“Quantities. Take my precious brother-in-law. He sees himself as a country gentleman, a man of affairs — a ‘fine figure of a man,’ as we used to say. Actually he has the spine of a jellyfish. He’s never done a lick of real work in his life. He schemes and twists to find easy ways to get what he wants. He gets what he wants sometimes. There were easy ways back in the twenties, Inspector. His greatest fear is that his friends at the University Club will learn the truth about him. You must have seen all that for yourself.”
Bradley nodded. “It was something of a shock.”
Miss Devon’s eyes softened. “Pat’s the one person who’s more than skin-deep. She’s just exactly what she appears to be. Generous, honest, hardworking, loyal till it hurts. That young lummox in there isn’t half good enough for her.”
“What about him?”
“Not very complex, Inspector. He’s been confused. Now he imagines he knows what it’s all about. He’s going to be desperately on Pat’s side. If she fights you, Inspector, and I think she will as long as you persist in your charming belief that one of us is a strangler, he’ll be with her. Probably be quite a nuisance. More cake?”
“Thanks.” Bradley watched her cut another generous portion. “What about Pelham?” he asked.
“George? High-strung, neurotic, bitter — all this hiding a real sentimentality and kindliness underneath.”
“What turned him sour?”
Miss Devon carefully brushed crumbs from the surface of the table. “Some people are better able than others to take the bumps in life, Mr. Bradley.”
Bradley grinned at her. “So you’ve joined the obstructionists’ club, too,” he said.
“Obstructionists’ club?”
“Look, Miss Devon, policemen have a way of remembering nasty things longer than the average mortal. Captain Pelham has been in the news before. I recall it very well, although it has nothing to do with my department.”
“Oh, that!” said Celia Devon.
“Uh-huh.”
“It would be pretty cruel to reopen that old case again, inspector.”
“Investigating murders is not a kid-glove profession. As I recall it, Pelham’s wife walked out on him five years ago … disappeared … no one was ever able to find out where she went or why. Suppose you tell me about it from the point of view of an insider.”
Miss Devon shrugged. “Perhaps it may help to explain George’s attitude,” she said. “George was truly in love with his wife. She was beautiful, gay, a grand horsewoman. George went off on a business trip that spring. When he came back from that trip, Dorothy was gone.”
“Walked out?”
“I didn’t say that, Mr. Bradley. I said she was gone, disappeared, evaporated. She took no clothes, no money, left no message. Nobody has ever heard of her since.”
“That much I knew.”
“Of course George went to the police, and there was a lovely uproar in the papers. George offered rewards. The poor devil was almost out of his mind. In the end the police dropped the case. They never found a shred of evidence.”
“And that was that?”
“Not at all. George turned to private detectives. He spent every cent he had, and then Guy Severied began to foot the bills. Finally even the private detectives were ashamed to accept any more fees. The case of Dorothy Pelham was closed.”
“Tough on Pelham.”
“It was. He went to pieces — drink, nerves. He couldn’t get on his feet; his business was gone. If it hadn’t been for Guy, he’d probably have blown his brains out. They’d gone to college together, been in the Squadron at the same time. Theirs is about as close and loyal a friendship as you’ll find in this cynical age.”
“That was five years ago,” said Bradley, groping for his pipe. “You said it might explain an attitude?”
“Because for the last few days I’ve noticed George had the jitters again. Tonight I realized they were due to Gloria’s disappearance. They kept it from me and Douglas, but George knew. Don’t you see what it must have done to him, Inspector? It was so like Dorothy’s vanishing act. Gloria took no clothes, no money, and left no message. If George behaves queerly, Inspector, it’s because this has reopened a wound that never really healed.”
The line between Bradley’s eyebrows deepened. “It’s rather extraordinary, Miss Devon. Two vanishing ladies!” He struck a match, “I don’t believe in coincidence,” he added casually. “Do you?”
“I wondered if you would,” she said without looking up. A cloud of blue smoke floated toward the ceiling. “How did Pelham happen to go into this school with Miss Prayne?”
