French Powder Mystery Read Online Free PDF

a twinkling. The model gulped, groaned.
    The doctor looked up gravely. “This woman is dead,” he announced. “Has been for quite a while. What’s more, she’s been shot. Got it in the heart. Looks like murder, Mr. Lavery!”
    “Nom du chien!” muttered Lavery. His face was sickly white.
    MacKenzie scurried across the room to look down at the huddled corpse. He fell back with a cry. “Good God! It’s Mrs. French!”

5.
“And All the King’s Men”
    T HE WINDOW-DOOR OPENED QUICKLY and two men stepped in. One, a tall lanky individual smoking a blackish cigar, stopped short, peered about him, and then, catching sight of the body, immediately advanced to the farther side of the wall bed, on the floor by which lay the dead woman. He favored the little physician with a keen glance, nodded and without further ado dropped to his knees. After a moment he looked up.
    “The store doctor, are you?”
    The physician nodded nervously. “Yes, I’ve made a superficial examination. She’s dead. I—”
    “I can see that,” said the newcomer. “I’m Prouty, Assistant Medical Examiner. Stand by, doctor.” Again he bent over the body, opening his bag with one hand.
    The second of the two men who had arrived was an iron-jawed giant. He had stopped at the door, softly prodding it shut behind him. Now his eyes flickered over the frozen faces of Lavery, MacKenzie and the store doctor. His own face was cold and harsh and expressionless.
    It was not until Dr. Prouty began his examination that this man vitalized into action. He took a purposeful step forward toward MacKenzie, but stopped suddenly as the door shivered under a violent pounding.
    “Come in!” he said sharply, standing between the door and the bed, so that the body was hidden from the newcomers.
    The door was flung aside. A small army of men surged forward. The tall man blocked their path.
    “Just a moment,” he said slowly. “We can’t have so many people in here. Who are you?”
    Cyrus French, flushed and choleric, snapped: “I am the owner of this establishment, and these gentlemen all have a right to be here. They are the Board of Directors—this is Mr. Crouther, our head store detective—stand aside, please.”
    The tall man did not move. “Mr. French, eh? Board of Directors? … Hello, Crouther. … Who is this?” He pointed to Westley Weaver, who hovered about the edge of the group, a trifle pale.
    “Mr. Weaver, my secretary,” said French impatiently. “Who are you, sir, What’s happened here? Let me pass.”
    “I see.” The tall man reflected a moment, hesitated, then said firmly, “I’m Sergeant Velie of the Homicide Squad. Sorry, Mr. French, but you’ll have to abide by my orders here. Come in, but don’t touch anything and let me give the orders.” He stepped aside. He seemed to be waiting for something with unwearying patience.
    Lavery ran forward, his eyes distended as he saw Cyrus French stride toward the bed. He intercepted the old man, grasped his lapel.
    “Mr. French—please do not look—just now. …”
    French petulantly brushed him aside. “Let me be, Lavery! What is this—a conspiracy? Ordered about in my own store!” He proceeded to the bed, and Lavery fell back, a resigned look on his mobile face. Suddenly, as if struck by a thought, he took John Gray aside, speaking in the director’s ear. Gray paled, stood transfixed to the spot, then with an indistinct cry he leaped to French’s side.
    He was just in time. The store owner had bent curiously over Dr. Prouty’s shoulder, taken one look at the woman on the floor, and collapsed without a sound. Gray caught him as he sank. Lavery sprang forward and assisted in carrying the old man’s limp body to a chair on the other side of the room.
    Λ nurse in white cap and gown had slipped into the room and was ministering to the hysterical model on the divan. She went quickly over to French, slipped a vial under his nose, and instructed Lavery to chafe his hands. Gray paced