Stranger in the Dark

by Nielsen, Helen

  Downstairs the lobby was just as it should have been at nine o’clock of any Saturday morning. The guests for shopping were going out to shop, and the guests for tours were going out to tour. And the guests for telling the porter not to return a small sedan to the rental agency were telling the porter. It was when Larry turned away from the desk that he bumped into Sheldon Garth.

  Garth shouldn’t have been wearing a Homburg. The rolled brim gave Larry a bad start.

  “Off for another drive, Mr. Willis?” Garth asked. “You’re getting to be quite a gadabout.”

  It wasn’t polite to let it show, but Garth was getting to be quite a nuisance. It was a little early in the morning for him to be snooping about, and the wrong morning entirely.

  “Don’t tell me you’re moving in here,” Larry said. “The chandeliers aren’t nearly so fancy as in Carlsberg’s suite.”

  “After tonight,” Garth remarked, “Carlsberg isn’t going to have a suite. He’s sailing at midnight.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Tonight, Mr. Willis. Any objections?”

  An awful lot of things seemed to be scheduled for tonight. Larry didn’t want all that unbridled interest to show, but it did. “Why should I object?” he retorted quickly. “What Carlsberg does is nothing to me.”

  “Then you don’t know where he’s going, I suppose.”

  “How could I? I’m not his secretary.”

  Sheldon Garth sighed deeply. “Believe me, Mr. Willis, it wouldn’t make any difference if you were,” he said, “you still wouldn’t know. It’s all very top secret between Carlsberg and the captain, but I gather we have a rendezvous.”

  Larry didn’t like what he was hearing. Even without the time and the solitude to analyze the reason, he didn’t like it at all. But, most of all, he didn’t like the way Garth stuck with him like a shadow when he tried to get on with his chores. He edged toward the door, and Garth edged with him. He stopped at the information desk to fake a study of tour listings and Garth was breathing down his neck.

  “How was your date last night?” he asked, and Larry shuddered. That was the thing he was trying to forget; but Garth, of course, had reference to something else.

  “Oh, fine,” Larry lied. “Nice girl. We had a fine evening. What did you do with yours?”

  “I wasted it trying to talk sense to an idiot,” Garth said. “But I’m a generous man, Mr. Willis, that’s why I’ve come back to try again. I’m afraid you’re wading out into deep waters.”

  “I’m a good swimmer,” Larry said.

  “As good as Valdemar Brix?”

  For a few seconds Larry tried to live without breathing. Yes, it was quite early for Sheldon Garth to be snooping about; there had to be a reason, and the reason was as obvious as the sweat beads popping out on Larry’s forehead. He couldn’t speak, but he didn’t have to. Garth wasn’t bashful.

  “There was a lot of excitement in the gardens last night when his body toppled from that chair,” he said.

  “You were there?” Larry gasped.

  “I was, but not soon enough. I wasted too much time waiting for you to come through the lobby before I got wise to that dining-room exit. Then I wasted more time running over your side of that telephone conversation before I remembered that ‘Divan what?’ bit. After that it was easy. In Tivoli Gardens there are two restaurants with peculiar names: Divan One and Divan Two. It was a simple process of elimination.”

  When Garth paused, it was to send a hand probing through his coat pocket. The hand came back, and he moved in close so that it opened against Larry’s ribs.

  “I’m not a genius, Mr. Willis,” he added in a confidential voice, “but I do know better than to leave my signature sticking in a dead man’s chest.”

  The knife! The blade was folded neatly out of sight, and a telltale brownish stain partially obliterated the lettering on the handle; but what Sheldon Garth held in the palm of his hand was the knife! Larry’s hand reached out instinctively, and Garth’s retracted instantly.

  “Sorry, Mr. Willis,” he said. “Evidence, you know.”

  “Where did you get it?” Larry demanded.

  “Where you left it.”

  “But I didn’t! He was dead when I found him!”

