The porcelain mask A detective story
"Well, Tish," he said. "I told you that I was going to do it, and I
did."
Sergeant Tish grinned feebly. "I gotta hand it to you, you did," he
admitted. "And to think it was Gilmore that did the croak! You didn't
have _that_ doped out. Ain't it funny now that he didn't watch his
chance and make away with the evidence? Guess he thought it was so
clever nobody would get wise. I wonder if the girl was lying about the
Gilmore woman telling her it was an accident."
Wiggly pursed his lips and toyed with something in his hand, the black
hairpin.
"I wonder, too," he murmured. "But, whether she was or not, Gilmore's
story was straight, dead straight. It was an accident, but he got panic
and tried to cover it up by--what did Miss Sheridan call it?--the
porcelain mask."
"Aw, g'wan!" grunted Tish derisively.
"Tish, I'll lay you three wagers: First, that the coroner's jury brings
in a verdict of death by accident; second, that the district attorney's
office will never go behind that verdict and bring Gilmore to trial;
third, that Gilmore and Joan Sheridan are married within a year."
Tish snorted, but did not accept; had he done so, Wiggly would have won
the first two and lost the third. It was almost two years before the
last prophecy was fulfilled.
THE END.