“I don’t understand you,” said Duff, flatly.
“I called the Vermilyeas, and they weren’t home. I called your office, Mr. Duff, and they said you’d left early. Then I called Mrs. Albany. She’s on her way out now.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Duff.
“Please, Mr. Duff!” she said, in dismay. “I think that perhaps we ought to get the police.”
“And why? Because my wife chooses to desert me?”
“She wouldn’t do that, Mr. Duff.”
“As a matter of fact, she told me she was going to.”
“But she wouldn’t take your child, Mr. Duff.”
She took my child with her before. Duff thought. And now she’s taken him again. And now my child is dead. My son is dead.
Chapter 20
It’s after midnight, Mr. Duff. Don’t you think the police should be notified?”
“No,” he said.
“Mr. Duff, I realize it’s a shock to you, but—would you rather leave it to me?”
“No,” he said, with an effort. “We’ll wait.”
He was waiting to feel this. He was waiting for something to stir his dreadful apathy, for his numb spirit to wake to pain. The shack was dark, he thought. Jay was asleep before the gas came on. No suffering.
Miss Castle struck a match, and he glanced up, to see her lighting another cigarette. She too was waiting, only she didn’t know. They’ll bring Jay back here, he thought. Any moment now. Everyone at Driftwood Beach knows him. He’s been going there since he was a baby.
He was a fine baby. I was very proud of him. He was my son. Dimly, and with astonishment, he remembered days at the beach with his son. They used to go in a sort of royal progress from the house, first the chauffeur, carrying a beach umbrella, a steamer rug, a folding canvas chair for the nurse, who did not care to sit on the sand. Then the nurse, carrying the baby, and then Mr. and Mrs. Duff, in bathing suits and terry robes.
He remembered how well and alive he had been then; two or three swims a day, sometimes one before breakfast, always a dip in the late afternoon. Youth… he thought. But he had still felt like that four, even three years ago. Youth did not vanish so quickly, did it?
Drinking? he thought. No! I used to drink in those days, whenever I felt like it. We always had cocktails before dinner, and I used to drink at the club. Plenty, too. And when there was any special occasion, I certainly could hold my own. Only never a drink in the morning. Never this…
A car was coming up the drive.
“That’s probably the police,” he said.
“But we didn’t notify the police, Mr. Duff,” said Miss Castle.
He rose as the doorbell rang.
“I’ll go,” he said.
There would be endless formalities to go through, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything, or feel anything, only a vague worry about what sort of face he ought to have when they told him about his son. As he stepped into the hall, he raised his eyebrows very high. What? What are you telling me…?
He opened the door, and it was Mrs. Albany, in a sealskin jacket and a small white flower hat.
“Any news yet?” she asked.
“Not yet,” he answered.
“I brought that bag of yours,” she said, setting it down on the floor. “I didn’t like to leave it in the hotel when I was away. Oh, Mary? Good-evening. You’d better take Mr. Duff’s bag up to his room.”
She went into the sitting-room where Miss Castle stood waiting; she held out her hand.
“Mrs. Albany,” said Miss Castle, “don’t you think we’d better notify the police?”
“Let’s talk it over first,” said Mrs. Albany. She sat down and began to peel off her gloves; she blew into them and rolled them into a ball. “You’re sure there isn’t a note or a telephone message that’s been overlooked?”
“I’m very sure, Mrs. Albany. I’ve asked the cook and Mary, and we all looked everywhere.”
“What about Nolan?”
“He’s gone.”
“Gone?” said Duff.
“Yes. He drove the car back here, and then he said good-bye. He was very much upset about poor old Mr. Paul. He’d had to go this morning to identify him.”
“What about old Mr. Paul?” asked Mrs. Albany.
“He was found this morning, you know. The police told Nolan he’d been caught under a pier, a few miles from Driftwood Beach.”
“Fell in?” said Mrs. Albany.
“I’m afraid not,” said Miss Castle. “Nolan said the police told him the poor old man had been hit on the head and was unconscious before he fell into the water. They think he may have been thrown off the pier.”
Duff sat motionless, leaning a little forward, his hands on his knees. The numbness had left him utterly; his stillness was a fearful animal wariness. That damn bag is back in the house, he thought. I’ve got to get rid of that—quick.
“Gangsters,” said Mrs. Albany. “Or possibly foreign agents, in his case. Well, the police will find out.”
She was done with old Mr. Paul now, a stranger whom she had never seen.
“Now, tell me, Miss Castle, about Reggie’s leaving the house,” she said.
There’s nothing now but the bag, thought Duff. That’s the only danger now. But, after all, there’s no reason to think the police are going to search the house. No reason on God’s earth why they should ever think of me in connection with—that case.
Unless Nolan told them something. But he doesn’t know anything. Nobody did, but Reggie. If I keep my head, don’t say anything, don’t do anything, don’t make any mistakes… This will blow over. The whole thing was nothing but a most unfortunate accident. I took every reasonable precaution to make sure the man was dead. I’m extremely sorry. Extremely.
“Jacob!” said Mrs. Albany. “You look worn out. D’you think you could get a little sleep?”