  “The police may think otherwise…. I told you, I’m a generous man, Mr. Willis. That’s why I took the liberty of appropriating this trinket. I reached the scene just as the excitement started. Somebody screamed for a doctor, and I volunteered. As soon as I saw the inscription on the knife I knew how relieved you’d be to get it back … and how grateful.”

  A party of departing guests crowded past, bags, baggage, and busy tongues. It seemed incredible that they weren’t at all interested in two Americans having such an earnest conversation off by themselves. Now Larry understood why there had been no knock on the door and no Martinus Sorensen with a cigar in his hand. It took a few seconds longer to understand what Sheldon Garth was waiting for.

  “Why is the old man sailing at midnight?” he demanded.

  “I don’t know!” Larry said.

  “You must know something. Why did you kill Brix?”

  “I didn’t! I gave him that knife two nights ago. He wanted it to peel some fruit.”

  “Do you have a witness?”

  Larry hesitated. Until those twenty-four hours were up he had a witness.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “That’s good,” Garth advised, “because you’re going to need one if I decide to turn this over to the police. It’s pretty well encrusted with a dead man’s blood.”

  “But I told you—”

  Larry’s voice was rising. It was a good thing that Garth interrupted him before he created a scene. “Never mind what you told me, Mr. Willis,” he said. “Just remember what I told you last night. Looking after the old man is my job, and I intend to do that job no matter who gets hurt. I’m not bluffing about going to the police.”

  Larry wasn’t a hard man to convince. Otto Carlsberg’s versatile secretary looked much too grim to bluff about anything, and he found himself wondering what police force he’d matriculated from before moving on to greener pastures. It would take more than a flat denial to shake this bloodhound, but shake him he must. There was the small matter of a pair of plane tickets to buy, and if Sheldon Garth trailed him on that mission the suspicion he obviously had would be confirmed. It was a shame that Otto Carlsberg wouldn’t get what he’d paid for, but some things were more important than a money back guarantee.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Larry caught sight of Viggo, the bellboy, coming across the lobby.

  “What about my car?” he called out. “Hasn’t it been brought around yet?”

  Viggo looked surprised. “You want it now, Herre Willis?”

  “Of course I want it now!” Larry snapped. “What’s the matter? Can’t anybody get anything straight around here?”

  “Sure thing!” Viggo chirped. “Right away, Herre Willis. On the double!”

  … On the double. Larry moved toward the door, but Garth was still tagging at his heels when he reached the sidewalk.

  “But it was Brix that you spoke to on the phone,” he insisted. “What did he say to you? What did he want?”

  “He wanted to buy me a dinner,” Larry said.

  “Valdemar Brix!”

  The surprise in Garth’s tone put a little hole in the conversation. A very little hole. Larry stared at the man, remembering a few things himself.

  “Is that all he wanted?” Garth persisted.

  The sedan had pulled up to the curb. Larry needed an affective getaway line, and if Sheldon Garth was really so concerned with the protection of his employer as he seemed, maybe he should have a crack at the riddle of the day.

  “Not quite,” Larry said, sliding in under the wheel. “He wanted to introduce me to a princess, a princess in a fairy tale.”

  “A what?”

  Larry grinned. This should keep Sheldon Garth busy for quite a while.

  “I kn
ow just how you feel,” he said. “Sorry I can’t stick around and help you try to figure that one out, but I have to get this car back to the rental agency before my expense account gives the boss high blood pressure. He’s a sentimental fellow. Loves money so much he just can’t stand to say good-by.”

  The door slammed in Garth’s astounded face, and Larry felt happy for just a moment, but he didn’t get away fast enough to cheat the man out of a parting shot that could only add to the troubles of an already difficult day.

  “You’re a liar, Willis,” he muttered through the open window, “and I’m beginning to wonder why—but I still can’t see you as a killer. I’ll just hang onto this little trinket until you come to your senses. In the meantime, here’s a tip from an old swimming instructor…. Watch out for the crosscurrents.”

