Murder Comes First Read Online Free PDF Page A

get on the extension telephone in his study. He nodded, and went. “What on earth for?”
    â€œPamela,” Aunt Lucinda said, “I’m afraid—dreadfully afraid—murder.”
    â€œMy God,” Jerry said, on the extension telephone.
    â€œShe loved Grace,” Lucinda said. “We all did. The other—why, it was twenty-five years ago.”
    â€œAunt Lucy,” Pam said. “Who has been—you say, murdered? ”
    â€œCyanide,” Lucinda said. “It smells of peaches. No, of peach pits. Apparently it was in a capsule. It was supposed to be vitamins and—oh, Pam—she said it was ‘concentrated health.’ And—and it killed her. And Thelma had been in the bathroom and then they found out about Paul and there’s a man from the district attorney’s office and—Pam, what shall we do? ”
    â€œWe’ll come,” Pam said. “Where are you?”
    She was, they all were, at Grace Logan’s home. It was just west of Fifth Avenue in the Fifties.
    â€œWest?” Pam said, doubtfully. It seemed improbable. But Aunt Lucinda was certain of that. A private house.
    â€œIt’s between enormous buildings,” Lucinda said. “No yard at all. Oh Pam, can you come?” And Gerald too, of course?”
    They could. Pausing only while Jerry gulped what remained in his glass, they did.
    â€œI’m so glad it’s west,” Pam said, in the taxicab. “Otherwise it wouldn’t be Bill. Because he’s west, you know.”
    Jerry hoped Aunt Lucinda was right.
    â€œShe sounds a little—” he began, and Pam said she knew.
    â€œBut,” Pam said, “I’ve always wondered whether she really is.”
    About the address, at any rate, Aunt Lucinda was right.
    The house was indeed west of Fifth, where few private houses any longer were. It was a four-story house and a narrow one; wedged between much taller and much broader business buildings, Grace Logan’s little house stood with its elbows tight to its sides, a subdued little house which, normally, one might pass a dozen times and never see. But now a good many people were seeing it; they stood on the sidewalk across the street and stared at it, and at the police cars in front of it. Uniformed policemen told them to get along, now, nothing to see here. But they waited all the same.
    The Norths’ cab stopped in front of the house, and was waved on. But by then Pam North had the door on her side open and was getting out. “No, lady,” a patrolman said. He looked at Jerry, “No soap, buddy,” he told Jerry.
    â€œLieutenant Weigand,” Pam North said. “It’s my aunt, you see.”
    â€œWho’s—” the patrolman began, but by then Pam North had advanced, and Jerry paid the cab driver and went after her. At the top of the short flight of stairs running down from the sidewalk to the little entry, Pam stopped and said, “Oh.” She stopped because a large man with a red face filled the front of the entry, and spoke over his shoulder to another man behind him.
    â€œLike I’ve told you I don’t know how many times,” the big man said. “You try to make it hard for yourself, Lieutenant. What more do you want?”
    â€œI’ve no doubt—” the other man, who was only a little above medium height, who had a thin face and wore a blue suit and a soft hat canted a little forward, began. But then, looking over the other’s shoulder, he stopped. He said, “Um-m.”
    The big, florid man turned and looked at Pam. After a moment, he grew perceptibly more florid.
    â€œNo!” he said. “ No! ”
    â€œGood afternoon, Inspector,” Pam North said, in a polite small voice. “Hello, Bill.”
    â€œWeigand!” Deputy Chief Inspector Artemus O’Malley said, in a great voice.
    â€œSir?” Lieutenant William Weigand, Acting Captain, Homicide West,