Sudden Death

By Emma Redington Lee Thayer

Sudden Death, first published in 1935 as part of the Red Badge Mystery Series, features private detective Peter Clancy, assisted by his valet Wiggars. Author Emma Redington Lee Thayer (1874-1973) published 60 novels during her long career, all but one featuring detective Peter Clancy. Synopsis from the original edition: The body of Marvin Hayden was discovered in his own library, dead from a bullet wound in his head. The pistol was undoubtedly his. The Medical Examiner testified that the shot could have been fired by his own hand. But the old butler, Gillespie, scoffs at the idea of suicide. He knows what he knows. “... Caught red-handed. Yes! The two of them together. And blood on his hands! Let them squirm and lie. The truth will out. Even if Mr. Valentine did drag in the smart red-headed detective, Mr. Peter Clancy. But of course he wanted to protect his sister. And if she was in it, so was Mr. James, mind you. And no one but a man’s own old faithful servant to see that justice was done! The master never killed himself, mark you. His sudden death was not suicide but—MURDER!” Lee Thayer’s latest is a thrilling and fiendishly ingenious story—the mystery of the minute. Read the first few pages and you will be unable to put it down.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Phocion Publishing
• Release date: Nov 1, 2019
• ISBN: 9781789129557

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© Phocion Publishing 2019, all rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted by any means, electrical, mechanical or otherwise without the written permission of the copyright holder.

Publisher’s Note

Although in most cases we have retained the Author’s original spelling and grammar to authentically reproduce the work of the Author and the original intent of such material, some additional notes and clarifications have been added for the modern reader’s benefit.

We have also made every effort to include all maps and illustrations of the original edition the limitations of formatting do not allow of including larger maps, we will upload as many of these maps as possible.

SUDDEN DEATH

A Peter Clancy Murder Mystery

By

LEE THAYER

Sudden Death was originally published in 1935 by Dodd, Mead & Company, Inc., New York.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Contents

TABLE OF CONTENTS 4

DEDICATION 5

CHAPTER I 6

CHAPTER II 10

CHAPTER III 15

CHAPTER IV 20

CHAPTER V 26

CHAPTER VI 30

CHAPTER VII 38

CHAPTER VIII 44

CHAPTER IX 50

CHAPTER X 56

CHAPTER XI 63

CHAPTER XII 70

CHAPTER XIII 77

CHAPTER XIV 83

CHAPTER XV 88

CHAPTER XVI 93

CHAPTER XVII 99

CHAPTER XVIII 104

CHAPTER XIX 110

CHAPTER XX 116

CHAPTER XXI 122

CHAPTER XXII 128

CHAPTER XXIII 135

CHAPTER XXIV 141

CHAPTER XXV 146

CHAPTER XXVI 151

REQUEST FROM THE PUBLISHER 157

DEDICATION

To

Eleanor Talbot Smith

with the permanent affection

CHAPTER I

I killed Marvin Hayden.

The words forced their way through clenched teeth. The man’s narrow, high-bred face was thrust forward. His breath came unevenly. There was a strange, almost fanatic glitter in his eyes.

In blank amazement, Captain of Detectives Kerrigan stared across his office desk. He glanced at the small correct bit of engraved pasteboard that lay upon his blotter.

Mr. Douglas Evarest, he read aloud. Do you mean me to believe—

I have waited too long already. The man’s thin sensitive hands were pressed down hard and flat on the polished oak of the desk top. The arms looked as rigid as rods of iron. He cleared his throat as if it hurt and added with somber violence, I am giving myself up. Surely I make it plain.

But, Mr. Evarest— Kerrigan rose slowly to his feet. His swivel chair oscillated queerly with the uncertainty of the movement—I can’t understand. It doesn’t seem reasonable. I mean, you know, the only information the police have in regard to you is that you played bridge at the Haydens’ night before last. Gillespie, the butler, told us that, but there was nothing—

How could Gillespie know that I came back Sunday night—later—and killed Hayden? Evarest spoke with a strange sort of desperate clarity.

Killed him? How? Kerrigan’s glance was cool and incisive.

Shot him. With his own pistol. The answer came promptly but Evarest’s lips were dry, and as he closed them in a hard straight line, the muscles of his throat contracted visibly.

You could have read those facts in the papers yesterday or this morning, Mr. Evarest. Kerrigan’s tone was grave but curiously gentle. The district attorney’s office isn’t having any secret sorrows about this case. You could also have read of the arrest— He suddenly reached out, switched on all the lights and turned to fix the other with his keen, slightly bulging eyes. You’re maybe a friend of young James Hayden? he asked quietly.

Evarest started back. I—why, yes. Of course. I— He stopped suddenly, with a strange, angry, baffled gesture.