  Now it was Larry who looked bewildered, and Sheldon Garth who sent him on his way with a grin.

  “You figure that one out,” he said. “While you’re about it, you might give a little thought to why Holger Hansen had to get rid of that three hundred dollars.”

  It was a trick. It was a deliberate trick to make him think Sheldon Garth had a secret, too. It was bait, like the bit about the princess, but intended not to get rid of him but to bring him back. All of these things Larry told himself as he merged with the traffic heading for the square. There could be only one reason why Hansen had to get rid of that money. It was evidence that would link him to Ira McDonald, and somebody had known all about that scheme of his before the fishing boat put out to sea. Somebody had known enough to put that black sedan on Hansen’s tail before the headlines were cold. There was no mystery here. It was simple. Childishly simple….

  “This is the land of fairy tales, you know. Childishly simple fairy tales.”

  Valdemar Brix was dead. It was disconcerting to have a dead man speak while he drove in traffic. Larry slammed on the brakes to avoid running through an almost unnoticed red light. This was no time to run afoul of the law or to run Maren’s escape car into the cross traffic. A little job like this couldn’t stand much knocking around.

  A man who had to watch out for the police, a curious secretary, and half a million bicycles couldn’t afford to go woolgathering; but Valdemar Brix took no note of that.

  “Childishly simple,” he repeated, “if you would only listen to what I say.”

  The first time Larry telephoned Maren he got no answer. He went on to the airlines office to complete the first of his chores. It was crowded, and a crowd helped at a time like this—that was a lesson he’d learned chasing a prowler, who wasn’t a prowler after all, into Tivoli Gardens. Nobody seemed to be watching him. No ugly cousin. No fat man with a gold-plated smile. He left the office and found a telephone again. Still no answer. It was after noon before he got through to a girl whose voice sounded as nervous as Larry felt.

  “Where have you been?” he demanded. “I’ve been trying to get you all morning!”

  “Is something wrong?” she asked.

  Was something wrong! Sheldon Garth had a knife with Valdemar’s blood on it, Otto Carlsberg had a date to sail at midnight, and Larry Willis’s world was scheduled to end when a small sedan slipped out of Copenhagen under the cover of darkness! How could anything be wrong?

  “I’ve got to see you,” Larry said. “Just once more—alone.”

  The silence wasn’t good. Silence was for thinking.

  “I don’t know if we should risk it,” Maren said. “The police—”

  “Are you being watched?”

  “I don’t know. I was called down to the police yard this morning. They found my phone number in Valdemar’s wallet. I had to identify the body—”

  The silence came back for a choking instant. Larry could almost see that copper-colored head rising to meet the challenge.

  “It was awful,” she said, “but I didn’t tell them anything. They didn’t tell me anything either. They didn’t even mention your knife.”

  “They couldn’t,” Larry said. “They don’t have it.”

  “What? Larry, something has happened!”

  “Sure,” Larry said. “I’ve just been endowed with a fairy godmother about six feet tall. Meet me at the first intersection south of your apartment, and I’ll tell you all about it while we take a drive.”

  “But, Larry—”

  “The first intersection,” he repeated. “That gives you plenty of time to see if you’re being followed.”

  … Larry was beginning to get the knack of driving in Copenhagen. The best way was to just grit your teeth and not let the bicycles bluff you. Maren was waiting when he reached the intersection. She’d probably been waiting all the time he was trying to decide which way was south, but she hadn’t been followed. It was beginning to seem a little lonesome with Fatso away so long. Maybe he was hiding out from something.

  But it was Maren Larry wanted to think about, not murder. She seemed to have entered into some cruel conspiracy with the clock. She had on the blue hat again, the same crazy blue hat that had caught his eye that first evening at the bar a couple of thousand years ago. If time were measured in what happened to people, especially what happened inside, it would be at least that long since Maren Lund came into his life. But it was a cruel conspiracy to look so desirable when the last hours of the last day were beating their wings. Larry drove toward the harbor. Where they went really didn’t matter just as long as they were alone. One afternoon didn’t seem too much to ask from a lifetime.

