by Todd Downing
“I wanted to examine Radisson’s body.”
“Why?”
“I don’t think I’ll answer that question, Doctor.”
“Heavens and earth!” Torday said irritably. “Now you’re ruffled. I suppose, if we don’t bring the body back to Texas and let you look at it, nasty rumours will be going around about the management of our hospital.”
“I can’t say as to that.” Rennert was almost indifferent. “I shan’t be responsible for any rumours, if that’s what is worrying you.” “Oh, they start! They always start somehow. I’ll have the body brought in and turned over to you. It will relieve us of responsibility. Does that satisfy you?”
“I made no demand, Doctor.”
“Let’s dismiss the matter. I’m tired bandying words. Let’s decide what we’re going to do to-day. I thought it best to lay the whole case before these men. Make it clear to them where their danger lies. They can be on their guard against Jarl Angerman. They may be able to give us—pardon, I mean you—evidence which will facilitate an arrest. If not, it will be a question of sauve qui peut.”
“Angerman has an alibi for the time last night when Mrs. Torday was driving between the two Customs offices,” Rennert explained. “So, you see, if she is correct and her brother was alive when she passed on to the bridge, we must look for another culprit.”
The little remaining colour drained from the invalid’s face as he listened. His left hand went to the wooden box on the table, took out an ivory cigarette-holder; then, as if suddenly mindful that indulgence in nicotine was yet forbidden, replaced it.
“I was so sure it was Jarl,” he mused. “So soon after what happened yesterday afternoon. I thought he shot Darwin by mistake. But this leaves us facing the unknown. Are you certain you haven’t overlooked something?”
“There’s only the possibility that Mrs. Torday was in error, that the shooting occurred in Matamoros. Would it be convenient for her to talk to me a moment?”
“I think so.” Torday tapped a bell. “We must make sure. We must. We can’t have this uncertainty.” His fingers beat an impatient tattoo until the maid came. “Ask Mrs. Torday to come here,” he ordered. “Mr. Rennert is with me.”
The firmness of Mrs. Torday’s carriage must have been dictated by pride. She wore no make-up, and a simple black dress enhanced the whiteness of her composed face. When she gave Rennert her hand, he was struck by the coldness of it.
“Irene,” her husband said, “we’ve been talking about last night on the bridge. Are you sure Darwin was alive when you passed the Mexican Customs?”
Her gaze was perfectly level. “Yes, I am sure. Why do you ask?”
“Mr. Rennert suggested he might have been shot in Matamoros instead of on the bridge.”
She turned her head swiftly.
“I am ready to give my oath, Mr. Rennert, that Darwin spoke to me while we were stopped in front of the Mexican Customs office. He said: ‘Give ’em the haughty look, Sis, and shoot on by.’ Is that sufficient?”
“It is, Mrs. Torday. You understand why I wanted to make sure. There was so much noise and confusion. One could so easily have been mistaken.”
“I know. But I wasn’t.”
“Did you see anyone you knew on that bridge?”
“No one.” Her eyes held his. “You have some reason for asking, Mr. Rennert? What is it?”
Rennert forestalled Torday’s attempt to speak. “To prove that at least one man could not have murdered your brother, Mrs. Torday. To give him an unquestionable alibi. I am referring to Jarl Angerman.”
There was no controlling the sudden brightness which sprang into her eyes or the spots of colour which appeared on her cheeks. She twined her fingers. “I knew that Jarl did not do it. But now—it’s proven?”
“Yes.”
Torday’s dry laugh broke their interchange. “Jarl’s alibi is a good one, Irene. There’s no doubting that. He was on a drunken carousal last night. When you were crossing the bridge he was in a dive in Matamoros, chasing a chorus girl. He got in a brawl and they threw him in gaol. He’s there now, and I dare say those clothes of his aren’t so white.”
She drew herself up and looked at him with unconcealed contempt. “Jarl is responsible to no one for his actions,” she said steadily. “To no one at all.” She turned to Rennert. “Is there anything else? If not, I’ll ask you to excuse me.”