“That was Guy’s doing. When Douglas failed, Pat decided to start a school. Horses were something she knew. She went to Guy to see if he’d advance her the capital. He agreed — largely because, I think, he saw a chance for George. George is wonderful with horses. If he got interested, he might pull himself together.”
“And it worked “
“Like a charm. George’s been straight as a string for two years. No nerves or moods until now.”
“Any more to the story?”
“That’s all there is.”
Bradley sighed and slid off the table edge. He smiled at Miss Devon. “If you were in my place, how would you deal with these people?”
“I think your present technique is admirable.”
“My technique?” He sounded surprised
“Yes. Sort of cat-and-mouse, isn’t it? You apply pressure, then you relax and wait for them to do something. That’s what you were doing with Guy, wasn’t it? You expected him to make a bolt. That’s why you had a man watching him.”
“Mercy, I’ll have to use some other method with you,” he said.
Miss Devon’s eyes met his, evenly. “Am I a factor to be dealt with, Inspector?”
He countered. “You’re the shrewdest person I’ve seen tonight. You might be troublesome if things began to point toward you.”
“Thank you.”
“Plain statement of fact,” said Bradley. “Well, I’m going home, get a little rest, and do a lot of thinking. Thanks for the cake.”
“I’m glad you liked it.”
He started for the hall and then came back to her.
“Will you do me a favor, Miss Devon?”
She looked astonished. “If I can.”
“Lock your door when you go to bed tonight!”
“Inspector!”
“I mean it,” said Bradley. “I don’t trust that active brain of yours not to do considerable guessing. And guessing is going to be an unhealthy pastime around here!”
With that he left.
Chapter 10
“You’d better go to bed, Pat,” Miss Devon said.
Pat was still in the corner of the couch. Johnny had risen.
“I … I can’t sleep, Aunt Celia. It’s almost morning. We’ll get some breakfast soon. I want to talk.”
“Even if you can’t sleep you should rest. In a few hours this mess will really begin.”
“It’s better to talk to Johnny, Aunt Celia, than just to stew by myself.”
“I think,” Miss Devon said, “we would be wiser not to stew at all. That’s Mr. Bradley’s job.”
“Aunt Celia! Surely you don’t believe …”
“I don’t believe that Mr. Bradley is any sort of a fool, Pat. However, you must form your own opinions.” She turned and walked down the passage to her room. Johnny settled himself beside Pat. They heard Miss Devon’s door close and then a faint click.
Pat looked at Johnny, her eyes widening. “Johnny,” she whispered, “Aunt Celia locked her door!”
“So what?”
“Johnny, she’s never done that in her life! Ever since we were kids she’s left her door unlocked — sometimes open — so we could go to her or she’d hear us if we called.”
“Maybe she thinks I might go barging into the wrong room,” grinned Johnny. “Don’t be jumpy, darling.”
Pat held onto his hand. “She’s afraid,
Johnny. She agrees with Bradley. Oh, Johnny, it’s wrong. It has to be wrong! If I believed it … well, I wouldn’t want to go on living.”
“Hey, you can’t start figuring without me, angel. I’ve got a stake in your future, you know.”
“If we could only prove he was wrong,” Pat said.
Johnny shook his head. “Inside me, Pat, I’m like you. It’s ridiculous. No one had any reason to ... to kill Gloria. But … His voice dropped, doubtfully.
“But what?”
“Well, damn it, Pat, somebody did kill Gloria. He did keep her body concealed until tonight. He did think up a very clever way to get rid of it. He must have pulled some hocus-pocus with that letter. Why should Gloria leave a flock of blank paper with Linda? No one would open the letter if nothing happened to her!”
“And if someone did switch letters?”
“Well, then you come down to three facts you just can’t get around, Pat. The murderer has been at the Garden, at Linda’s office, and here. And that last one is the knockout punch, sweet. Almost anyone might fit the first two situations, but there’re damn few of us who could have gotten into Gloria’s room long enough to make that dummy letter.”
“But why, Johnny … why?”
