But Nora hadn’t. Was it reasonable to suppose that Frank had noticed the likeness while the man’s own daughter failed to?
He put that question aside for a moment. Frank might have discovered the truth some other way.
If Frank made the discovery it would have been natural for him to tell his wife so she could claim her father and her part of his fortune. But, suppose Frank had discovered that Pete already knew Nora was his daughter (the clipping in the tobacco can proved that he did), yet had no intention of admitting his identity to her? If the old man refused to share his find with her, Frank might have killed him so Nora would legally inherit all of it.
But hell! Again, he was confronted with the inescapable fact that the murderer could not have foreseen that Nora would see and recognize her father just before he was killed in such a way as to render his features almost unrecognizable. If Frank had planned to have her identify the old man after death, he would certainly have chosen a murder method that did not make identification almost impossible.
Shayne sighed wearily and climbed up the incline to the boardwalk, turned toward the brilliantly lighted intersection of Eureka and Main Streets.
It came down to this: Anyone mixed up in the thing might have killed Screwloose. He could figure out a possible motive for almost anybody you mentioned. But the motive behind Nora’s death (and the manner in which she had been lured to her death) was more shrouded and obscure. The actual time of her death would be an important factor in sifting out alibis. She had left the opera house after the play started. Her body had been deposited against the stump while the creek water was at least that high. If that time could be established, it would narrow the limits between which her murder had been committed.
He bumped into a courtesy patrolman coming out of the Chain-o’-Mines Hotel on the corner, and recognized the young man who had been at Pete’s cabin. He asked, “Do you know where they took the wounded man?”
“Up to Dr. Fairweather’s private hospital.” The officer pointed across the street and almost straight up. “It’s right up the hill yonder. That big two-story house lit up like a sea-going tug.”
“Do you know how Meade is?”
“Only that he was still alive the last time I heard.”