  On the way, he told her about Sheldon Garth’s visit. She listened with grave eyes that seemed even larger in such a pale face.

  “Do you think he really will go to the police?” she asked.

  “Hardly,” Larry muttered. “I’ve a hunch Martinus Sorensen would be just as curious about how my knife got into Garth’s hands as about how it got into Valdemar’s body. I don’t know the laws in this country, but at home we have a special one for a conspiracy to obstruct justice.”

  “Larry, do you suppose—”

  Maren fell silent, intrigued by her own unfinished words, but Larry knew what she meant. “—that Garth killed Valdemar?” he finished. “I thought of that possibility myself. I have only his word for it that he waited around in the lobby so long. But why should Garth kill Valdemar? Why should Garth kill anyone, for that matter?”

  “He was suspicious of him,” Maren said. “You told me that last night.”

  “Garth is suspicious of everyone,” Larry said. “That’s his job, and he’s good at it, or he wouldn’t be working for Otto Carlsberg. No, Maren, it just doesn’t make sense to suspect Sheldon Garth. If he’d wanted to kill Valdemar with my knife and then use it as a threat to make me lead him to the general, why leave it in the body at all? I’ll grant you he’s a nervy customer, but even if murderers do return to the scene of the crime, which I doubt, I can’t believe they make such swift round trips. Valdemar hadn’t been dead more than a matter of minutes when I found him.”

  There was a special reason why Larry knew that, aside from the warmth of the body and the trickling of the blood. He tried to remember what it was, but the nightmare of that moment was still too real. His mind veered away involuntary-fly.

  “No, I’m willing to take Garth’s story at face value,” he continued. “He reached the restaurant in time for all the excitement. He was looking for Valdemar, and so naturally he was interested in the cause of his death. In all that confusion it wouldn’t have been too difficult to get a look at the knife and recognize that name of my firm, and, frankly, I don’t think Garth was—or is—concerned with the possibility that I might have murdered Valdemar. All he’s after is information, and the knife convinced him that I know more than I’ve told … but not much,” Larry added ruefully. “That’s the whole trouble, not much at all. I’d give a pretty penny to know why Carlsberg’s sailing tonight.”

  They had come to a park. The road curved past a silver lake that mirrored the reflection of a tall-spired church on the opposite bank. It was easier
driving now. More time to think. More time to wonder …

  “Do you suppose McDonald did contact Carlsberg after all?” he asked.

  It was like voicing heresy.

  “How could he?” Maren protested. “You know he doesn’t dare use the phone!”

  “He dares to chase off to Tivoli Gardens,” Larry muttered. “He wasn’t much worried about hiding out the night I nearly opened that bedroom door.”

  “What else could he do? He didn’t know whether you were one of them, one like the man who killed Hansen…. What is it, Larry? Have you changed your mind? Do you want out?”

  “Of course not!”

  “I wouldn’t blame you if you do. You’ve been through so much already.”

  What could he say? What could he say to a girl who’d been through quite a bit herself, including a police questioning when she might have lost her nerve and blurted out about that knife? Could he tell her then what he was thinking? Could he mention anything so unimportant as the fate of Larry Willis if that knife did turn up at police headquarters and no General Yukov reached the embassy?

  “Forget it,” he said. “Carlsberg’s probably just fed up with the whole deal. There’s nothing to worry about.”

  He hoped, for her sake, that he sounded a little more convincing than he felt.

  “This is called the Langelinie,” Maren said. “We’ll come to the Little Mermaid soon. Valdemar used to say …”

  Maren’s voice drifted off into silence. It was a bright and beautiful afternoon with a few wisps of cloud playing tag with the sun and a fresh breeze blowing in off the quay. They had left the car at the parking lot near the pavilion and started walking along the harbor promenade. It was Larry’s idea. There was such a little time left for saying the things that must be said now or never said at all.