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Updated: June 8, 2025
This particular afternoon he had tried to play the seventh hole as it should be played, and though we had both foozled, I had won the hole and romped triumphantly home with the side of pig. I was gaily humming to myself as I put on my clothes when James Felderson came in.
My sister, running away from her husband with another man and now threatening, in the hearing of the servants, to kill him, unless he gave her a divorce, disgusted me with its cheap vulgarity. I hid, as best I could, the tempest that was brewing inside me. "Wicks, Mrs. Felderson is not well. Tell the servants that she is greatly depressed over an accident that happened to a friend.
The case against Zalnitch falls down. We can strike him off the list." I hated to give him up, but I had to admit Simpson's logic was faultless. "Now let us take up the case of Woods. Here is a man who threatened Felderson's life unless he gave his wife a divorce, which you say Felderson did not intend to do. There, again, is a motive.
As for Schreiber, I'm sure if he could have manipulated that car so as to cause an accident to Mr. Felderson, he would have done it." "You're crazy," Robinson sneered. "This thing's gone to your head. How could they have known it was your brother-in-law's car?" "By the big search-light in front. It's the only car in the state with such a search-light. Mr.
There would be no use shutting up the newspapers if that bunch of gossips were in possession of the scandal. I hurried to the telephone and slammed the door to the booth, expecting to hear the voice of some reporter demand if there was any truth to the rumor that Mrs. James Felderson had run off with Frank Woods. To my buzzing brain it seemed that the whole world must have heard the news.
Wait till I get my coat!" We ran up to the hospital and asked if we could be admitted if only for a few moments to Mrs. Felderson's room. Johnson, the little interne with the glasses, had just come in, and when he heard my request he was splutteringly indignant. "What the devil do you think Mrs. Felderson is suffering from, a broken ankle? Don't you realize she has been desperately ill?
Unless your friends, the Socialists, were carrying a young armory with them, they could never have fired that many shots in the short space of time that it took Mr. Felderson to pass them. I should say that it would take a man from well, from fifteen to thirty seconds, at least, to fire six shots at any target, and before that time, the automobile would have been out of range."
I nodded my head. One of the nurses led me to a large room on the second floor. As we neared the door a young interne, so the nurse told me, came out. He was thoughtfully polishing his glasses. "I am Warren Thompson, Mr. Felderson's brother-in-law," I explained. "Can you tell me how badly Mr. and Mrs. Felderson were hurt?" He put his glasses back on his nose and looked at me sympathetically. "Mr.
In making my inquest, I find that death was not due to the automobile smash-up. Mr. Felderson was shot through the head, from behind. We have rendered a verdict of murder." Murdered! For a moment I was stupefied by the doctor's revelation, and then, as he went on to describe the course of the bullet, and certain technical aspects of the case, a sudden rush of thankfulness came over me.
Not to-day," I answered. "What's the matter, Jim? Anything wrong?" Felderson has been my law partner ever since he married my sister Helen. I had left him at the office just before lunch and he had seemed then as cheerful and unperturbed as usual. "Helen has gone with Frank Woods!" he burst out, his voice breaking as he spoke.
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