Daily Short Stories - Mystery & Suspense

Parthian Shot

Listen Ad Free https://www.solgood.org - Listen to hundreds of audiobooks, thousands of short stories, and meditative sounds.

Duration:: 25m
Broadcast on:: 08 Jul 2024
Audio Format:: mp3

Well, it sounds like the tenants at your rental property sure know how to throw a great party. You just wish they wouldn't throw so many parties, on Tuesdays, until 4am. And if they could pay the rent on time, that would be nice too. Being a landlord can be stressful, but it doesn't have to be. Let renters warehouse handle the hard part of property management for you, like finding quality tenants you can trust. Renters warehouse manages thousands of single-family homes, and specializes in locating reliable tenants at the right price for your property, usually in a matter of days. And if your tenant defaults for any reason, they'll replace them for free up to 18 months under their tenant warranty program. From rent collection to maintenance coordination, their best-in-class property management professionals do it all. All for one flat, monthly fee. Get a free rental price analysis at renterswarehouse.com, to find out how much your home can rent for. That's renterswarehouse.com, or call 303-974-9444 to speak to a rent estate advisor today. It's time for today's Lucky Land horoscope with Victoria Cash. Life's gotten mundane, so shake up the daily routine and be adventurous, with a trip to Lucky Land. You know what they say. Your chance to win starts with a spin, so go to luckylandslots.com to play over 100 social casino-style games for free for your chance to redeem some serious prizes. Lucky today at luckylandslots.com The Parthian Shot by Robert Peele Noble The last note of the Baratones in Passion's song had died away. Almost before Mrs. Reynolds had finished the closing bars of the accompaniment, she turned from the piano to the singer. "You are in fine voice tonight, Charles," she said. "But something has given me a headache this evening, and it has been steadily getting worse. You will excuse me, I know," she continued as she arose. "A night's rest will make me all right." "I am so sorry. Certainly, I'll excuse you. Why didn't you tell me sooner?" said Charles Harding as they walked to the door. "I'll just have a smoke-chat with John before I go, and perhaps he will forgive me for my vocal disturbance. Too bad he doesn't enjoy music," he added as they went up the stairs. "Yes, isn't it," she replied. "He's like a blind man walking over diamonds. The beauty of music does not exist for him." She paused before the door of her husband's den. "Good night," she said as she moved away. "Good night. I hope you will feel better in the morning," said Charles, turning to enter John's room. Mrs. Reynolds was keenly conscious of her headache as she closed the bedroom door behind her, but she was suffering even more from the memory of that which had caused it. She and Charles were to appear on the program of a musical on the following Friday evening, and had been having frequent rehearsals. This, it seemed at dinner that evening, was the cause of her husband's recent fits of saltiness and ill-humor, not that he had been a cheerful companion at all times during the past year, but of late he was even worse, and this evening, why it was absurd. Her husband was apparently almost ready to forbid Charles the house. The man was jealous. Her husband actually jealous. She could laugh even now but for the memory of his stormy words and self-insited anger. What if she and Charles had been engaged at one time? The quarrel, over nothing it was true, and her subsequent marriage to John had ended all that, and John should realize it and be more sensible. If John could only enjoy music and would be a little more companionable, how long she had been asleep she did not know, but she awoke in terror. Could it have been the noise of a passing automobile tire which had so alarmed her that she found herself sitting up in bed before she was fully awake? With a fast-beating heart, and with trembling hands, she slipped out of bed and opened the door. "John!" she called, then again more loudly, "John, O John!" and ended with a sob. "What if, my God, what if he did?" she moaned and ran to the open doorway of her husband's dead. A pitious, heart-invading scream came from her lips. Not Charles, but John lay sprawled upon the floor, now stained with blood. Staggering and clutching the banisters, she half-ran, half-fell down the stairway, and out through the door to the sidewalk. "Help, O, help!" she screamed. "Won't somebody help?" she moaned. "What's the matter?" came from the corner across the street, as the speaker started toward her. "My husband, O, help me!" she continued to moan. The man who had responded to her call had almost to carry her, half-fainting as she was, as he accompanied her back into the house. There he managed to get her upstairs and to bed, which she had left in so great alarm. "Where's the telephone?" the words were quick, almost curt. Passing the open door of Mr. Reynolds' room, he had seen what lay upon the floor. "Haulway, downstairs!" came from the lips whose trembling could not be controlled. "Get a doctor! Get a doctor!" Feeling that