Murder & the Married Virgin Read Online Free PDF

curving stairway to a hall architecturally similar on the second floor. Here the feminine touch was evidenced in carpeting of dull rose blending with pastel walls and mirror panels that reflected Shayne’s long body and grim, angular face as his host led the way to a less pretentious stairway to the gabled third story.
    The hall was small, and the door straight ahead was closed as was the one to the left. The right-hand door sagged open and the upper pine panel had been shattered. Mr. Lomax turned to it, explaining, “Neal, our chauffeur, smashed the panel when no one could get an answer from Katrin this morning. I reached through the opening myself and turned the key in the lock to open the door.”
    Shayne stood on the threshold studying every detail of the small, clean bedroom. There was one gabled window overgrown with ivy. A single iron bedstead painted white stood in one corner, and near the foot of the bed was a hot air inlet. The floor was spotless around a square rug bright with color, and crisp curtains were looped back from the window. A highboy stood against one wall, its empty drawers carelessly pulled out. A small, doorless closet was empty, the cretonne curtain drawn aside and flung over the extension rod on which it hung. A hatbox and two new suitcases lay open on the floor, and feminine garments lay in little heaps around them. On Shayne’s left, set in a small recess of the wall, was a gas grate. An out-of-date dressing-table with triple mirrors held a few toilet articles which had evidently been left unpacked for use on Katrin’s wedding morning. A straight chair covered with chintz of a delicate pattern had a ruffled skirt that touched the floor all around, reminding Shayne of a demure little old lady, and completed the furnishings in the room.
    Shayne drew in deep breaths of air faintly tinged with the odor of gas. The sweet, cloying odor of death. He said, “It’s odd—I didn’t catch any smell of gas coming up the stairs. I should think it would have filled the house when you opened the door.”
    “A certain amount did escape into the rest of the house,” Mr. Lomax said, “but it was carried off by the air-conditioner. The plant is very efficient, carrying the stale air out of the house entirely and bringing in fresh air that is washed by the humidifier before it goes into the furnace.”
    “I see,” said Shayne absently, “but it didn’t clear the room of the gas from the grate fast enough.”
    “The police think she must have turned it on immediately after retiring, though they believe that her death did not occur until early this morning.” Mr. Lomax wandered idly around the room as he spoke.
    From his position on the threshold, Shayne said, “If you have a furnace and the house is air-conditioned, why do you have these gas grates?”
    “They were installed when the house was built—before the new plant was installed. They are still used on chilly spring and early fall mornings and evenings.”
    Shayne moved into the room and looked around with a baffled expression. “I suppose the police searched thoroughly for a death message.”
    “They went over everything—and found nothing.” Mr. Lomax sighed and compressed his white lips. “I believe they were searching for the necklace also, though I assured them that a girl like Katrin could not possibly have stolen it.”
    “Is there any chance that a note could have been picked up before the police got here?”
    “None at all,” his host said firmly. “Neal and I entered the room together, as I’ve told you. As soon as we opened the door and smelled the gas and saw Katrin lying there, we knew what had happened. Neal ran in and turned off the grate. We stood out in the hall for a while until the fumes were less stifling. I had the housekeeper phone the doctor and the police. Neal and I were on guard until they arrived, and I was right here when they searched the room. There was no written message of any kind. Quite naturally,