Episode of the Wandering Knife

by Rinehart, Mary Roberts;

  Larry’s house on the other side of the drive was dark. For that matter everything was dark, and once under the trees I had to feel my way. I had decided on one of the hemlocks, as the branches grew close to the ground, and when I reached the place, I slipped the knife from under my coat and began digging a hole with it.

  I never finished it.

  There was a sudden flash of white light that almost blinded me, and immediately after a man’s voice spoke, from close beside me.

  “I’ll take that, sister,” it said.

  VI

  I was too shocked even to straighten. The light was gone, and I could see only his outline. Believe me, I was shaking.

  “What do you mean?” I managed to say.

  But he didn’t reply. He took a step toward me, and with that my spinal cord—not my brain, never my brain—took automatic control of my legs, and I was running. I can run, thanks to tennis and golf and miles of dancing. Also I had an advantage over him. I knew the grounds. Not that he didn’t make a darned good try. He pounded after me and almost got me, but for once I thanked heaven for Mother’s sunken garden. Either he didn’t know it was there, or he hadn’t expected it so soon. He fell into it with a crash, and I made the front door and locked it.

  I simply sat down on the cold floor inside and tried to get some air into my lungs. When I did I heard myself using language even I had not known I possessed. It was a trick, all of it Because I knew who the man was. It was Tony King. He had laid a trap that morning, and calmly waited for me to fall into it, waited for me with a camera and a flashbulb. He didn’t have the knife, but I was willing to bet that the picture showed me burrowing like a dog with a bone, and using the wretched thing to do it with.

  After a while I managed to get up the stairs. Mother’s room was dark, but she was not asleep. She stirred when I went in.

  “Everything all right?” she asked.

  I turned on the lights and walked over to her bathroom door.

  “I’ve just been chased by an expert,” I said. “Either by the police or by the man who killed Isabel.”

  “Oh, Judy!” she wailed. “Don’t tell me—”

  “Right the first time,” I said. “We’ve still got the damned thing and in an hour or so the police will know it too.”

  I dropped it back in the tank. Mother was looking ghastly, but her mind was all right.

  “Don’t put the handkerchief in there,” she said. “It will block the pipe. Didn’t you see whoever it was?”

  I didn’t answer. I had just remembered. I had taken the handkerchief off to dig the hole, meaning to use it later to wipe off my fingerprints. And I had left it there. I didn’t need to tell Mother. She saw it in my face.

  “Of all the idiotic things!” she said. “With my monogram on it, too. What on earth are we to do!”

  “One thing we’re not going to do,” I said shortly. “We’re not going back to get it. If the police find it there tell them I make it a habit to blow my nose under a hemlock in the middle of the night. Also that I never use a handkerchief twice, like Queen Victoria and the blankets. Also that I have a complex about digging holes. Also—”

  She stopped me with a gesture.

  “You’re hysterical,” she said, which was about the truth. “I know you’ve had a bad time, but no use making it worse. Go to bed and let me think this over.”

  I don’t think either of us slept that night. I was angry, as well as scared. I had a vague hope that the King man had killed himself when he fell, and after I had darkened the room I looked out. A late moon showed the garden clearly, but it was empty.

  I must have dozed toward morning. Not much, for Mother sent for me as soon as she had had her early tea. Sarah brought the message, looking glum as usual.

  “It’s about the inquest,” she said. “Mr. Lawrence says the police insist that you both go. He says as you found the body—”

  “Larry found it,” I said. “Get out and let me dress, Sarah. Mother can’t go, of course.”

  However, it seemed that she had to go. I found her up in a chair, looking fit to be tied. Sarah had followed me in, but she sent her out.

  “We’ve got to do it, Judy,” she said in a hollow voice. “I think Larry has lost his mind. And I’ve called that fool doctor. He says I’m all right. He’s told the police so too.”

