Murder within Murder Read Online Free

it—had been given it—before she went to the library.”
    Bill Weigand shook his head. He said the time didn’t fit. He said she had been at the library for something like two hours—probably more—when she became ill.
    â€œIt doesn’t wait that long,” he said. “We’ve established that. The dose she seems to have got would have made her violently ill in half an hour or so. Her book slips were time stamped at 7:33. Allow her some time to find the books she wanted in the catalogues, fill out the slips—say a quarter of an hour—and we have her in the library at fifteen after seven, or thereabouts. Of course, she may have left the library and come back. If she didn’t, she was poisoned in the library. Presumably while she was sitting at one of the tables in the reading-room—the North Reading Room.”
    â€œYou mean,” Pam said, “somebody just came along and said ‘Sorry to interrupt your reading, but do you mind drinking some poison?’ Because I don’t believe it.”
    â€œNot that way, obviously,” Jerry said. “You’re getting jumpy, Pam.”
    â€œNot any way like it that I can see,” Pam said. “And I’m not getting jumpy. Do you, Bill?”
    Practice helped. Bill did not even have to check back to the clause before the clause.
    â€œIt doesn’t seem possible,” he said. “And it happened. Therefore—a job for us. For Deputy Chief Inspector Artemus O’Malley and his helpers. Mullins. Stein. Me.”
    â€œWell,” Pam said “She worked in Jerry’s office.” It was merely statement; it held implications.
    Mullins was in the shadows. Mullins spoke.
    â€œO’Malley won’t like it, Loot,” Mullins said. “He sure as hell won’t like it. He likes ’em kept simple.”
    â€œBut,” Pam said, “it isn’t simple. Hello, Sergeant Mullins. Is it?”
    â€œHello, Mrs. North,” Mullins said. “No. But the inspector don’t want you in none of them. None. He says you make ’em complicated. Hard, sort of.”
    â€œAll right, Sergeant,” Bill Weigand said, and there was only the thin edge of amusement in his voice. “She was an employee of Mr. North. It was inevitable that we call him. For the moment—until we get in touch with her relatives—we can assume he represents her interests. Right?”
    â€œSay,” Mullins said. “That’s right, ain’t it, Loot?”
    â€œOf course it is,” Pam said. “Where do we go, Bill? First?”
    Bill shrugged. There were a hundred directions. The library. The office of North Books, Inc. Amelia Gipson’s apartment.
    â€œMullins is going to the library,” he said. “Stein’s there, and some of the boys. I’m going to the apartment.” He paused and smiled a little. “I should think,” he said, “that Jerry has a right to accompany me, Pam.”
    â€œSo should I,” Pam North said. “Shall we start now? It isn’t—it isn’t very nice in here.” She looked around the morgue. “It never is,” she said, thoughtfully.
    While Bill Weigand picked up a parcel containing Miss Gipson’s handbag, and signed a receipt for it, and while they got into the big police car Pam had been silent. Now, as they started toward Washington Square and the Holborn Annex she spoke.
    â€œWhy,” Pam said, “didn’t she kill herself?”
    â€œMiss Gipson?” Jerry said, in a startled voice. “She would no more.…” Then he broke off and looked at Bill. “Which is true,” he said, after a moment. “She wouldn’t think of it—wouldn’t have thought of it. But you didn’t know that, Bill. How did you know?”
    Bill nodded. He said he had been wondering why they didn’t ask him that.
    â€œThat’s the way Inspector O’Malley wanted