!" the detective replied, without any trace of the professional jealousy he had mentioned.
"He keeps his wits about him when he's on a case. He declares that there is no such thing as a mystery, and that what people call mysteries can be read as easily as print, providing that a man knows how to read."
"Exactly," the doctor said; "providing that a man knows how. But not every man does."
"Trimble doesn't look at a bit of dirt through a magnifying glass, and then tell you that a red-headed man with a crooked nose did the murder with an ax, and that you'll find him eating corned beef and cabbage at the restaurant on the corner. Trimble just uses common sense, that's all--common sense. That's why he's great!"
"You seem to admire him," said the doctor, starting to lead the way down the stairs......
"I do! He showed me up once; that's why. I thought that I was some detective before I watched him work. I'll never forget that case as long as I live. It was a poison case, too.* We were---- Now, what?"
*["Murderer's Mail," in the June 3, 1919, issue of DETECTIVE STORY MAGAZINE.]
They stopped, astounded. From the floor below there had come a screech, followed by a chorus of shrieks. A dozen female voices cried out in sudden alarm, the voice of Mrs. Burke being heard above the others.
The physician and the detective dashed on down the stairs and ran through the hallway to the rear of the building. They reached the door of the back parlor and there stopped.
Mabel Higgins was stretched upon the floor in the middle of the room, and the other girls were crowding back against one of the walls, badly frightened, their eyes wide