He was looking at me, so I said, “None of them ever tried it with me.”
That struck Mrs. Larson as very funny and she began to giggle again. Big Swede chuckled appreciatively. “I know,” he said. “Yeh, I know.”
Mrs. Larson got over laughing at that. I said to Tim, “Delhart was too far gone. There was nothing you could have done for him.”
He looked as if he felt a little better. “I did just what she told me to do,” he said. “She made me promise not to say a word about anything. That’s why I confessed. They were getting so close to finding out things that I thought I could head them off. So much for chivalry.
“Anyway, to get back, we crossed to the other side of the pond. Then she climbed on the dam and threw herself in the water and swam ashore. She really did get a shock, I guess. When she surfaced after diving in, she ran into that hat with her face. It scared her. I think that Willow (if it was him) lost it fighting Delhart. Then Glory went to the house and I came here like we planned.”
He stopped and he was breathing hard and looked a little mad. “I got it all straight in jail,” he said. “I was mad at Hilton and at Delhart until then. But by the time they let me out I was over that and mad at Glory.”
He looked at his parents. “She fooled us. Every one of us. You know what she’s doing? You know why she wouldn’t let me tell anything? That sweet, innocent little bitch! The poor misguided girl we felt sorry for because people drove her to drink—and into other people’s beds too! She’s planning to blackmail Willow. And she’s doing it on Hilton too.”
Mrs. Larson looked at Tim and she began to cry. “My poor boy,” she sobbed. “That wicked, wicked girl!”
It was almost too much for me. But I knew something of the flamboyancy of the Irish temperament, so I wasn’t surprised. Both men got up to soothe her. The more they patted her the louder she cried. They were all having a fine time.
The phone rang, breaking it up. Tim went to it, listened, and called me. It was Jeff. “O’Hara,” he said. “Hurry up, O’Hara. Willow just tried to kill himself.”
XXVII
JEFF HUNG UP before I could get any information from him, so I made a quick explanation to the Larsons and dashed for Nellie. When I dropped Bosco at the shop in town, Jeff was waiting impatiently in Jud’s car. Jud watched me climb in. He sighed gustily.
“I’m going to start a U-drive,” he said.
“You can use Nellie,” I said magnanimously. I tossed my suitcase on the back seat and settled beside Jeff. He waved to Jud and we started off.
“Darling,” I said. “What’s new?”
Jeff cursed from somewhere deep in his throat. “Jud thinks you should get married and become a useful member of society. I pointed out that you would have to find someone to marry you first. I point it out again. Few men will care to spend their time waiting on Nellie.”
I settled comfortably, ignoring the slur on Nellie’s speed. After all, few girls are courted, even obliquely, on their way to cover a would-be suicide. Jeff was certainly no ordinary suitor.
The thought of Willow sobered me slightly. Not as much as it should have. I seemed to be acquiring the attitude of the police; the solution, no matter how arrived at, was the thing. And then, this attempt by Willow proved that Jeff and I were right. It would save Tiffin a lot of work, too.
“The office phoned me,” Jeff said suddenly. “That’s all I know. He’s still hanging on, though.”
“Jeff,” I said, “what if Willow dies without making a formal confession?”
“They’ll piece together enough evidence to call the case closed,” he explained.
“I wonder,” I mused, “if dear Glory got to him?”
“Maybe,” Jeff admitted. “I’ve thought of it. First my little rabbit out of the hat in the courtroom and then Glory trying the squeeze on him. It might be just enough to make him decide to write finis.”
“Your theories are beautiful,” I said. I gave him a quick digest of Tim’s story. Armed with that—if necessary—and the hat and knife which I had tossed into the car at the ranch—Tiffin couldn’t flop on his case now.
“You know,” I said, “Willow struck me as a coward, Jeff. But I think even cowards can commit murder. He must have had it in mind the first day I met him.” I repeated the story about how pale Titwillow had become when I said that Nellie died. A potentially guilty conscience.”
“A psychologist would have fun with that,” Jeff said. “But does a coward try to kill himself?”