“That is all, Mrs. Torday. Thank you.” There was a great deal more, of course, but that would have to wait for a more propitious occasion.
When she had gone Rennert addressed Torday: “I must ask you some questions, Doctor, before the others arrive. They may appear pointless. They may actually be pointless. I notice that you are left-handed. Has that fact ever played any important part in your life? At the time of your accident or in the years since, has it had any significance for you or for others?”
There was no doubt in Rennert’s mind that the other’s perplexity was genuine, as he raised the hand in question, bent it back and forth and regarded it.
“Mr. Rennert, if you had asked me that yesterday, when I first met you, I should have thought you were trying to impress me by abstruseness. I know you too well for that now. I suppose when I was a child my sinistrality was of some importance. I believe it affects children in different ways. Some consider it a mark of distinction, like the ability to wriggle their ears. Others are rather ashamed of it. It might even develop into an inferiority complex. But as far as I can recall, it never made any difference to me. Certainly, during the years you speak of, it has meant nothing.” His eyes came to Rennert’s face and sharpened a bit. “I remember reading in the paper that Carlos Campos was left-handed. Does that have any bearing on your question?”
“Yes. Charles Bettis, too, was left-handed.”
“He was? I didn’t know that. Odd. The left hand. The hand sinister. But we mustn’t let ourselves run after will-o’-the-wisps, Mr. Rennert.”
“I know,” Rennert replied patiently. “Now another—”
“Just a minute!” A movement of the white, delicate hand stopped him. “It has just occurred to me. Jarl Angerman is ambidexterous. The man lives for physical perfection. He trained himself long ago to the use of both hands.”
“You spoke of that yesterday.” Rennert glanced at his watch. “Another matter. Do you remember an article called ‘The Last Trumpet’ in the magazine N.E.W.S.? Mr. Jester had copies with him on your trip to the hacienda.”
“‘The Last Trumpet.’ No; I don’t recall it.”
“It concerned bullfighting in part.” Rennert watched him. “The author was Simon Secondyne.”
“Simon Secondyne. Unusual name. But if I ever saw or heard it, it has slipped my mind.”
“Two more questions, Doctor,” Rennert hurried on. All he was doing now was testing the chain which he had constructed, assuring himself of its solidity. “Did you leave the Pullman the night before your accident?”
“Leave it? Why, no. I remember I slept soundly all night. I took a sedative before I went to my berth. That and the fresh mountain air put me to sleep at once.”
“And the next day. Between twelve o’clock noon and twelve-thirty. Do you remember where you were?”
“Twelve and twelve-thirty.” Torday raised a hand to his forehead. “Let me think. I believe I was in one of the bedrooms of the hacienda about that time. Yes, in Professor Radisson’s room. With Darwin Wyllys. He had gone riding and had come back feeling ill. I was a bit worried about his condition and sat with him until the others returned and we went to the Pullman. He had a narrow escape, I think, from sunstroke.”
At the front of the house a bell pealed softly. Rennert relaxed and lighted a cigarette. “You retained no special memory of the sun at that hour, then?”
“Of the sun?” Torday’s eyes were on the door. “No, I can’t say that I did. It seemed to be beating straight down.”
“It was,” Rennert said as he rose.
II
The door had opene
d on noiseless hinges and the maid was saying: “Here is Mr. Jester, Doctor.”
Rolf was self-conscious as he greeted Torday, and stumbled through words of condolence for Wyllys’s death.
His host thanked him perfunctorily and with obvious impatience. His spirits were rising. “How fitting it is, Mr. Jester, that you should arrive with the hour of noon! I was just telling Mr. Rennert that I must keep to a diet in the mornings. But at noon comes release. I can revel in the pleasures of the palate. And you symbolize conviviality so perfectly, Jester. The joy of living. You look as if you had never been sick a day in your life. Ah, see what follows in your wake!”
