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Updated: June 6, 2025
Gard," came the quiet voice of the detective, "I've a piece of information, that, from what you told me the other day, I thought might interest you. I have found out that Mr. Mahr is making every effort to find out the combination of Mrs. Marteen's private safe." "What!" "Yes. I learned it from one of the men in the Cole agency. Mr. Mahr didn't come to us. I'm not betraying any trust, you see.
She didn't let me know. I can't understand it. For heaven's sake, tell me! Nothing is wrong, is there?" "Why, of course, you should know, Teddy." For the first time he used the familiar term. "I quite forgot about you young people. You see, Dorothy received threatening letters from some crank, and as we weren't sure what might occur I sent her off. Mahr, shall I tell your son?"
With a sigh of relief he closed the window behind them and drew down the blinds. "Now! that's all right, Mrs. Mahr. You're quite safe." She turned on him her beady eyes and laughed her shrill chuckle. "There, didn't I tell you, you knew all the time? I guess you'll own up that it's the wife who's got the right to kill a husband, won't you?" "Sure," he said.
It could not quietly dissolve itself and be absorbed in the sea of time and forgotten commonplace. As an outlet for his mental discomfort, his restless spirit busied itself in hating Victor Mahr.
Something in her subconscious brain suggested Victor Mahr, and it was toward Washington Square that she bent her hurried steps. She entered the park, forcing her failing strength to one supreme effort, and sank, gasping, upon a bench. It faced toward the darkened residence of the murdered man.
Why had he forced his mood upon these men? Why, above all things, had he mentioned Mrs. Marteen to Mahr, whom he despised? For the simple pleasure of speaking of her, of mentioning her name? Why had he suspected Mahr of being one of her victims? And why, in heaven's name, had he resented the very same notion? He lay in bed numbering the men of money and importance whom he knew shared Mrs.
I'll tell him to put it to you. I'll show him that I am cut up, all around the heart. Perhaps he can put it to you strongly enough " Dorothy stopped short and wheeled around to face him. "Oh, very well, then," she smiled, "if you are going to get someone else to do your love making for you, I apply for the position. Teddy Mahr, will you marry the milkmaid? Honest and true, black and blue?"
Gard rose and stood waiting, chewing savagely on his unlighted cigar. "It's Mahr," he apologized to Denning. "I want to learn the facts." His hand shook as he snatched the smudgy sheets from the negro. In big letters across the front page he caught the headline: MURDER OF VICTOR MAHR "Stabbed to death ... Woman suspected." His brain reeled.
"It's Miss Dorothy!" he exclaimed in consternation. "She went out to walk a little, with young Mr. Mahr. She was nervous and couldn't rest, and telephoned for him to come in spite of in spite of " He hesitated. "Anyway, Mr. Mahr young Mr. Mahr came for her, sir. Mr. Mr. I think you'd better break it to her, sir. She mustn't see her mother like this without warning!"
Then, as always, when in the heart of the tempest, he became calm, and his mind, as if acting under some heroic stimulant, became intensely clarified. Mahr was dead. He leaned forward and lifted the head; the body was still warm, and it fell forward, limp and heavy. On the left temple was a large contusion and a slight cut. The cause was not far to seek.
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