“No, thanks,” he said. Then he thought of the bag. “I might he down for a few minutes,” he said. “Until the police come.”
“I’ve just been saying to Miss Castle that I can’t see any point in sending for the police, Jacob. They always cause a certain amount of unpleasantness. If there’d been an accident, you’d certainly have been notified by this time. And if there hasn’t been an accident, it’s better to wait.”
“I don’t like to suggest such a dreadful thing…” said Miss Castle. “But—kidnaping…?”
“Two of them?” said Mrs. Albany. “I’ve never heard of that being done. But if they were kidnaped, there’d be a note, or a telephone call. Ransom, y’know.”
“But where could they be? Where could they have gone?”
“Reggie is careless sometimes,” said Mrs. Albany. “Young.”
“She wouldn’t be careless about letting people worry so,” said Miss Castle.
“No,” said Mrs. Albany. “No, I agree with you. But she might have sent a message by some unreliable person. Have you got in touch with her family, Jacob?”
“She hasn’t any family. Only a brother overseas.”
“She has a father in Alaska,” said Miss Castle. “She’s shown me letters from him.”
“We must think,” said Mrs. Albany. “Did she ever speak to you. Miss Castle, about any particular friends in New York or nearby?”
“She hasn’t been in New York very long, you know,” said Miss Castle. “I do remember her speaking of a Mrs. Williger, who has a lingerie shop in Brooklyn.”
“We’ll get in touch with Mrs. Williger, first thing tomorrow morning,” said Mrs. Albany. “And if she doesn’t know anything herself, she can tell us the names of other people Reggie knows. I feel sure the whole thing will turn out to have been a mistake of some sort.”
“I think I will lie down for a few moments,” said Duff, rising.
“That’s the best thing you can do, Jacob. Have you had any dinner? Eaten anything?”
“I—think so,” he said.
“I’ll make you a cup of cocoa,
Mr. Duff,” said Miss Castle.
“No, thanks,” he said.
They were very sympathetic. As soon as he had got rid of that bag, he would be able to rest here, in the house with these two kindly and understanding women. He smiled at them both, and moved toward the door, when the bell rang again.
Mrs. Albany moved with surprising quickness, past him, and out into the hall. It’s Jay, he thought. They’ve brought Jay back.
“Jacob,” said Mrs. Albany, returning, “it’s a policeman.”
“What does he want?”
“He says he wants to ask you some questions.”
“What about?”
“He didn’t tell me. Jacob, this is a great strain, and I’m very sorry for you. But you must face things, Jacob. Come, my dear boy, pull yourself together.”
“I think I’ll have a drink,” he said.
“Well…” said Mrs. Albany. “Perhaps, in the circumstances…”
He went into the dining-room and poured out a drink of gin; plenty. He drank some of it, and refilled the glass, and put in enough whiskey to give it the look of a very mild highball. He carried this back to the sitting-room.
“Jacob,” said Mrs. Albany, “this is Lieutenant Levy.”
Lieutenant Levy was a tall young man, with big hands and feet and big ears that stood out a little, and fine dark eyes, grave, even a little sad.
“I’m from the Horton County police, sir,” he said.
“Horton County?” Duff repeated.
“That includes Driftwood Beach, sir.”
“Oh, I see!” said Duff. “Sit down. Lieutenant. Will you have a drink?”
“No, thank you, sir. Not on duty. If there’s some other room…?”
“We’ll leave you,” said Mrs. Albany. “If it’s necessary.”
“I thought Mr. Duff would prefer to see me alone.”
“No,” said Duff. “Let them stay.”
He wanted them here; he needed them. Is this about old Paul? he thought. Or about Jay? If I only knew that… He swirled his drink round and round in the glass, and he wondered why it looked so oily. Fusel oil…? he thought. Very bad for you.
Lieutenant Levy sat down opposite him, in a somewhat hierarchal attitude, in a high-backed chair, his big feet planted side by side, his big hands flat on the arms of the chair. He looked, Duff thought, like a young Egyptian king, sitting in judgment. He looked sad. Maybe he was stupid.
“Mr. Duff,” he said, “I was given your name and address as that party who notified the Horton County police of an accident at Driftwood Beach tonight.”
“Yes,” said Duff, with an inward sigh of relief.
This was not about old Paul. These questions were going to be the ones for which he was prepared. He lit a cigarette. I know all the answers, he thought.
“After you notified us, Mr. Duff, you came directly back here?”
“Yes.”
“Will you describe this accident, as you saw it, Mr. Duff?”
“Yes. When I reached the shack—the house—it was dark. 1 turned my flashlight on the kitchen window, and I saw a man in there, lying on the floor. There was a very strong smell of gas escaping, so I broke the window with my flashlight, and went at once to report the matter to you.”
“You believed that this man was overcome by gas, Mr. Duff?”
“Naturally. Anyone would.”
“You made no attempt to rescue this man?”
“I told you I smashed the window.”
“You own that house, don’t you, sir?”
“I do.”
“But you didn’t attempt to enter it and turn off the gas?”
“I did not,” said Duff.
This was going exactly as he had pictured it. He was answering the questions quietly, and with dignity.