The little Mexican was wheeling in a tea-wagon on which reposed an immense cut-glass bowl brimful of eggnog, stiffly frothed, its surface gilded by spices.
The bell rang again and she hurried out, leaving the refreshments between Torday’s left side and Rennert.
“Will you do the honours, Rennert?” Torday asked. “You’ll find cigarettes in the bar by the window.” As Rennert went to get them, he continued with growing exuberance, “I thought we might need both stimulation and nourishment today, Jester. And eggnog is the traditional drink for Christmas in the South, I’ve learned. We’ll hope it makes our Christmas a more merry one than it has been so far. Good afternoon, Mr. Bettis.”
Rennert returned and laid the box of cigarettes beside the bowl just as Bettis came in.
The hotel manager bobbed his head at Rennert and at Jester as he went toward Torday. “Hello, Doctor,” he said shortly. “What’s the idea of this meeting?”
“How are you, Bettis? It has been some time since I’ve seen you. I shall explain as soon as we are all assembled.”
“Who’s going to be here?” There was a pugnaciousness about Bettis’s manner as he stood planted directly in front of Torday.
Just for an instant the latter’s eyes were eloquent of dislike. He looked down then, delved again into the carved box and brought out the ivory holder. “Dr. Lincoln and Mr. Distant are still to come. There will be only six of us instead of seven. Our number is decreasing rapidly.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was referring to Professor Radisson’s death. There’s the bell again. We shall soon be ready.”
Rennert had been intent on Bettis’s face as he received the news. The quick backward jerk of the head, the startled eyes, the gulping of the throat told all that was necessary.
“You will be interested to know,” Rennert said to him, “that Mr. Radisson died of blood-poisoning last night.”
Bettis fell back a step, and his hand sought the top of a chair. He looked down at the floor.
There was a moment of strained silence, during which they heard Dr. Lincoln’s voice in the hall. “You don’t need to come with me. I know the way.”
The physician entered hurriedly and included them all in a nod. “Good afternoon, gentlemen.” His eyes met Rennert’s for a fraction of a second. “Good afternoon, Mr. Rennert.”
“Good afternoon, Doctor.”
Torday waved a hand in the direction of the wagon. “Let’s be informal and help ourselves. Mr. Distant will forgive us, I hope, if we don’t wait for him any longer.”
There ensued the usual period of confusion and delay, while each man urged another to precede him. Rennert, for whom such pother was a source of unreasonable irritation, set to work unceremoniously and ladled out the eggnog. When he had filled five cups he carried one to Torday, who took it in his left hand.
“Thank you, Rennert. Will you give me a cigarette, too?”
“Certainly. I beg your pardon.”
Rennert brought the box and held it while Torday took a cigarette and inserted it into the holder. He struck a match and left the cripple inhaling deeply and gratefully.
He turned to find the others standing in a row, cups in their hands. Rolf Jester, elbow to elbow with himself. Bettis, Lincoln.
Torday cleared his throat, wrinkled the skin about his mouth as if he could restrain himself no longer, raised his cup.
“Gentlemen, your health!”
He drank deeply.
And died.
18
The Moment of Truth
I
Torday drank and died. The event had for Rennert just that suddenness.
There was a matter of seconds when an agonized cry lingered in the air, when the man’s chin was dropping towards his chest, when—simultaneously—his left hand slid down over his shirt front, emptying the cup, and the right let the cigarette sink into the cream and gold liquid and sizzle out.
Then Torday was staring in the blank finality of death at the lower rung of the nearest chair, while the thick eggnog spread slowly….
In two swift steps Dr. Lincoln was at his side, bending over him, examining pulse and heart and eyes.
A thud drew Rennert’s attention to the others. Matt Bettis’s cup had fallen from fingers which seemed to have become nerveless. The man’s face was stupid from shock and his eyes bulged behind the moist lenses of his spectacles. Rolf Jester was gripping the handle of his cup so tightly that the tendons stood out whitely on his tanned skin. Perspiration beaded his face and his breath was coming and going stertorously.
