Come to Dust

by Emma Lathen

  “And we talked, of say, 35 minutes,” he said.

  “Fine,” John said. “I think we can telescope that a little. Now Pete, you and I leave. This is the point where Sprague stops you Lucy.” They had moved to the doorway.

  “May I speak to you a minute, Sir?” asked Pete, so like Sprague that he shocked Thatcher.

  The model of the busy man of affairs, Lucy shot a cuff and peered at a heavy watch. “Well, I’m in a hurry.”

  “It won’t take a long time, Mr. Patterson,” Sprague-Fursano wheedled. “You see, I’ve been wondering if Dartmouth is really the right place for me…”

  “I guess we’d better talk, fella,” Lucy said idiotically. Fursano emitted an irrepressible guffaw.

  “That’s too athletic,” said John critically. “Patterson was a more… er…intellectual type.”

  No one whit abashed Lucy rewrote the speech. “I see. Yes, for a matter as important as that, Sprague, I think I can spare you some time. Nothing is more important…”

  With John standing in the corner, Sprague and Patterson reentered the waiting room and resettled themselves, carrying on a lunatic discussion of higher education that could have taught Todd a lot.

  “Then you drop the papers, Elliot,” John said. With a grin, Fursano dived to simulate Sprague’s ingratiating deference. Lucy was shoveling invisible folders back into an invisible briefcase with altogether unnecessary vigor when the door to the corridor was flung open.

  “What the…”

  Marsden froze in the doorway, dumbfounded by the tableau.

  “Just come inside and stand over there,” said Thatcher impatiently. “Come in.” The last was to Dunlop, who appeared on Marsden’s heel. “All right, Carter. Now you and Patterson get up and leave the office together” — Lucy and Pete got up. Lucy ostentatiously placing one folder on the table, then hoisting a briefcase which apparently weighed several hundred pounds—you go downstairs together, you go out as far as Fifth Avenue, then separate. No, no that’s enough.”

  His hero and heroine showed a willingness to push things to extremes.

  “What’s going on?” Marsden demanded furiously. “What are you doing? We have to talk to Fursano…”

  Abruptly Lucy ceased being Patterson and became Mrs. George Charles Lancer again. At her most dauntingly gracious, she said, “Why, Neil, aren’t you feeling well? You don’t sound like yourself, does he Mr. Dunlop?”

  Dunlop simply muttered something indistinguishable and took a step backward. Marsden turned a bright, almost fevered gaze from Lucy to Pete to John.

  “What’s the matter? I’ll tell you what’s the matter,” he declared bluntly. “This is too serious for playing games.”

  Thatcher cut in. “We are not playing games, Marsden. On the contrary.”

  Marsden bared his teeth. “Well, what are you doing?”

  Thatcher looked at him almost pityingly. “We are establishing something that I have suspected for some time. Patterson did not steal the Curtis file when he left. He did not take the $50,000 bond.”

  Dunlop gave an unguarded exclamation that drew Marsden’s hot glance. Lucy looked at the two newcomers, then at John. “Of course, of course.”

  Pete knit his brows.

  But Neil Marsden did not relax. “Too hell with a $50,000 bond and Dartmouth for that matter. They’re not important now and you know it. Sprague was murdered, Thatcher. Stabbed in the back with a knife. There’s a murderer loose. Who cares about the lousy money? We’ve got to track Patterson down. That’s the only thing that’s important now.”

  “Take it easy, Neil,” interceded Dunlop.

  Thatcher smiled at both of them. “No I’m afraid we can’t dismiss the bond. That was the beginnings, and the end, of this murder.”

  “Theories.” Marsden burst out. “That’s all you got, theories. We have to find Patterson. That’s what counts.”

  John’s voice hardened. “I agree that we need to verify this theory. And I agree that Patterson can do it. But don’t worry about finding Patterson. We know where he is.”

  He had silenced Marsden and Dunlop. They stared at him.

  “We know where Elliot Patterson is?” Lucy asked faintly.

  With affection he smiled at her. “Yes, my dear, we do.”

  There was a rumble of noise in the doorway as a latecomer arrived in time to catch these words.