“That’s a real bone of dispute,” I admitted. “Is suicide extreme cowardice or extreme bravery? But Willow was—is a pompous little man. His whole existence depended on reputation. With that gone, what else has he got?”
“What are you driving at, O’Hara?”
Jeff pushed his pipe and pouch at me. I automatically filled and lit the pipe for him. “Just trying to get the record straight for Tiffin—and for me,” I said.
Jeff took precious time to stop the car on the shoulder of the road. He turned toward me, “O’Hara, you don’t really think Willow tried to kill himself?”
“No,” I said. “No, damn it.”
Jeff started the car again. “I don’t either,” he said.
“I think he was ready to break down and tell his end of the deal,” I said. “I think your theory of his mishandling of funds was close to right.”
“Hilton?”
“We forget,” I said, “that Frew was close to Willow. But I favor Hilton.”
“You’ve got our notes,” Jeff said. “See how things fit in that case. Remember, there’s a time element in this. Hilton’s nobody’s fool.”
“We’ll have to find out how Willow tried to ‘kill himself,” I said. “And see just what chance Hilton had to get at him. Frew too, for that matter.”
“You can’t leave out Mrs. Willow, dear Daisy, nor our Glory,” Jeff reminded me. “Only Tim.”
“And we could be wrong,” I said sourly, “and Willow could have done it himself.”
Jeff started up again, driving as fast as Jud’s car would go to make up for lost time. We had relapsed into silence. I paid no attention to the scenery but tried to find weak spots in the set-up which we might attack with a revised theory. I was just settling from theory to concrete factors when we arrived.
The Willow flat was dully lighted. The street below was jammed with police and press cars and the more morbidly curious citizens. Jeff and I had to walk half a block after finding a place to park. I carried the hat wrapped around the ugly, vicious knife.
Tiffin was there even though he was outside his jurisdiction. So was Jocko, I could see his car. The reporters weren’t inside but jamming up the porch and the stairs leading up to the flat. Tiffin was established at the top of the stairs, holding them back.
“Make way,” Jeff yelled. “Make way for the special police.”
Reporters hooted at him and while he was busy arguing with them I went around to the back and up the service porch. A uniformed policeman was on duty. I hid the hat and knife behind my back.
“Will you please tell Mr. Tiffin I have something important for him?” I asked.
“Reporters out front, sister.”
“The name is O’Hara,” I said, “and I’ve just come from Delhart’s ranch.”
The policeman thought it over and then turned his head. “Hey,” he called. “Somebody get Tiffin.” He grinned at me. “I can’t see what you want with that guy, sister.”
I couldn’t either but I didn’t say so. When Tiffin was peering suspiciously out at me, I said. “Godfrey, I’ve just come from an interview with Tim Larson.”
“You’re behind the times, Adeline.”
“He’s a pretty good diver,” I said. “He brought me up some fine pearls.”
Tiffin started forward. “No,” I said. “I’ll come in.”
“You’ll stay with the rest of the reporters,” he told me.
“Have it your own way,” I said indifferently. “I’ll run down and gi
ve it to The Press. It will make a fine headline: ‘Girl Reporter Solves Mystery. County Officials Flop Again.’ Nice word, Godfrey, flop.”
“Adeline, you can’t bluff me. If you have some additional evidence, I want it.”
“Not in this county, Godfrey,” I said quickly. The uniformed policeman was grinning at me. It was a moral uplift. “And,” I went on, “I’m not bluffing.” I held out my hand so he could see. I kept a tight grip on the hat. Then I put it coyly behind my back. “Want to play?”
“Come in, Adeline.” Tiffin stepped wearily back into the kitchen. I winked at the policeman and followed.
In the kitchen a half dozen men were gathered. Jocko came in one door as I entered the other. He sighed and shook his head. Tiffin said, “Is there an unoccupied room?”
“Empty maid’s room there,” one man said, jerking his head at a side door. “Full of trunks and stuff.”
We withdrew to that room and before Jocko had the door shut I could hear the usual ribald humor of men. I perched on a trunk and handed my loot to Jocko.