she was in greater need of medical aid than was her husband, he ran down the stairs, hurriedly called the nearest physician, and obtained his promise to come at once. He then called another number. "Police Station, this is when, sends somebody here at once. Number 734, Walnut Street. Man killed, I think. Looks like murder. I'll wait here." Running up the stairs again he found Mrs. Reynolds in the hall, weakly struggling into her kimono, and walking with uncertain steps toward the doorway of her husband's room. "I must go to him," she cried. "Wait," he said kindly. "If there is anything you can do, I will tell you." But unheedingly she followed him into the room and stood pale and open-mouthed, wringing her hands and staring at the form upon the floor, over which wind was now stooping. "We must wait for the doctor," he said gently. "He will be here soon." As he finished speaking Dr. Morris entered, "Do something, Dr. Quick!" cried the frantic woman to the physician, already making his examination deftly and silently. After a brief interval Dr. Morris arose slowly. "He has passed my help, Mrs. Reynolds," he said. "You must lie down and let me do something for you." Two men, a policeman who had come up the stairs while Dr. Morris was helping Mrs. Reynolds to her room, entered the room of tragedy, exchanged words of recognition with wind, and listened to the latter's account of what had followed his chance appearance upon the scene. "Bullet wound," murmured the second man, who was evidently a city detective, and who was inspecting the body, and its surroundings. Clothing must, windows locked, didn't find any gun, guess it's murder, sure enough. Were the outside doors locked when Mrs. Reynolds ran out? Anybody else in the house? "I don't know," Johnson said to Nguyen, "you'll have to ask Mrs. Reynolds." Johnson turned to Dr. Morris, who, after administering a sedative to Mrs. Reynolds, had left her in the care of the maid. "What do you make of it, Dr?" asked Johnson. The bullet, as it seems to be, has entered a point a little higher than the heart, and judging by the distance to which the blood has spurted, has severed an artery, probably the aorta. The autopsy will determine the matter. Most of you had better notify the coroner at once. "You do that, Dan," requested Johnson, turning to the policeman. Then he again bent over the body. "Hmmm," came from him in a thoughtful surprise, as he picked up a half-smoked, broken cigar, which had been lying under the edge of the dead man's coat. "Portina," he said, reading the name of the brand upon the cigar band, "I just wonder," stepping over to a rather large humidor at one side of the room, and opening it, he examined the contents. "Three different brands, but no Portinas," he informed win. "I must question Mrs. Reynolds. She is very nervous," objected Dr. Morris. "Is it necessary to talk to her now?" "Just two questions," said Johnson, as he went across the hall to the room, which he had seen Mrs. Reynolds and her. "Mrs. Reynolds, did you find the front door locked as you ran out of the house this evening?" he asked. "Yes! No! I just turned the knob," she replied. "Who was with your husband this evening, Mrs. Reynolds?" was the next question. A look of horror swept over her face. "He didn't do it. Charles wouldn't hurt anyone," she protested. "Charles who?" continued the questioner. "Charles Harding, but I know he didn't do it. I know he didn't," brokenly asserted Mrs. Reynolds. "That remains to be seen. I won't trouble you any more though," he said, and returned to the room where the body lay. The doctor had gone. Johnson, having completed his inspection, asked the policeman to await the coroner, and went to headquarters. Wind remained and made an examination on his own account. He inspected all parts of the room, peering into places which seemed very unpromising. From under the couch he picked up a small brass pump-bob attached to a string, regarded it thoughtfully, and put it into his pocket. Quietly he left the house. The next morning, as he was about to leave his apartments, wind received a call from his friend Charles Harding. "Have you seen the morning papers?" the latter asked excitedly. "No. Why?" was a reply. "Mr. Reynolds has been murdered, and I was with him last night," exclaimed Harding. "I'm sure I was followed on my way over here. What shall I do?" "What kind of cigar do you smoke, Charlie?" "Partina," said the other staring, "but why do you—" "Never mind. You go about your business, just as if you were not being followed. You may be arrested, but don't let that worry you too much. I'm going to get busy right away, if that's any comfort to you." Harding shook him by the hand. "Thanks, old fellow. I'm glad I've got you to count on." "I'll have to go now," wind said. "The sooner I find out about this, if I can, the better it will be for your peace of mind." While Harding was on his way to his office, nervously aware that he was still being shadowed, when was directing his steps up Walnut Street, absorbed in thought, and unconscious of passing acquaintances. At the home of Mrs. Reynolds, he rang the bell. "Tell Mrs. Reynolds," he said to the maid as he presented his card, "that it is absolutely necessary for me