  “You mean to say you’ve finally tracked Patterson down?” Ralph was struggling with his words in his excitement. “How’d you…no, that doesn’t matter. Listen what are we waiting for? Tell me where he is—I’ll go get him and I’ll help him keep out of sight for a day or two. We may be able to save something yet…”

  Thatcher was no longer smiling.

  “I think not, Mr. Armitage,” he said with cold emphasis. “You’ve done enough already. Be content with it. Stealing $50,000 and killing Carter Sprague.” That’s enough for any one man. Leave Elliot Patterson alone.”

  Chapter 24

  Final Results will be Posted

  The State of New Hampshire had reached the same conclusion as John Putnam Thatcher. Ralph Armitage had indeed murdered Carter Sprague. Thereafter a warrant for his arrest followed, a phalanx of trial lawyers emplaned for Northern New England, trial was set for January, and the remaining participants in the Dartmouth drams were free to pick up the fragments of their shattered lives. This activity preoccupied them until late December, when a rain of subpoenas pattered down from the White Mountains and formed the principal topic of conversation during the intermission of the annual Town Hall Christmas concert by the Dartmouth Glee Club, in cooperation with the Mount Holyoke Choir.

  The Lancers and John Thatcher had joined forces with Neil Marsden and the Dunlops in a corner of the lobby. Swedish and German carols were behind them; English madrigals were yet to come.

  “Ralph Armitage, of all people,” Lou Dunlop marveled. She was holding her husband’s arm affectionately. “I still don’t see why he did it. After all, it all started with Patterson taking that bond didn’t it?”

  “Patterson didn’t take the bond,” John corrected gently. “That was the key to the whole situation. Remember, nobody at the Monday Committee meeting ever saw it. Patterson simply announced that he had succeeded in obtaining a bond from Mrs. Curtis. Then the Curtis file was returned to the office, along with other folders, by your husband. The next thing we know is that the folder was missing Thursday afternoon when Whelby Kitchener got access to the file cabinet under police supervision.”

  “And that,” Lucy exclaimed excitedly, “is where the famous reconstruction comes in.” In the tension of murder, suspicion, and arrest, Marsden had achieved a more relaxed view of the Lancers.

  “You scared me to death when I walked in on you,” he confessed. “I was afraid everybody would concentrate on the bond and forget about Sprague’s murder. And it was murder I wanted to clear up.”

  John surveyed the curator mildly. “I suspect that you understood the basis of the mystery all along.”

  “I did think that Ralph stole the bond,” Marsden admitted, “but it seemed irrelevant to the murder. I was sure that hinged on Patterson’s disappearance.

  “Yu thought Ralph had stolen the bond and didn’t say anything?” George demanded with a disapproval that would have wilted Marsden two months earlier. “How did you know?”

  Marsden refused to be apologetic. “Because it wasn’t the sort of thing Elliot would do. But I could see Ralph doing it very easily.”

  George dismissed this as frivolity. “Extraordinary. You didn’t have any evidence at all.”

  “What does evidence have to do with what I knew about those two? But I was wrong just the same. I didn’t connect Ralph with murder.”

  “In a way you were right,” Thatcher reflected. “Ralph was not born to be a criminal. He was an accidental one if ever there was one.”

  “The bond,” George reminded them. “This reconstruction that Lucy’s so proud of. What did it prove?”

&nb
sp; It proved that Elliot didn’t steal the bond,” said Lucy impatiently.

  “Well not quite,” John modified. “It proved that he didn’t take the Curtis folder. After Dunlop returned it to the office, Patterson was continually in the presence of entire Committee until they left. Then we have Sprague’s word for it that Patterson did not leave the waiting room for the office.”

  George could be just as impatient as Lucy. “So? You yourself admitted that no one saw the bond. We don’t even know whether Patterson brought it to the meeting.”

  “Then he removed the Curtis file,” John said.

  “Is that so important?” George replied.

  “It’s why Sprague was killed. Think for a minute. We know that Patterson was tidying up his affairs in preparation for a voluntary departure. He was being scrupulously honest in his professional and personal life, right down to reducing his Target accounts to apple pie order. What then would you expect him to do about the Curtis bond? When he doesn’t have time to take it to Kitchener, the man who should have it?”

