From there I walked along the Avenue.”
“That would take you past the Larimer lot where the dogs were tied at about what time?”
“Possibly a quarter past nine.”
“And you carried the sword-stick?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“There had been some hold-ups around the park.
I don’t own a revolver, so I carried the stick.”
“You saw or heard nothing suspicious? Near the lot, I mean?”
“I heard some dogs barking.”
“Where?”
“Back on the Larimer lot.”
“You knew Miss Bell’s dogs well, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Well enough to recognize the noise they made?
A dog’s bark is as individual as a man’s voice, Mr. Blake.”
“I didn’t recognize them, no.”
“Where did you put the sword-stick, on your return?”
“In the hall, with my others.”
“And it disappeared from there?”
There must have been a slight delay, a slower reaction to that question.
“It disappeared.
Yes.”
“Just when?”
“I don’t know.
I was ill at the time.”
“How did you learn that it was gone?”
“I had gone into the hall to call Amos.
I looked down, and it was not there.”
“You didn’t ask Amos about it?”
“I don’t recall.
I think possibly I did.”
“And he said it was missing?”
“That’s the way I remember it.”
“Now, Mr. Blake, I am going to the night of the twenty-seventh of April.
Where were you that night?”
“The twenty-seventh of April?”
“The night Judy Somers was struck down in the Bell garage.”
Jim stared across the desk.
“You are not intimating that I attacked my own niece, are you?”
“I have asked you a question.”
“I was at home.
So far as I can recall, I have not been out of the house at night since Sarah Gittings was killed.
And I certainly never struck Judy.
That’s—that’s ridiculous.”
The District Attorney glanced at the paper in front of him.
“Do you recall the night when Miss Bell went to see you, after Florence Gunther’s body was found?”
“Perfectly.”
“Had you sent for her?”
“No.”