The Great Fog Read Online Free

violent-tempered unstable woman, after exasperating her husband, fell off the top of a tall ladder. To want a person dead isn’t murder.”
    Dr. Wendover shifted around. “It is, morally.”
    â€œWe’re not Morality, we’re Law.”
    â€œUm; it’s a natural law that where there’s a will there’s a way.”
    â€œWell, the way was the ladder. How did he will her to fall off, and neatly, plumb on her head! He couldn’t have pulled her off. Six people were on the line in between.”
    Dr. Wendover did not answer but turned back to looking at the ladder itself. Sergeant Skillin tried to rouse him:
    â€œWhy did you pull it down?”
    â€œWhy, it’s our last witness.”
    â€œIt’ll tell us nothing we don’t know. We know everyone who handled it. Doubt if you’d even find the poor woman’s fingerprints on it.”
    Evidently no longer listening, the Doctor had strolled up to the ladder’s head, where the hinged back-supports joined onto the top of the flight of steps. Sergeant Skillin was reaching the end of his tether.
    â€œHere,” he called out, excusing himself for his tone of voice—because old Wendover was really daydreaming—“if you want to interrogate that dumb scantling, you won’t get anything from its head, from that old clotheshorse’s mouth,” he chuckled, his natural good temper restored by his own small joke. “Its feet, at my end, are the only thing that might help us. But, of course, I’ve questioned them.”
    He bent down and looked at the undersurfaces of the ladder’s ends, now visible. “Y’see, as true and firm as you could wish or, rather, as we could not wish.” He shook the ladder’s struts and tried the steps. “No play there. These ladders are new and of good workmanship.”
    Dr. Wendover turned. “Then they were purchased lately.”
    â€œYes, Dr. Smirke had bought them a couple of months ago. He told the man who provided them, and whom he’d dealt with for some years, that he was tired of those dangerous lean-to ladders and had nearly had an accident or two by their slipping on this smooth floor. This year, he said, he’d have safe ladders before he started decorations for the Christmas party. And they are safe.”
    The Doctor assented, “He was certainly a careful man.” That did not, however, take his attention from the ladder head at his feet. Finally, as Sergeant Skillin was strolling to the door, he roused himself to call him back. “You said we shouldn’t get anything from this old clotheshorse’s mouth. I like your simile, but I venture to differ from you in your dismissal of this witness.”
    â€œWell, you’ll have to do the translating and, remember, not to me, your indulgent friend, but to a court and an expensive defending lawyer.”
    â€œYou’ll at least let me rehearse the part in front of you.”
    â€œOh, go ahead.”
    â€œFirst, be so kind as to bend yours a little, so that you may see the witness’s mouth.”
    Sergeant Skillin did consent to bend his head sideways. “Why, that’s only a handhold.” Sure enough, just under the broad platform top-step, in the side piece of wood which supported it, a space was cut, big enough to put a hand through.
    â€œAnd, look, there’s the companion one on the other side.” The Sergeant drew himself up, glad to counterquiz the Doctor. “They must be handholds for carrying the ladder.”
    â€œNo; if the ladder was a four-foot one, instead of four times that height, you might carry it so. But, see, this big thing, if it is carried, must be carried longways; its weight would require two hands, and, then, if this is a handhold, it should be at right angles to the way it is actually cut. Besides, these cuts weren’t made by the maker. That sawing isn’t professional carpentry. That he troubled to