  Well, there we were. The tank in the bathroom might as well have whistled and rung a bell, so conscious of it were we both. And to make things worse, while Mother was dressing Alma came in with the morning mail. I think she had overheard some of Mother’s protests, for she looked oddly at us both. Mother waved the mail away, but Alma didn’t go. She stood there, watching us.

  “I think I ought to tell you, Mrs. Shepard,” she said, “there was something queer going on outside the house last night.”

  “There has been plenty queer going on,” Mother said shortly. “Get my pearls, Sarah.”

  Alma didn’t move.

  “Two people were running,” she said. “I saw them distinctly. One of them fell into the sunken garden. And one came into the house. I think you ought to know.”

  I take my hat off to Mother. She never blinked an eye.

  “Don’t be a nuisance, Alma,” she said shortly. “If some of the servants choose to play cops and robbers in the middle of the night, it’s their business. It’s hard enough to get servants today.”

  Alma saw that she was beaten. She gave a small shrug and went out.

  The inquest was not too bad. Luckily it was a private one, held in a room in the City-County Building. Except for a few reporters in the hall outside there was no crowd. Mother went in on Larry’s arm, and as nobody notices me when she is around, I merely trailed behind like the tail of a kite. Don was there, as Larry’s lawyer, looking not quite his usual debonair self. The real thrill was gone, so far as I was concerned. After all, as somebody had said, I was a big girl now.

  Nevertheless, I watched him, and after a while I realized what was wrong. He was uneasy and I couldn’t imagine why. He wasn’t called, of course. In fact, I felt as things went on that the inquest was a pure formality. The police were not giving anything away.

  It went smoothly enough at first. Isabel’s body had been identified, part of the autopsy report was read—only a part as we were to learn later—and then poor Larry, looking sick, had to tell about finding her.

  “You did not touch the deceased?”

  “I bent over and spoke to her. I may have touched her. I didn’t move her, if that’s what you mean.”

  “Following that, what did you do?”

  “I ran back to my mother’s house.”

  “Did you at any time see the weapon which was used?”

  “I didn’t look for it. I never thought about it.”

  “Then when you went back to the other house, you did not carry the weapon with you?”

  Larry lifted his handsome head.

  “Certainly not. I never saw it.”

  I shot a look at Mother. Even in her black clothes that dyed hair of hers managed to look flamboyant, but she was gazing ahead of her, as if all this was merely inevitable but annoying. She was as calm as a May morning when Larry came back and they called her. Yes, she had gone at once to Larry’s house. She told how she had found Isabel, and that she had touched her and realized she had been dead for sometime. “No, there was no weapon by the body.”

  “Does that mean that you saw no weapon at all?”

  “There are what you call weapons all over that house,” said Mother. “How would I know which one killed her, if any of them did?”

  “Do you know that a hunting knife belonging to your son is missing?”

  “I believe his servants say so. It may have been gone for weeks. They’re a careless lot.”

  I couldn’t believe it when they let her go. There had been a few more questions, about the party, how the house and grounds were guarded, if Isabel had had any enemies, and if there had been to Mother’s knowledge any incident in her pa
st which might have led to her death. To this last Mother lifted her flaming head, much as Larry had done earlier.

  “I would like to remind you that my daughter-in-law was a Leland. I think that answers the question.”

  All in all she gave a magnificent performance. I didn’t do so well. I expected that awful picture of me to be shown. I was looking for Mother’s handkerchief to be waved at me in a sort of Chataugua salute, and all in all my knees almost gave way under me as I stood up. Here it comes, I thought, and went forward. For some reason however the coroner only asked me one or two questions. Had I been with Mother when we found the deceased? Had I seen a weapon of any sort?

  “I saw no weapon whatever,” I said truthfully.

  “Did you know your brother’s knife?”

  “I gave it to him, years ago.”

  “You didn’t remove it from his house?”

  “Positively no.”