“Knife and all,” I said. “Now, Godfrey, I’ll trade.”
“That’s unethical,” he said.
“Don’t be so unctious,” I answered. “So is this unethical. It’s against the Amateur Mystery Solvers Union to run to the police.”
“All I can tell you,” Tiffin said, “is that Mrs. Willow and her daughter are both hysterical. Frew and Hilton are standing by.”
“Then Hilton was here when it happened?”
“Yes, he was a dinner guest.”
“Gruesome gathering,” I said. “How about Glory?”
“No,” Jocko said roughly.
“Did she telephone him?”
“Why should she?” Tiffin demanded.
I smiled, mysteriously, I hoped. “I’ll still trade,” I said.
Jocko looked helplessly at Tiffin. “Her father got six months twice, for contempt of court, Tiff. Those O’Haras are stubborn.”
“It was a contemptible court,” I said. “He was right, too!”
Tiffin looked disgusted. “What you you want, Adeline?”
“The whole thing,” I said. “And to make it ethical I won’t go until the rest of the reporters have their statement. And I won’t print any more than what you give me.” It was a tough promise to make but Tiffin was much too interested in his political skin to cross up the rest of the press by favoring me. This way I hoped to get inside information that Jeff and I could use for ourselves.
“Fair enough,” Jocko conceded.
“How did Willow try to kill himself?” I asked.
“He drew a bath, stood in it, slashed his wrists with a razor, fell in the water and nearly drowned,” Tiff said in one breath.
I felt slightly nauseated. “When did they find him?”
I got the essentials of the story. The entire group was here. Frew and Hilton were entertaining each other in the living room while the Willows went to their respective rooms to dress for dinner. At the time of the attempt, as near as the police could decide, Frew was in the kitchen mixing a drink, Willow was in the bath, Hilton in the living room, Daisy rummaging about: for a dress, and Mrs. Willow in her room which was connected with Willow’s by the bath.
To quote Mrs. Willow, via Tiffin: “I heard a heavy sound as if Titus had fallen and I called out to ask him what on earth he was doing. He didn’t answer me and after a moment I went into the bath from my room.
“I could see him under water and there was blood on the side of the tub and in the water. I screamed and pulled him out. He was wet and heavy and kept slipping out of my hands, and hitting his head on the back of the tub. He was completely unconscious when I found him.
“At first I thought he had bled when he slipped, but by the time Mr. Hilton came in I saw that he had slashed his wrists. The razor blade was on the bottom of the tub.”
“She didn’t give it that coherently,” Tiffin said when he was through. “She was all broken up.”
“Naturally,” I said. I shuddered. It would be a horrible experience for anyone, let alone his wife. “Then what happened?” I asked.
Then it seemed Frew came in after Hilton, both of them attracted by Mrs. Willow’s screams. Daisy fainted from habit at the sound. They found her later crumpled in her closet.
“Has anyone thought of any reasons?”
“Not a one,” Tiffin said disgustedly. “None of them can imagine anything whatever. Willow is given a slim chance to live, but besides the loss of blood he came close to drowning. He either threw himself in the tub or fainted at the sight of his own blood and hit his head when he fell. He has a nasty concussion out of it.”
“Mrs. Willow’s inability to hang onto him didn’t help his head, did it?” I asked.
Jocko’s grin was sour. “From the look of his skull I’d say he nearly had his brains knocked out.”
It was a fair trade so I came out with a cut version of Tim Larson’s story. When I was through, Tiffin said, “I don’t think we need further proof, sheriff.”
“You’d better find out if Glory did telephone,” I suggested. “And cut me in on the questioning and I’ll do you another favor. I’ll go you one better,” I said, sounding magnanimous. “If I can see Daisy alone I might get your answer. There must be a connection somewhere between two suicide attempts in the same family—so close together.”
“We can’t get any place with her,” Jocko admitted. She’s back having hysterics again. They’re going to give her a sedative.”
“Give me a shot at it, anyway,” I said.
Tiffin nodded jerkily. He was tired and hollow-eyed and almost human at this moment. I should have known he wouldn’t stay that way. “Go ahead,” he said.