“God, Hugh, God!” he murmured in monotone. Lincoln’s voice was deepened by strain: “He’s dead.”
He straightened and gingerly applied to the end of his tongue a finger which he had dipped into the eggnog.
Rennert placed his cup carefully on the top of the wagon, waited a moment, and asked: “Can you tell the cause, Doctor?”
Lincoln shook his head, brought out a handkerchief and wiped his hands, while his gaze went to the cut-glass bowl.
“Did any of the rest of you touch that eggnog?” he demanded sharply.
The four of them looked at one another, checking the negative motions of their heads.
“Then,” Dr. Lincoln said, “you have politeness to thank for your lives. The politeness that made you wait for Torday. Otherwise—” He shrugged expressively.
Rennert stepped to the telephone on the table by Torday’s side, picked up the receiver, and faced them as he dialed.
“I’m going to ask each one of you to remain exactly where he is. Please oblige me and we’ll get this over quickly.”
It was several moments before a sleepy voice answered, none too amiably: “Hello.”
“Peter?”
“Yes.” The tone changed. “That you, Hugh?”
“Yes. I’m at Dr. Torday’s house. He has just died. Can you come? And notify the county doctor.”
“It’s murder?”
“Yes, it’s murder, Peter.”
Bounty swore unintelligibly. “I’ll be there as soon as I can get my clothes on. You’re holding the fort all right?”
“I’m holding it.”
Rennert hung up and looked from one to another of the three men, who had all been striving to keep their eyes averted from the wheel-chair. He took a deep breath and thought of himself as girding up his loins.
“I’m sure,” he said, “that you gentlemen will see how necessary it is that I search you. If poison was brought into this room the container will still be here. Now”—he tried to smile agreeably—“who wants to be first?”
For a moment no one spoke, and he was reminded of the scene in the Matamoros bull-ring when the police had made a similar but less polite pronouncement….
“I fail to see anything of the sort,” Dr. Lincoln said frigidly. “You know very well that you were standing by that eggnog when I came in, Rennert. You know that I did not approach it before Torday drank. And I assure you that I have no ability at sleight of hand.”
“The same goes for me,” Bettis put in. “We know you’ve got a tin badge and a gun—”
Rennert began to lose patience, partially because his nerves were on edge from uncertainty. The whole theory which he had been building up so painstakingly seemed about to topple….
It was Rolf Jester, of course, who came to his sup
port by stepping forward, extending his arms and saying, in a tone intended for the others:
“We know exactly why you’re doing this, Rennert, and that it is for our own protection. You had your back turned for about a minute when you went to get those cigarettes. I couldn’t have slipped anything into that bowl without Torday seeing me, but he can’t swear to it now. I insist that you search me. And I think these fellows had better do the same.”
Rennert searched him swiftly but thoroughly, knowing that any concession to friendship would render the man’s gesture a pointless one. Unseen by the others, he gave Jester an approbatory pressure on the small of the back.
“Thanks, Rolf. There’s no need for you to stay any longer.”
“Maybe you want me to help you? I’ll be glad to, if you say so.”
“No. I can handle this without any trouble. Run along. Now, Doctor.”
Lincoln submitted without further protest, but his manner was one of outraged dignity.
Rennert asked as his light fingers sped at their task:
“Did you get my message last night, Doctor?”
“Yes. I hope you’ll listen to reason, Rennert—”
“Let’s not talk now. I shall notify when to appear at the sheriff’s office.”
“What for?”
“For questioning. You may go now.”
“Do I have your permission,” the physician asked as he drew himself up to his full height and buttoned his coat, “to notify Mrs. Torday of her husband’s death? It’s customary.”
Rennert had heard the bell and was giving part of his attention to the door, part to Bettis, who had lighted a cigarette.
“So I was aware, Doctor. I shall appreciate it if you will break the news to Mrs. Torday. I hope you can prevail on her to remain in her room for the present. Either Mr. Bounty or I—”