  That was about all. There were one or two questions about how Isabel was lying, had we moved her at all, and so on. But even I realized by that time that they didn’t expect to learn anything from us that morning. Half a hundred policemen might be working on the case and probably were; but this was a polite farce. There was no mention of the chain found with the body, and Anna Griffin merely told of leaving the house to go up to Mother’s “to see the party.”

  “You left the kitchen door unlocked?”

  “Yes. The place was full of policemen. I thought she was safe.”

  She had found the door as she had left it, she said. Nothing had been disturbed. She had gone up to her room by a back staircase, and when Isabel’s bell did not ring she had gone to bed.

  But Mary, the parlormaid, was sure about Larry’s knife. It had been there the day before the murder. It had a reindeer handle, and she had looked at it to see if the moths had got at it.

  Rather to my surprise Patrick was called. I had not seen him. He was somewhere in the back of the room, and he came forward unwillingly. He testified to hearing Larry come back and to Alma’s rushing back for brandy for him. Then they came to the waiter who had been put out.

  “At what time was that?”

  “Dinner was to be at half-past eight, but we were still serving cocktails at ten minutes to nine. I realized his condition at that time. He was intoxicated and dropped a tray. He was out of the house before nine.

  “How was that done?”

  “One of the men and myself took him to the service entrance. There was a police guard there. He helped him for a few yards. Then I believe he let him go.”

  “Did you know this man?”

  “No, sir. He was an extra. We had employed a caterer, for extra tables, waiters, and so on. There was some trouble getting men, with things as they are. Mrs. Shepard’s secretary borrowed a few butlers from families she knew, and also from different employment agencies.”

  But nothing really developed. One of the guards had seen the man leave by the main gate. He had let him go. Their orders, he said, were only to watch the people and cars coming in. He was uncertain at what time the man had gone.

  “I wondered, because I didn’t think the dinner was over,” he said. “He was pretty tight. He was singing as he came down the drive. He hadn’t any hat on. I said: ‘What’s the matter? Lost your hat?’ He put his hand to his head and said by God he had. He seemed pretty cheerful.”

  But the light had been bad. Nobody could describe him except Patrick, who has needed glasses for years, and who had merely said he was tall and thin. I gathered that they were still checking on the men who had been at the house that night, but I was confident their interest was largely academic.

  I hadn’t expected Don to be called. But he was. The coroner held up the chain which had been under Isabel’s body, and asked him about it. Evidently he had already told about it, but he looked uneasy.

  “You recognize this chain, Mr. Scott?”

  “I do. I gave it to Mrs. Shepard some years ago.”

  “Have you seen it since?”

  “Not since—not since we broke our engagement.”

  “Have you any idea of the significance of this ornament on it?”

  “Not the remotest.”

  “Did you see Mrs. Shepard the night of her death?”

  “No. I have never been in her house, that night or any other.”

  “Have you any idea why it was found by her body?”

  “I can’t imagine. I had no idea she still had it.”

  I watched him. I hadn’t been in love with him for years without knowing him, and I thought he was telling the truth. But not all of it. Back somewhere in that ambitious shrewd mind of his were things he had no intention of telling. But it did something to me. Not that I suspected him of killing Isabel. But it made me watch him. I think I felt then that he would protect himself and his ambitions at any cost. Anyhow I felt a little cold.

  The verdict was what was expected, murder by person or persons unknown, and I helped Mother into her coat, picked her bag from the floor as usual, and followed her out into the hall. But that is as far as I got. A long arm reached out from the crowd of reporters and photographers in the hall and pushed me into a corner.

  “You and I are due for a talk, Judy Shepard,” said a voice. I looked up, and Tony King was grinning down at me.

  VII

  I stopped dead. The others had moved on. He was even taller than I had remembered, and he had a piece of white adhesive on his chin. I must have looked fairly shocked, for he reached out and caught me.

  “Look,” he said. “Can’t we talk somewhere? I’ve got a lot to say.”

  “I hoped you’d broken your neck,” I managed to gasp.

  “Now is that friendly? After keeping my mouth shut just now? Anyhow, if it’s any comfort to you, I broke a tooth.”