to see her for a few moments." As Mrs. Reynolds entered, paled and grief-stricken, wind arose. "I am very sorry to disturb you, just at this time, Mrs. Reynolds, but in the interest of our common friend, Charles Harding, it is necessary for me to learn everything I can from you, which may have a bearing upon your husband's death." "Charles couldn't have done such a thing, Mr. Wind. He's incapable of it." "I agree with you," said Wind, "but if I am to clear him before others, I must learn all the facts possible, even those which look damaging. Had you been asleep just before you ran out of the house last night?" "Yes, I had gone to bed with a headache, after rehearsing some music with Charles, and he had gone to John's room." "You heard no quarrelling or noise of a struggle?" "No, except for the noise that awakened me. The shot, I suppose," she added, with a shudder. "Was there any reason why your husband and Charlie Harding should have quarreled?" Mrs. Reynolds hesitated, then spoke quickly. "There was no reason, Mr. Wind, unless you should call Charles' unreasonable jealousy a reason. Charles and I had to practice together a good deal lately, and John didn't like it. Who was in the house last evening, beside you and Mr. Reynolds and Charlie? Only the maid, the other servant, the man, doesn't sleep in the house. Had Mr. Reynolds any enemies that you know of? Wasn't he any trouble with anyone? Not that I—why, yes, he had. He had discharged our former servant for drunkenness. The man became very angry and abusive when he left. What was his name? Carl Hansen. Do you know his address? No, Mr. Reynolds secured him through an employment agency. "Is anything missing—money, jewelry? I don't think so." Did you find the front door locked when you started out for help last evening? Not with a key or with the bolt. I turned only the knob to open the door. The inside knob works with a spring lock, so the door must have been locked. And the outside knob? It takes a key to open the door from the outside. Then, how could anyone have gained entrance last night, Mrs. Reynolds? The other outside doors and the windows downstairs were all locked. Mrs. Reynolds became even more pale. Did Carl Hansen have a key to the house? Win asked. He did have, said Mrs. Reynolds, breathing more easily. But returned it. Wouldn't he have had a duplicate made, though? Yes. Now, Mrs. Reynolds, I won't keep you any longer, but I will ask permission to inspect your husband's room again, and perhaps some other parts of the house. Mrs. Reynolds, having acquiesced, win first verified her statements as to the locks on the front door, and then revisited her husband's room. It was nearly noon before he left the house, walking briskly, and with no trace of the absorbed manner which he had brought with him. Late in the afternoon he learned that the autopsy performed on Mr. Reynolds confirmed the opinion of Dr. Morris, and that the bullet had been found. One of thirty-two caliber. He was also informed that his presence as a witness would be required at the coroner's investigation the next morning. At this investigation, the testimony brought out the fact that Mr. Reynolds had died from the effects of a bullet wound, that the condition of his clothes indicated a struggle with someone, that no weapon had been found, that the windows of Mr. Reynolds' room were found to be locked when examined by the officers, that all the windows downstairs and the outside doors except the front door opened by Mrs. Reynolds were found to be locked when examined immediately after the tragedy, that this front door was also locked against any outsider just before it was opened by Mrs. Reynolds, that the stub of a cigar of the kind smoked by Mr. Harding had been under Mr. Reynolds' body, that the band of the cigar was not to be found in Mr. Reynolds' stock of cigars, and in fact seemed not to be on sale at any of the cigar stores in the city, that Mr. Harding was the last person known to have been with Mr. Reynolds before the latter's death, and that Mr. Reynolds had objected to the frequency of Mr. Harding's calls upon Mrs. Reynolds, and had entertained unfriendly feelings toward Mr. Harding on this account. To Harding, who, with pale face, sat listening intently, the presentation of these facts, had been anything but reassuring. His only comfort had been the expression of assurance upon the face of wind, who now addressed the coroner. "I should like to introduce further evidence." "Proceed," said the deputy. After the officers who had been sent to the Reynolds' house, had completed their examination, and said when, "I made a further inspection of the room where the body was found. Under the couch I found this," he continued, holding up the object, "it is, as you see, a small plumb-bob, such as is used by masons and carpenters. What, in particular, aroused my interest, however, was the fact that the stout cord attached to the bob, had a short piece of thread tied to it, at the loose end; and the fact that the plumb-bob was found under the davenport, on the floor which, the maid informed me, had been swept on the day that Mr. Reynolds met his death. The maid further informed me that she was positive that the plumb-bob was not on the floor