Johnny shifted uncomfortably. “You didn’t see Guy tonight, or hear what he said.”
“Guy was drunk,” Pat said. “He wasn’t going to be ordered to bed. As soon as you left him, he went out again. Getting away from the man who was following him was probably luck. I’ll bet he’s at some bar now, really doing a job on himself.”
“I wasn’t thinking about his skipping.”
“What, then?”
“Pat, it’ll come out, so you might as well know. Linda and Bradley were there too. First, Guy knew about that letter, and he thought he knew what was in it. As soon as I told him Gloria was dead, he had to get to Linda. He must have been certain the first thing she’d do would be to turn it over to the police. He wanted to stop that.”
“But why shouldn’t he know what was in it?” Pat objected. “He and Gloria were engaged! Wouldn’t she tell him?”
“And wouldn’t he go pound the ears off whoever it was she was afraid of? Anyhow, baby, you haven’t heard it all. Guy said a lot. A hell of a lot! He told Bradley that when I brought him the news he was relieved. He said he didn’t love Gloria and that Gloria didn’t love him. He said she was marrying him because she liked yachts!”
“Johnny!”
“He said she had a nasty mind … that she was a bitch! He said their situation had got complicated and that it was easier to go through with it and figure out some kind of a life afterward!”
“Oh, Johnny, he couldn’t have!”
“He did. You see now why Bradley had him watched.”
“He was drunk!” Pat insisted, with a kind of desperation. “You and I know Guy. He wouldn’t kill anyone, Johnny. He’s one of the kindest, most generous … Look what he’s done for George and for me, for all of us. You mustn’t even think that he could have …”
“Baby, I can’t help thinking,” Johnny said. “It’s just the way I said. Inside everything revolts against the idea of its being Guy or any of us. But the facts … those damned facts!”
Pat leaned forward, her nose wrinkled in concentration. “Johnny, if we could prove that it was possible for an outsider to get at Gloria’s stationery, wouldn’t that punch Mr. Bradley’s case full of holes?”
“It wouldn’t do it any good.”
“Listen. Last weekend Guy took Gloria down to Delaware to some sort of a shooting lodge. Duck hunting.”
“Good God! Gloria in a duck blind!”
“Exactly!” said Pat.
“Come again, sweet.”
“Gloria wouldn’t get herself cold and messy for any ducks. But she went on that weekend all the same. Now what would she do while the others were out? She’d sleep late, maybe have breakfast in bed, and dawdle around till teatime. She might listen to the radio … or read … or write letters!”
“Sounds reasonable. But …”
“Johnny, Gloria never wrote letters on anything but her own private letter paper, fastened with those three purple seals. If she knew she was going to have time on her hands, wouldn’t she have taken her stationery with her?”
“Pat! By all that’s holy! Did she?”
“I don’t know. Maybe we can find someone to whom she wrote from there. But, Johnny, can Mr. Bradley prove she didn’t? And if he can’t, wouldn’t that show that other people could have stolen some paper? There were forty or fifty people at that lodge.”
“Of course they could,” Johnny said. “And of those forty or fifty people, friends of Guy’s, there must be several who were at the last night of the Horse Show.”
“And several who were customers of Linda’s.”
“Baby, you’re a magician. The letter paper is what nailed Bradley’s case down! If she had some at that lodge … boy!”
“We can find out from Guy in the morning who was there. Then we can eliminate those who weren’t at the Garden and who couldn’t have been at Linda’s. When Mr. Bradley sees our list …”
“Mr. Bradley is going to be in a hell of a jam.”
“You do believe it may be the answer, don’t you, Johnny? You do believe that it may be the thing Mr. Bradley missed. That he … Johnny!”
Her words had been ended by the sound of a smash on the floor behind them—glass or china. Johnny was on his feet, his fists clenched.
“What the hell!”
Douglas Prayne stood just inside the living-room doorway in the shadows. He was gazing down at a shattered vase.
“Father!”
“I’m sorry I startled you, Patricia,” he said. “I … I bumped into that table. I …”
“But, Father, you’re still dressed I thought you’d gone to bed.”