  He grinned again, and he had. Broken a tooth, I mean. It gave him a quizzical look, and I stopped shaking and pulled away.

  “What is this? Blackmail?” I asked.

  “What a nasty mind you have!” he said mockingly. “What’s a dentist bill between friends? Does it mean nothing to you that I damn near broke my jaw last night? It still hurts me to talk.”

  “You must like to suffer,” I said. “I suppose you gave that picture to the police.”

  “Not yet,” he said calmly. “Now listen, Miss Judy. You look like a nice kid, and you’re in a devil of a jam. How about a quiet bar somewhere and a little talk? Know the Bent Elbow?”

  He sounded friendly, and heaven knew he held all of us in the hollow of his big hand. I nodded, and we started off. Mother and Larry had gone when we reached the street, and nobody noticed us. He had a small shabby car, and I climbed into it. He was smiling again when he took the wheel.

  “I’ll bet you didn’t wear heels like that last night,” he said. “Boy, how you can run!”

  “Why on earth did you chase me?” I said sourly. “You had the picture, didn’t you? You knew I had the knife. You could go to the police any time.”

  “The answer to that is I haven’t. Not yet anyhow.”

  “Why not? You’re working for them, aren’t you?”

  “Not necessarily,” he said coolly. “I just happened to be around that night. I’m curious, that’s all. A lot of things don’t fit in the story. Maybe you are in it, maybe it’s the jolly little mother, maybe it’s big brother. Or maybe it’s somebody else. I don’t care much for the Leland crowd,” he added conversationally. “Come the revolution I’m for hanging Andy to the nearest pole.”

  Somehow I felt better after that. Once he reached down and patted my hand.

  “That camera of mine lies,” he said. “You’re a damned good-looking girl.”

  I loathe whisky, but I took some Scotch neat that morning, while he looked on approvingly. And then, in a corner booth with no one near, I simply told him the whole story. I even went back to the party, and Larry’s hat being gone, and his finding the one which had been used to dip the fish out of the fountain. He stopped me there.

&nb
sp; “What kind of a party was this?” he said. “Is that your usual home life?”

  “Not really. It got out of hand.”

  “I should hope so,” he said grimly. “Although the idea of your living in that kind of an environment makes me sick. Those parties of yours …”

  “I like them,” I said defiantly. “Anyhow, if they amuse Mother …”

  “There’s nothing amusing about murder. All right. Don’t mind me. Go on.”

  I had to trust him. He knew too much already. So I told him about Larry’s going home and then running back, sick and collapsed, and Mother’s having her slippers off, and going in her stockings to find Isabel dead and the chain under her.

  “What about this chain? Was Scott telling the truth about it?”

  “I imagine so. None of us had ever seen it.”

  “Fond of Scott, aren’t you?” he said, eyeing me.

  “I used to be. Why?”

  “I saw you looking at him.”

  I suppose I colored, for he let it go. He listened carefully while I told him about Mother’s finding the knife under the stair carpet and knowing it was Larry’s, and I think he wanted to laugh when I told him about her putting it in her stocking, and then pretending to be faint so she could get home with it. But he was serious enough when I finished.

  “Where is it now?” he asked.

  “In the tank of the toilet in Mother’s bathroom.”

  He grunted and looked disgusted.

  “A house the size of yours, and that’s all you could think of!” he said. “They’ll find it, sure as shooting.”

  “Why? Wouldn’t they have to have a warrant to look for it?”

  “They won’t work that way, my girl. Not in this case. You’ll get a window washer in on Monday, and he’ll do more than wash windows. Or a nice young man will take one of the maids to the movies tonight. For ways that are dark and tricks that are vain …”

  “But they don’t know we have it,” I protested.

  He leaned over the table.

  “Don’t underestimate them,” he said. “They know your brother’s knife is missing. They need only to look at your mother to know that she never fainted in her life. They let her get away with those half truths of hers this morning because they’re not ready to jump.