  “Oh,” Lucy leaped in. “He would give it to some Committee member and ask him to deliver it to Kitchener.”

  John and George spoke as one, “Exactly.”

  “But if the meeting ended with the bond in somebody else’s pocket,” George asked, “then why was the file folder stolen?”

  “The explanation for that lies in what we have been told about Patterson. We’ve heard about his desk at home with everything neatly docketed, we’ve heard about his attention to detail, we’ve heard Kitchener praising his meticulous business methods. And what do you think that Patterson got in exchange for the bond?”

  A great light broke on George. “Good heavens. How obvious. He got a receipt from Ralph.”

  John grinned boyishly, “Right George.”

  Dunlop slapped his knee. “My God. Elliot and Ralph were alone before Neil and I showed up at the Committee Meeting.”

  “As Sprague told us, when he complained about being forced to wait. They were alone for some time before the two of you,” John nodded at Marsden and Dunlop, “arrived.” In that 10 minutes, Patterson said h was going out of town and asked Ralph to deliver the bond to Kitchener. Ralph agreed. A receipt was given of course. Then, when you were all shuffling folders around, Patterson announced his coup and casually slipped the receipt into the file.”

  “He never said that Ralph had the bond,” Dunlop interjected.

  “Why should he? He was announcing a great stroke, accepting congratulations. Nobody was interested in the physical location of the bond.”

  “And Ralph decided to steal it then and there?” Marsden was incredulous. “But it wouldn’t be safe.”

  John shook his head decidedly. “By no means. That’s what I meant by calling Ralph an accidental criminal. When the meeting ended, Patterson carried out his disappearance, deplorable but certainly not illegal. Ralph was left with a $50,000 bond he had every intention of delivering to Kitchener. But look what happened. The next day Ralph is told Patterson has disappeared.”

  “I told him,” Marsden offered. “In fact, I called him from the reception for the Gary Friends during our gouache showing.”

  “And how did he take the news?”

  “At first he pooh-poohed by anxiety,” Neil answered. “Said Elliot was just out of town. Then, when I told him Sally wasn’t the only one who was worried, that Target had the wind up too, then he began to take it seriously. In fact, he leaped to the conclusion that Elliot was embezzling.”

  John almost purred with satisfaction. “There. You see?

  “I don’t know about seeing,” Marsden said stiffly. “It was exactly the sort of thing Ralph would think of. But, when he told me that Gabe was calling in the auditors, I had to admit that he might be right.”

  “There is the whole situation in a nutshell,” John announced. His audience looked at him blankly.

  “Ralph was being perfectly logical. Six weeks before disappearing, Patterson converted all his life insurance with his insurance broker, Ralph. On Monday he tells him he’s going out of town. By Tuesday night Ralph has learned from you that his departure was a complete shock to his family and to Target. Ralph leaps to the conclusion that Patterson has stolen millions from Target — a conclusion which receives support when he learns that the auditors are on the job. At that point he remembers that he has a bearer bond for $50,000 in his pocket and nobody except Patterson knows he has it.”

  “I can see the temptation,” Dunlop said. “It looked perfectly safe.”

  “I’ll bet it was more than safety,” Marsden said shrewdly. “Ralph was always a little contemptuous of Elliot. Thought he was too soft and too goody goody. He would have been furious to think Elliot getting away with something like that, furious, envious, and admiring, all at the same time.”

  John was inclined to agree. “I think you are right. But don’t underestimate the safety factor. When Ralph removed the receipt, and the whole Curtis file, on Wednesday morning, he thought he was committing the perfect reversible crime.”

  Lucy’s forehead puckered into a frown. “Reversible? I don’t see that, John.”

  “He thought the Patterson would clarify itself before he was committed. Either Patterson was an embezzler in full flight to Brazil, in which case he had stolen so much money that the bond would fade into insignificance, or he was innocently absent, in which case he would return almost immediately under his own steam. If that happened, Ralph would quietly slip the folder back and deliver the bond to Kitchener.”

  Lucy nodded her comprehension. “He would be safe either way. How very smart.”