They took me to Daisy directly from the stateroom. She had a very small bedroom done in feminine pastels. She was propped on a fluffy bed and lace-decorated pillows and other such bric-a-brac were scattered all over the floor. A worried uniformed policeman stood helplessly and uncomfortably in all this femininity. He looked vastly relieved when Tiffin chased him out. Daisy lay on the bed, a down puff over her so I could see she was wearing a thin robe over her long evening slip. I signalled to Jocko and he eased Tiffin away. I went up to Daisy and sat on the edge of the bed.
She wasn’t making any noise but she kept shuddering so that her whole body rocked, and it shook the bed. When I pulled the puff completely over her she turned her head.
Her expression was horrible, twisted and ghastly as if she suffered from facial paralysis.
“Can I get you a drink?” I asked softly.
Daisy raised clenched fists and drove them violently into the headboard. “Why didn’t they let me die?” she moaned. “Why didn’t they let me die?”
XXVIII
I LET HER WORK IT OFF and when she was calmer she lay and panted as if she had run a race. “How about a drink?” I asked again. Then I changed my mind. “Or a nice cup of tea?”
This was more to Daisy’s taste and she raised her head long enough to nod. She was wan but not quite so awful-looking now. I got up and opened the door. Tiffin was standing impatiently outside, looking somewhat like a horse about to start pawing.
“Well?” he asked.
“I’ve been in there ten minutes,” I said. I’ve been treated to a fine example of hysterious feminous—for God’s sake go away. Bring me a cup of tea and then come back in an hour.”
“An hour!” he bawled.
“Godfrey,” I said chidingly, “this isn’t one of your criminal floosies. This girl wouldn’t even understand your ideas of a third degree. Keep away from her if you want results.”
I went back inside and fussed with Daisy’s pillows. “Just rest for a few minutes,” I said. I tried to sound professional.
“What are you doing here?” Daisy wanted to know.
“I’m the nearest thing to a nurse they could get on short notice,” I lied sweetly. I left her. I found Tiffin in the kitchen. I took a pan from his hands, filled it with water an
d placed it on the electric stove. I turned on the juice under the pan, hunted around the room until I found a package of tea and a china teapot. I set them together on the sideboard. “Now,” I said, “when the water boils, use a little to rinse out the pot. Then put in the tea, a nice level teaspoonful to the cup. Add the water. Make about four cups, she may like the stuff.”
One of the watching men snickered. “Thought you weren’t married, Tiff,” he said.
I glanced at a glowering Tiffin. “Let me use the phone,” I said to him. “You can listen in,” I added coaxingly.
It took his mind off the tea and put it back on me. “I still don’t trust you, Adeline,” he said nastily.
Jocko came into the room then and I repeated my offer. “Sure,” he said. Tiffin shrugged and together they escorted me into the living room. Hilton and Frew were there, both of them silent and glum. When he saw me, Hilton offered a faint smile, but Frew only glowered.
The phone was in a sort of foyer by the front door. With Tiffin breathing in one ear and Jocko in the other I put a call in to Jeff’s hotel.
I identified myself. “Is the young lady still in the room?”
I could feel Tiffin stiffening like a pointer. “Why, yes,” the clerk said. “She went out some time ago but she returned. She—ah, she said she had called Mr. Cook and he suggested that she remain here. I hope,” he added worriedly, “it was all right to let her keep the room. It was charged to Mr. Cook.”
“Fine,” I said. “And if she tries to leave, detain her, will you?” I was about to hang up when I thought of something. “Did she make any phone calls?”
He took a moment to answer. Then, “Not through us,” he said.
“When she came back she had a package, didn’t she?”
“Yes,” he said. “A-er …”
“It’s okay,” I said. “It was probably a fifth of bourbon.”
“It was liquor,” he admitted.
“Then,” I assured him, “she won’t try to leave.” I did hang up this time. “All set, Godfrey,” I said. I gave him the address and the room number. “And don’t hurry,” I added. “She’ll be plastered.”
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