“Didn’t feel like sleep,” muttered Prayne. “I … my stomach. I thought perhaps some ginger ale …”
Johnny’s fists relaxed. But the kitchen was the other way down the hall.
“Guess I’ll forage in the icebox.” Prayne’s smile was wan. His footsteps were clearly audible now. Johnny and Pat listened, staring at each other. They heard the icebox door open and shut. Then Pat was suddenly clinging to Johnny.
“Don’t go away, Johnny!” she pleaded. “I’m scared. Don’t leave me!”
Chapter 11
“Sometimes I don’t understand you,” Mr. Julius said. “Act like a man in a trance.”
Bradley, draped in his blue dressing gown, broke two eggs into the frying pan on his electric grill. It was nine o’clock in the morning, and a bright winter sun shone through the windows of the kitchenette. Mr. Julius was perched precariously on a kitchen stool, wearing his overcoat, his knitted scarf, and the high-crowned brown derby. He was tapping the receiving end of his seldom-used ear trumpet in the palm of his hand.
“Eating cake with that serpent-tongued female.”
“It was an instructive half-hour,” said Bradley.
“You’re not gathering material for a biography!” snapped Mr. Julius. “You’re supposed to be investigating a murder.”
Bradley flipped the eggs expertly, poured coffee, removed two slices of toast from the electric toaster, and transferred the eggs to a plate.
“You know George Pelham’s story?” he asked as he brought his breakfast to the table.
“Of course.”
“What do you think of it?”
“Queer … and tragic. What else?”
“Maybe nothing,” said Bradley, buttering his toast.
“Now don’t adopt that smug know-it-all attitude! What do you think?”
“I think it’s odd,” said Bradley, “that two ladies, moving in the same circle, should disappear under almost exactly the same circumstances.”
“They never found Dorothy Pelham,” Mr. Julius pointed out.
“Perhaps they didn’t look in the right place. Sure you won’t have some coffee?”
�
��Positive! And don’t ask me again. You’re avoiding an issue. What are you going to do now?”
“Nose around,” said Bradley cheerfully.
“Great Scott,” fumed the old man. “Famous police system! You’ve done one constructive thing. Had Severied watched. What happened? He made your man look foolish.”
Bradley grinned. “Next time you lug bodies around so that the case will come under my jurisdiction, try to arrange to have the friends you want protected a little more willing to help.”
“I’m not protecting friends. Pat’s the only one I’m concerned about!”
“She’s got young Lochinvar.”
“What’s that?”
“Severied’s name for your impetuous young body snatcher.”
“Bosh! Young fool! You frighten the pants off the whole crew with a lot of drivel about a clutching hand that’s sure to snatch ’em out of their beds. Then you come home and go to sleep
“The mind must have rest and nourishment.”
“What about alibis?” Mr. Julius demanded.
“They seemed to be singularly lacking on the three occasions I was interested in. They were all at the Garden; they were all at the dress shop; they all had access to Gloria’s room.”
“Yes, yes, yes,” said Mr. Julius impatiently. “Makes a pretty case. Beautifully indefinite.”
“I wonder if you’ve realized a peculiar fact, Julius?”
“Outside the method of investigation … what?” asked Mr. Julius.
“Do you realize,” said Bradley, “that we can only come within a vague few hours of when the murder took place? Sometime between, say, two and ten a.m. Thursday. That we have no idea where the murder was committed? That complicates establishing alibis.”
“Hmmm,” said the old man.
“Suppose I ask one of our suspects where he was between those hours. He says ‘Home’ … and he can prove it. Maybe that’s an alibi and maybe it isn’t. Because for all I know that’s where the crime was done.”
Mr. Julius pondered. “Well,” he said, “why not force each other one of ’em to account for his time — each half-hour of his time—from Wednesday night, when Gloria left young Curtin at El Morocco, till one o’clock last night when the body was discovered? I know,” he added, “that would be hard, routine work. Boring for an intuitive genius like yourself. But it’s common sense.”
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