  “It would have been if it had worked,” said John dryly. “What actually happened was that accident in Putnam County. The last thing in the world Ralph wanted was to have the police baying after Patterson for some reason other than theft.” He turned to George. “You remember how things went, don’t you, George? We came back from Rye and the word spread that Patterson was a hit and run driver. The next day you found Ralph white and shaken because the police had put a guard on the Dartmouth Committee files. I’d be willing to bet that Ralph had raced around the Club, intending to restore the Curtis folder. Bear in mind that an embezzling Patterson probably wouldn’t have been caught. He would have been out of the country before the alarm went off. But a Patterson without money, in panic stricken flight from a car accident, was bound to be picked up and bound to tell the truth about the bond. So Ralph decides to reverse and gets the shock of his life when he discovers he can’t. While he’s still in shock, Kitchener demands publicly to know if anyone knows about the bond, and Ralph lets the opportunity go down the drain. Before he knows it, his crime is no longer reversible. At first he must have been in any agony of suspense. The Target audit swept away his last hope that Patterson was an embezzler, and he expected the police to find Patterson any minute. But days passed and nothing happened. Ralph began to breathe more easily. He hadn’t committed exactly the crime he intended, but he had gotten away with it and that was all that mattered. His confidence must have been almost restored by the time of the reunion weekend. Then when he was least prepared for it Sprague suddenly emerged as a full-blown threat.”

  “But Carter could have proved that Patterson didn’t take the folder along,” George added. “He had already been questioned. Why was he suddenly a threat?”

  Marsden turned to Dunlop in high satisfaction. “That’s what I thought all along. One of the boys had noticed something and didn’t realize its importance.”

  “More or less,” John agreed. “We were there when the penny finally dropped for Sprague. If we had recognized the significance of what he said that night in the Deke House, we could have prevented his murder.”

  “The Deke House?” Lucy interjected. “But that poor boy didn’t know what he was saying. He was just casting around for anything that would make him the center of attention.”

  John nodded. “And he cast around to some purpose. You may not know this, Lucy, but
the police tried to find out from Sprague exactly which folders Patterson had in the waiting room. This was after they knew he had left the Baxter file by mistake for the folder with the SAT scores. The admission folders were buff with red labels. The police asked Sprague if he remembered anything about white folders versus buff folders and he said he didn’t. Unfortunately they asked the wrong question.”

  Lucy took the point immediately. “Oh they shouldn’t have concentrated on the color of the folders. That difference would be much less noticeable than the color of the labels.” Suddenly she broke off with a gasp. “Red labels. That’s what Carter was talking about. How stupid we were.”

  George was a little slower on the uptake. “What are you talking about? Why were we stupid? I don’t see…red labels. Ah, of course, now I see it.”

  Marsden intervened firmly. “I wasn’t there at the Deke House, you know.” A sudden grin made him seem years younger. “I was otherwise occupied. But Pete said that they all spent the afternoon discussing the business of the folders.”

  “Yes,” John continued. “Sprague’s attention had been drawn to the entire question of folders and labels. Then in the Deke House somebody on the way to the bar began to recite orders. In that list was one item consisting of two Red Labels.”

  “What’s a Red Label,” Lou asked. Blushing prettily.

  “A brand of Scotch,” John explained gently.

  Lou blushed even harder as John went on. “Sprague, now thinking in terms of labels rather than folders, immediately said that was wrong. The man, thinking that Carter wanted to add his order, changed it to three Red Labels. Then Sprague right under Ralph’s nose said loudly and clearly that there was only one Red Label. He was very drunk at the time. Ralph saw the threat immediately. Patterson had the Baxter file, and that was the only red label file that he had. By the next morning Sprague, who was a very sharp boy, would have figured out that Patterson had not left the Club with the Curtis folder. The minute the police ceased to be obsessed with Patterson guilt, suspicion would focus on the other members of the Committee. Ralph had been to the office to remove the Curtis file. He had made an abortive attempt to return it. He couldn’t afford to have questions asked. He was very busy thinking when he left the Deke House hard on our heels. Then luck played right into his hands when you, Neil, collapsed at Franklin House.”