Free The Tragedy of Z by Ellery Queen Page B

calmness she had been steeling herself against this, had been waiting for it, perhaps dreading it.
    â€œSo, Fanny,” went on the district attorney pleasantly, “you see why we have to ask questions. Did you have an appointment with Fawcett tonight?”
    â€œThis sure puts you in a sweet spot, Hume … Appointment?” she rumbled absently. “No. No, I just dropped in. He didn’t know I was comin’—” She shrugged her broad shoulders with sudden decision and flung the cigar into the fireplace— over her shoulder, I noted, and without looking. This lady, then, was quite familiar with Senator Fawcett’s study. Father’s face grew blanker; he, too, had seen the significance of her action. “Now, listen, kid,” she said harshly to Hume. “I know what’s buzzin’ in your think-tank. You’re a nice lad, an’ all that, but you’re not puttin’ anything over on little Fanny Kaiser. Would I ’a’ walked in here like this if I had anything to do with this damn’ killin’? You lay off, kid. I’m goin’.”
    She strode thunderously toward the door.
    â€œJust a minute, Fanny,” said Hume without moving. She stopped. “Why jump at conclusions? I haven’t accused you of anything. But I’m very curious about one thing. What was your business with Fawcett tonight?”
    She said, in a dangerous tone: “Lay off, I tell you.”
    â€œYou’re being very foolish, Fanny.”
    â€œListen, kid.” She paused, and then she grinned like a gargoyle and flung a peculiarly humorous glance at Rufus Cotton, who stood stonily in the background, a horrible smile fixed on his cheeks. “I’m a lady with a lot of business connections, see? You’d be surprised how many friends I got among the big shots of this burg. If you’re thinkin’ of pinnin’ anything on me, Mr. Hume, you just remember that. My customers mightn’t like, f’instance, to be advertised; and they’d step on you, Mr. Hume, just like that ”—she stamped viciously on the rug with her right foot—“If you took a notion to be nasty.”
    Hume turned his back, coloring, and then whirled upon her unexpectedly, thrusting beneath her Promethean nose the letter Senator Fawcett had written to her: the fifth letter from the stack on the desk.
    She read the short message coolly, without blinking. But I sensed the panic behind her mask. This note, in the Senator’s authenticated handwriting, addressed to her in terms of mystery but indubitable intimacy, could be neither laughed nor threatened away.
    â€œWhat’s this about?” said Hume coldly. “Who’s Maizie? What are these mysterious telephone messages that the Senator was afraid were being listened in on? Whom did he mean by ‘friend H’?”
    â€œYou tell me.” Her eyes were frozen. “You can read, mister.”
    I knew instantly, as Kenyon shuffled forward with a comical expression of anxiety to draw Hume aside and speak to him in urgent undertones, that the district attorney had made a tactical error in showing Fanny Kaiser the letter the Senator had written. She was armed with knowledge now; she bristled with grim decision and a queer disquietude which would never be fear, but might become menace.… And while Hume listened to Kenyon’s rasping protests, she tossed her head, drew a deep breath, stared at Rufus Cotton icily, and with a curious pucker between her brows stalked out of the study.
    Hume permitted her to leave unmolested. He was angry, I saw, but somehow helpless. He nodded curtly to Kenyon and turned to father.
    â€œCan’t hold her,” he muttered. “But she’ll be watched.”
    â€œNice gal,” drawled father. “What’s her racket?”
    The district attorney lowered his voice, and father’s shaggy brows went up. “So that’s it!” I heard