In which case, said Kerrigan, still mildly, if you really are guilty of the murder of his father, do you mind telling me why you have let so much time go by before you showed up here?

Put it down to cowardice if you like, said Evarest with a bitter half-smile.

Kerrigan studied the man’s scholarly, determined face. Maybe you were putting your house in order as they say in books. Was that it?

If you prefer, Evarest agreed. I had some necessary arrangements to—

Wait a second. Kerrigan threw up his hand impatiently, for the buzzer on his desk was sounding with imperative intermittent insistence. Take a chair, Mr. Evarest. I’ll be with you—What? He spoke into the instrument. Oh. Well, tell him—No. Put him on.

There was a slight pause, then Kerrigan said, No. You don’t mean it! Well...I’m not sure. Maybe—Where are you? Oh. I might have known. And the kid with you?... An instant of silence in which the police detective chuckled grimly. Oh, yes, I know you’re the original little Bright Eyes—and perhaps—All right, your honor. Maybe I could use an extra pair of brains. Come on in. What? Bring the kid? Hold up. I’m not so sure. Wait a second.

Not for an instant had Kerrigan’s searching glance wavered from the tense strained face of the self-accused murderer who fronted him grimly. Now he dropped his voice. Mr. Evarest.

Yes? The man’s eyes seemed to focus with difficulty.

Did you ever hear of a chap—name of Peter Clancy?

Evarest shook his head. I don’t—don’t think so. And yet the name—

He’s a private detective. Not on the force, you understand, but between you and me he’s damn clever.

But I don’t need—or want—

Just so. Kerrigan nodded wisely. But I do. See? I’ve never found it profitable to turn down Peter Clancy, so if you don’t mind I’d like to have him in. He’s outside now.

Evarest frowned. I suppose it must be, he said dully. Whatever you say. I’m ready.

Kerrigan lifted the telephone instrument and then lowered it again, keeping it in his hand. What do you know about young Berkley, Mr. Evarest? he asked hastily.

Val? Mrs. Hayden’s brother Valentine?

Yes. Must be an enterprising kid. Seems he’s engaged Clancy’s services. He’s out there with him now.

Not here!

Yes. Clancy wants to bring him in. Do you mind?

The face of Douglas Evarest was like a white mask through which dark burning eyes gazed blankly.

It must be, I suppose. What does it matter? he said hoarsely.

Kerrigan spoke a few words into the telephone. A minute later the door opened.

How are you, Jake? Oh, I beg your pardon.

Kerrigan watched the strong homely face of his unofficial colleague with eager interest and some amusement. It was good to see Peter Clancy taken aback. The identity of Kerrigan’s visitor had been made instantly plain, for young Berkley had spoken the other man’s name in a startled tone as he came through the door.

Douglas Evarest! What are you doing here? The young voice was rough with apprehension. Did Emily send you? Has anything new happened? Oh, God... He came forward, his face, sensitive, untried and undisciplined, working oddly.

Kerrigan’s voice sounded firm and unemotional as hard rubber. Mr. Evarest, my—er—unofficial friend, Peter Clancy. Sit down, Mr. Berkley. We have some interesting news.

Did Emily send you, Douglas? insisted Valentine Berkley. For Heaven’s sake, tell me what’s happened.

You’re worried about—your sister, Mr. Berkley? observed Kerrigan, glancing keenly aside at Peter Clancy.

Naturally he would be, Peter answered for his new client. The shock of her husband’s death was a terrible thing for Mrs. Hayden.

She was bearing it O.K. when I saw her yesterday, Kerrigan said, not unkindly, though Clancy thought he detected a hint of hidden sarcasm. Your sister has good strong nerves, Berkley. Not many women as young as she is could show so much self-control through a long, grilling day, and after such a night.

Douglas Evarest had dropped back into his chair. He was clutching the arms. His head was thrust slightly forward and he coughed twice without seeming to know that he had done so. His strained febrile glance flashed from one face to the other without an instant’s pause. Clancy bent his red head as he carefully ground out the end-of a cigarette in Kerrigan’s ample ash-tray, but his steel-blue glance took in every detail of the scene.

You won’t find many girls like my sister, Berkley retorted, sharp upon the end of Kerrigan’s remark. She’s—Oh, well. You wouldn’t understand. The boy was in his early twenties and might well be forgiven the emotion he apparently could not entirely control. He dashed his hand across his face in a gesture as pathetic as it was dramatic. At any rate I mean she shan’t be bothered; do you see, Captain Kerrigan? I found out through Reggie Van Loo about Mr. Clancy and he’s agreed to look out for—for everything—and—

That’s all right, Berkley, Clancy interrupted quietly. Captain Kerrigan has some news for us already, I think. Something that hasn’t gotten into the papers, Jake?