“When you reached the Driftwood Beach station, Mr. Duff, I understand that you went to a good deal of trouble and expense to rent a car for two hours.”
“I did.”
“I understand that you were advised to take a taxi. Will you explain why you didn’t care to take a taxi, Mr. Duff?”
Here it was. The big moment. It was unexpected good fortune that he should have Mrs. Albany and Miss Castle for audience.
“I preferred to be alone,” he said.
“Did you expect to find something wrong at your house, Mr. Duff?”
“I’m sorry,” said Duff. “I can’t answer that question.”
“You’re not obliged to answer it, sir, but I’d advise you to do so. For your own sake.”
Very civil, this fellow was; almost gentle.
“No,” said Duff, quietly, “It’s a personal matter.”
“Are you willing to make a statement and later to sign it, to the effect that when you reached your house, you noticed a strong smell of gas, that you saw a man lying on the kitchen floor, that you then broke the window and telephoned the police a report?”
“Yes,” said Duff.
“Do you wish to reconsider that, Mr. Duff?”
“I do not,” said Duff.
He noticed then that, if Lieutenant Levy’s dark eyes were sad, and even gentle, his mouth was like a steel trap.
“The man on the kitchen floor was dead, Mr. Duff,” he said.
Chapter 21
Duff took a sip of his drink.
“I had no means of knowing that,” he said, still quietly.
“You have keys to that house, Mr. Duff?”
“Naturally.”
“It didn’t occur to you to enter the house and turn off the gas?”
“I thought it was better not to disturb anything until the police came.”
“What was your reason for that, sir? Did you think a crime had been committed?”
“No. I thought this man, whoever he was, had tried to commit suicide.”
“Why did you think that, Mr. Duff?”
“Anybody would, seeing a body—a person lying on the floor of a room filled with gas.”
“Why did you go to the house, sir?”
“That’s a personal matter.”
“Why did you refuse to take a taxi, sir?”
“I told you before. I wanted to be alone.”
“Mr. Duff, I understand that you left the filling-station in the car you had rented at approximately five minutes to nine. Is that correct?”
“I dare say. About then.”
“The drive to your house from the filling-station takes approximately fifteen to twenty minutes?”
“About that.”
“Mr. Duff, I understand that you returned to the filling -station at approximately ten minutes after ten. Is that correct?”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t watching the time.”
“We have witnesses to that, Mr. Duff. Are you prepared to admit that you returned to the filling-station approximately an hour and twenty minutes after you left it?”
“It’s possible. I don’t know.”
“Can you account for the interval of at least fifty minutes not occupied by driving to and from your house?”
“I can. On the way there, I had an attack. Heart attack. I tried to take my medicine, but I broke the bottle. That’s how I cut my mouth. Then I blacked out.”
“Are you subject to these attacks, sir?”
“Recently, yes.”
“What is the name of the doctor who prescribed this medicine, sir?”
“Doctor Parrot,” said Duff.
He was surprised by his own readiness, his instant invention of this odd name, his lack of any alarm or dismay. When Aunt Lou learns the truth, later on, he thought, when she realizes that I went through this ordeal, knowing I’d lost my son, she may be a little less critical in the future.
Miss Castle, too. When this ordeal was over, when she knew what Reggie had done to him…
“What is Doctor Parrot’s address, Mr. Duff?”
“I couldn’t tell you offhand. Somewhere in New York. I’d have to look it up in my office.”
“Mr. Duff, what was your
reason for leaving the scene of this accident without waiting for the police?”
“Why should I have waited? I reported it.”
“Has the man been identified?” asked Mrs. Albany.
“Yes, ma’am. He’s a Captain Ferris.”
“Oh…!” cried Miss Castle. “Oh…!”
“Do you know him, ma’am?”
“He’s my half-brother. O… He’s dead?”
“I’m very sorry, madam. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have been so—abrupt.”
“He’s dead?” she said. “He killed himself?”
“I’m very sorry, madam. I’m afraid this will be a shock to you…”
“‘Will be?”
“He didn’t kill himself, madam.”
She looked like someone in a play, her eyes dilated, her hand against her heart.
“Then—what?”
Levy was watching her carefully.
“I’m very sorry, madam. He was strangled.”
She said ‘Oh!’ again; her hand went to her throat, her eyes were blank. Mrs. Albany rose and went to her side.
“Do you mean—murdered?” she asked, after a moment
“There’s no doubt about it, madam,” said Levy, grave and gentle.
There was a startling silence.
“Then what about the gas?” Duff asked.
“There was no gas turned on in the house, sir.”
“There was when I got there. I smelled it, very strongly.”
“We were there within eleven minutes of your report, sir, and there was no gas turned on then.”
“Then someone had turned it off.”
“There was no odor of gas whatever, Mr. Duff.”
“That’s because I broke the window. Let the air in.”
“The smell would still have been perceptible, sir.”
Confusion was beginning in Duff’s mind, like a little puff of fog in one corner. It must not spread. This was dangerous.
“I think I’ll have another drink,” he said, rising.
“No,” said Mrs. Albany. “Better not, Jacob.”
The innocent Mrs Duff Page 15