at the time when the floor was swept, and that she had never seen it before. So I was unable to see any connection between this plumb-bob and the death of Mr. Reynolds. I had the feeling that there was a connection, and returned to the Reynolds' house the next morning, with the hope of being able to find it. From what, I asked myself, had the plumb-bob been suspended? Why had it been fastened as, apparently, it had been? By a thread tied to the cord, instead of being fastened directly by the cord itself. And why was it thrown, or left, on the floor of the room, used by a man as orderly as Mr. Reynolds was known to be? These questions I succeeded in answering. I found a short piece of thread tied to the lower end of the vertical tube of the electric light chandelier, which is in the center of Mr. Reynolds' room. I also found that the plumb-bob, if it had been attached at this point, would have cleared the floor by about a foot. Just over the chandelier, in the attic of this room, there was a short section of flooring which apparently had been removed and replaced, sometime after the flooring had been laid. This I removed, and under it I saw the end of a rifle, which had been thrust down into the tube of the chandelier below. Harding sank back in his chair and relaxed with a sigh of relief, but the coroner and the other's present continued in their positions of rigid attention. The stock of the rifle continued when had been cut off in order to make concealment under the floor possible. The trigger was connected to an electromagnetic device, also concealed under the floor. In the floor of Mr. Reynolds' room was a push-button, supposed to be no longer in use. But that it was connected with the electromagnet above, I proved when, by pressing this push-button, I was able to release the previously raised gun hammer. Gentlemen, in that rifle I found this, said when, impressively, as he held up another small object. This is the empty shell of a thirty-two-caliber cartridge. Your imagination can tell you the rest. Shortly after Charles Harding had left the house, Mr. Reynolds attached the plumb bob to the chandelier, and lay upon the floor, so that his heart would be just under the plumb bob, and therefore directly in the line of fire. He pulled the cord, breaking the thread close to the chandelier, of course, concealing the bob and cord by throwing them under the couch, and, but with the slightest change in his position on the floor, press the button with an outstretched arm. That any living man is responsible for his death I cannot believe, nor can you, I think, in the face of these facts. It may be more charitable for us to believe that Mr. Reynolds, mentally unbalanced by the worry over his impending financial difficulties known to a few of his friends, sought nothing but relief in death, while trying, at the same time, to avoid the stigma of suicide. But it is difficult not to entertain the idea that Mr. Reynolds, actuated by jealousy, purposely removed Charles Harding's cigar stub from the ashtray to the floor, purposely disarranged his own clothing, and purposely chose that time for pressing the push button, when the bullet which was discharged into his own body should serve as a Parthion shot at the man who had been in his room a few minutes before. Winds' evidence led to an immediate verdict of suicide, and everyone hastened to shake Harding's hand. Although Harding held no one's hand in as long a grasp as he held winds, his eyes rested upon the black-gown figure of Mrs. Reynolds, whose face expressed relief as well as grief. Was not something else fleetingly expressed there, too? Gladness? Joy? Harding started toward her as she was about to leave the room, then checked himself abruptly. Later wait, he thought, and turned away to win. The End of The Parthion Shot by Robert Peel Noble When it comes to renting out your property, the uncertainty of finding reliable tenants can feel like a real guessing game, responsible renter or perpetual party animal. Enter renters' warehouse, the pros who turn the uncertainty of finding great tenants into peace of mind. Renter's warehouse offers top-notch leasing and tenant placement services, ensuring you get trustworthy renters without the hassles and headaches. With no upfront fees, Renter's warehouse works for you, not the other way around. From marketing and showing your property, to screening tenants and preparing the lease, their team of experts handles it all so you can sit back and watch the rent roll in. Renter's warehouse even warranties their tenants for up to 18 months, at no extra cost. And if you need ongoing management, they've got you covered too, all for a flat monthly fee. Visit renterswearhouse.com to request a free rental price analysis that's renterswearhouse.com or call 303-974-9444 to speak to a rent estate advisor today. It's time for today's Lucky Land Horoscope with Victoria Cash. Life's gotten mundane, so shake up the daily routine and be adventurous with a trip to Lucky Land. To know what they say, your chance to win starts with a spin, so go to LuckyLandslots.com to play over a hundred social casino style games for free for your chance to redeem some serious prizes. Get Lucky Today at LuckyLandslots.com.