Well—er—yes. Kerrigan glanced aside uncertainly. And for the benefit of all concerned I propose we keep it to ourselves for the time being. I’d a whole lot rather the district attorney’s office didn’t get wise until—well—until we’ve had time to check up a bit.

Looks like Updegraff sure was trying to make character with the proletariat on this case, remarked Peter Clancy. For an assistant district attorney, he’s made a big enough splash on the front page today to suggest he might have political ambitions. Been stealing your thunder, Jake?

In Kerrigan’s throat some indistinguishable profanity rumbled, then he said: It’s not my habit, as you’re well aware, Pete, to invite the press to take orchestra seats before we know what the play’s about. But Mr. Updegraff and that man of his, Inverness, have their own methods. Inverness has talked aplenty and so has Updegraff. And even before the medical officer got his report in—

Hold on, Jake, Clancy interrupted swiftly. Of course I don’t know anything first hand—except what my client—he glanced at Berkley’s avid young face—has told me. -And what was in the papers. Doesn’t Updegraff’s action seem rash to you? To hale James Hayden before a magistrate on a murder charge when—at least it would seem now to be entirely on the cards that young Hayden’s father killed himself.

What? Evarest’s hand shot out and clamped on Peter Clancy’s arm. Could it be proved? Suicide? Is there still a possibility—

Well, but of course, exclaimed Clancy, studying the man’s face quite openly now. Haven’t you seen this afternoon’s papers?

No, said Evarest hoarsely. Nothing since— He broke off. A startling change had come over his face. Tell me. Why—I mean—Do you think...What reason is there for supposing—

That James Hayden did not shoot his own father in his own home night before last, Kerrigan prompted with a curious half smile.

Evarest glanced uncertainly at the police detective and then swiftly toward the able private investigator. Yes, he said. Why do you think it might—was—suicide, Mr. Clancy?

Because the report of the medical officer is to the effect that Marvin Hayden could perfectly well have fired the shot that killed him. Peter was acutely conscious of the sharp intake of Evarest’s breath and the slow relaxed exhalation that inaudibly followed. He went on without pause. The medical examiner from the district attorney’s office also had to admit that it was at least a physical possibility.

I was sure of that much from the first, said Kerrigan, addressing Clancy, but with an oddly compounded side glance at Douglas Evarest. Whatever Updegraff may contend, the fact remains that the body of Marvin Hayden was discovered in the man’s own library, and that the weapon used, according to the ballistician, was unquestionably his. There are witnesses to prove that the pistol had fallen within reach of his hand. He was shot...at close range...through the head. From the nature of the wound—Kerrigan’s expression was grim with the details he withheld—no powder marks would have been visible in any case.

It did—really—look like suicide? gasped Evarest, white to the lips.

And if it did, Mr. Evarest—with a thrill of excitement Kerrigan watched Peter’s intent face as he sprung his trap—will you still assert that it was you who killed Marvin Hayden?

CHAPTER II

Douglas! You! But how utterly— Valentine Berkley started to his feet. Why, you left the house before eleven Sunday night. And it wasn’t until much later that—

Yes. Yes, Valentine. I know, Evarest interrupted thickly. He looked as if he were about to faint.

Clancy put his hand on the shoulder of his young client. Mr. Evarest is a great friend of your family, isn’t he, Berkley?

The boy looked up into Peter’s serious, clever face. Yes, he answered at once.

A very close and old friend of James Hayden—and of your sister?

Valentine’s dark brows drew together sharply. Of James Hayden. Yes. Of course. We—my sister and I haven’t known him so long. Only since she married—Mr. Hayden. About two years ago. But we are all—very—good friends. He spoke slowly, staring down at Douglas Evarest’s bent head.

Maybe I ought to say in so many words—Kerrigan looked from the boy to Clancy and then back again—that Mr. Evarest came in here of his own accord a few minutes ago, and in no uncertain terms confessed to the murder of Marvin Hayden.

But why— began Valentine.

Skip it for the minute, Peter interrupted crisply but with an apologetic gesture. I’d like to ask Mr. Evarest a question, Jake. May I?

Sure. Kerrigan nodded.

Did you know, Mr. Evarest, that even when a man confesses to a crime it is necessary that he prove his statements?

Why? Evarest bit his lip as he bent his startled glance on the face of the red-headed detective. In a case—as serious—as—as murder—I should think it would be enough—

But it isn’t. Kerrigan spoke definitely. You see, Mr. Evarest, a good many of us have heard of you in various ways. It’s quite easy to understand that your researches have been along very different lines from what Clancy’s and mine have been, and that it is quite likely you weren’t wise on the point that Clancy has just brought up. Now that it has been brought up, he repeated, how do you propose to prove that it was you who shot Mr. Hayden night before last?

I— Evarest coughed, and had to begin again. Wouldn’t a description—of it—be enough?

It would have to contain facts that had not appeared in the papers. Peter spoke with grave insistence. And if, Mr. Evarest, it turns out, as seems quite possible according to the last accounts, that the presumption of suicide is sufficiently strong to clear James Hayden when he appears in the Homicide Court tomorrow morning—would you then wish your accusation of yourself, just made to Captain Kerrigan, to stand?

Suicide, Evarest exclaimed in a hushed voice. If suicide can be proved—proved—

Then you withdraw the confession you just made to me. Kerrigan nodded sagely. You see, Mr. Evarest, yours is one of the cases that makes it necessary to get more proof than a man’s own word for his having committed a crime. We’re in our jobs to see that justice doesn’t miscarry, not even when—he cleared his throat—when a chap would make a try at giving his life for a friend.

But you mustn’t—you mustn’t think that, Evarest broke in uncertainly.

If you believe that there’s a chance it can be proved to be a case of suicide, Kerrigan retorted shrewdly, it’s a cinch you didn’t fire the shot yourself, Mr. Evarest. A child could see that. It’s clear enough why you said you did. You see why, don’t you, Mr. Berkley?

The boy’s extraordinarily handsome face had gone from white to red and to white again. His soft, rather full lips were trembling. You did it to make certain—to protect—

Hush, said Douglas Evarest sharply. There mustn’t be a shadow of suspicion of—of—anyone. I’d far rather die than have—

‘It is a far, far better thing that I do than I have ever done,’ quoted Valentine, with a strange, half-envious glance at Evarest’s drawn face. The young voice gave to Sidney Carton’s immortal words their full measure of expression. It is a far, far better rest that I go to—

Oh, stop, cried Evarest, repudiating with a shocked gesture a drama of statement naturally unbearable to a scientific mind. You don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ll—

Kerrigan had put his heavy hand on Evarest’s shoulder. You go home, sir, and get a good rest, he said quietly. I know very well you’ll be on hand if we need you. In the meantime, there’s no one wise to what’s just happened but us four. He looked hard and steadily at Valentine Berkley. I’ll ask you to give me your word, Clancy, that you’ll keep absolutely mum. And you, Berkley? Thanks. For every reason in the world, we can’t have a leak. You understand? Very good. They’ll call you a taxi, Mr. Evarest. Kerrigan had opened his office door. Thank you for coming, he added in an ordinary tone. I think everything will be all right.

What do you mean—everything will be all right? Valentine retorted with nervous heat as the door closed behind Douglas Evarest. How can it possibly be all right, Captain Kerrigan?

It wouldn’t be satisfactory to you then, countered Kerrigan, if it could be proved that your brother-in-law shot and killed himself?

Well, but— Valentine started and then stopped short. Maybe you think Mr. Hayden wasn’t the kind of a man who could do it, Kerrigan suggested shrewdly. Is that what you were going to say?

Don’t put words in my client’s mouth, Jake, warned Clancy, smiling briefly. Given the necessary state of mind, anyone could commit suicide—

Just what I was going to say, Valentine broke in with sudden eagerness. And if Mr. Hayden really did for himself it makes Douglas look rather the fool, doesn’t it? His short laugh had little mirth in it. The two older men watched him curiously. Becoming conscious of their scrutiny he flushed again as he added: Of course Douglas is all kinds of a swell—every way—and he doesn’t often make a play to get into the limelight.

You think that might have been his object in this instance? Peter studied the young face still, though he was apparently intent only on the cigarette he was lighting.

It makes a great scene, Valentine argued with an unconscious lift of the head as if he, himself, were playing a noble part. It would make a great hit with—I mean—if—if anyone...If Jim Hayden were to find out—and he’s almost sure to, sooner or later—

How could he? Peter interrupted. We’ve all agreed—

And you think Douglas would never mention it himself—later—when it was safe? Valentine interrupted in turn. Well, maybe he wouldn’t but you must know the world well enough by now, Mr. Clancy, to realize that it would be a temptation to a good many men to let their—er—friends know how much of a sacrifice they’d be willing to make. However, I don’t think Douglas put on a very good show. He didn’t fool you for a minute, did he, Captain Kerrigan?

You could have done it better, I suppose, grunted Kerrigan with a half frown.

The boy’s head jerked nervously. If I’d thought of it, he said in a queerly contemplative tone, I believe I could have made it—more convincing.

At least you were in the house, said Kerrigan. "You wouldn’t have been called on to explain how it was possible for you to be on the scene of the murder when all the doors and windows were found locked. It certainly isn’t to be supposed that Mr. Evarest had a key. Wish