Compartment K

by Helen Reilly

  “He didn’t say anything to you, did he, Miss O’Hara?—I saw him talking to you in the lounge car late yesterday afternoon.”

  Rose hesitated and then said that the only thing Davidson had remarked on was that it was odd that Elizabeth should have asked Loretta Pilgrim and the Fonts to Amethyst as house guests. “He rather dwelt on it . . .”

  Eden didn’t see anything out of the way in the invitation. As one grew older, family disagreements, misunderstandings, became unimportant, trivial. If there ever had been an open quarrel, Elizabeth had had no hand in it. Questing’s people might have been jealous of the influence of a wife who was so much younger than Humphrey Questing, but Humphrey had been dead for years, and you couldn’t carry on that sort of thing forever.

  The original family? It had consisted of a stepmother, an aunt, another brother, Charles, and Loretta. Loretta was the youngest. She was the only one left.

  The Colonel was getting to his feet. When he emerged into the corridor it was empty. He started for his own quarters in the car ahead. Todhunter watched him go from behind the bulwark made by the ladies’ room at the end of the car, reflecting again that it was exceedingly simple to slip out of sight. If Eden had come towards him he could just as well have gone into the vestibule of the lounge car and reversed his steps. Houses were beginning to dot the landscape beyond the windows, they were almost in Calgary. The Holdings were getting off at Calgary where they were going to pick up supplies and fly in to Amethyst Lake. He had no fear of their not turning up there, they had an excellent job with Elizabeth Questing. He had decided to go on to Eickl ahead in the mountains in his character of tourist. It would look more convincing and he wanted to keep under cover as long as possible. From Field a bus went directly to the lake, where he had already booked a room at the Chalet.

  The city was rising in the distance. Todhunter started forward for his bedroom, and became a witness to an interesting little encounter.

  Candy Font apologized, publicly, in the presence of her husband and her mother for her conduct of the night before.

  FIVE

  When the knock came at Rose’s door she got up and opened it apprehensively, afraid it might be Nils. It wasn't Nils. Candy was there in the corridor, the pink poodle draped over an arm. Daniel and Loretta were behind her. Loretta was smiling pleasantly. Daniel was completely expressionless. There was color in Candy’s lovely lifted face. She spoke quickly, with a rush, like a child anxious to get a disagreeable task over with.

  "Rose, I’ve come to tell you that I’m sorry about last night . . . I wras horrid, a beast. It was the shock of—of Gil Davidson’s death. . . . Of course it was all right for Daniel to be with you. 'Why shouldn’t he be? You’re old friends, you’ve known each other for years—and you must have millions of things to talk about. I do beg your pardon."

  Old friends, Rose thought, so that was to be it, all of it. Candy must have known that she and Daniel were engaged when she set out deliberately to take him over. . . . Candy was looking at her appealingly, her brown eyes wide. She was prettily anxious.

  “You will forgive me, wron’t you?”

  “Don’t give it another thought.”

  “Then to show that you do,” Candy slipped a hand through Daniel’s arm, leaned against him a little, very much the adored and adoring wife, “Come on back to the lounge car and have coffee with us.”

  It was an easy out, would restore a surface that had been badly damaged, only the surface of course, but it was better than nothing and would allow them to go on with at least an appearance of normality. Rose picked up her purse.

  The first person she saw when she entered the lounge car was Nils. He glanced at the advancing party. Rose and Candy, Daniel and Loretta Pilgrim, and a flicker of sardonic amusement passed across his face before his brows leveled out.

  Rose nodded to him carelessly, and he raised an equally careless hand in greeting. He was at once swept into the circle of Candy Font’s determined sunshine.

  She paused in front of him, stroking the poodle with a slender hand, “Nils Gantry—you’ve been avoiding me! Don’t say you haven't. Did you know,” she turned to Rose, “that this man took me to my first dance ages and ages ago? I wore a white dress with a long skirt, the first I’d ever had. It had silver arrows embroidered on it. . . . Do you remember, Nils?”

  “My love, my dove, my pretty one.” Nils grinned at her. “How could I forget?”

  The words skimmed insolence by a hair. Candy was oblivious. Her barometer was set firmly at fair. The skies were blue, she would have nothing else. They all sat down, and die steward brought coffee. Conversation was general, concerned itself with their route. Loretta Pilgrim and Candy did most of the talking. Loretta said that the scenery didn’t begin till beyond Calgary, after that it was marvelous most of the way to Vancouver until you hit the coastal plains on the other side of the mountains. “I remember it all so well . . .”

  Rose didn’t look at Nils directly, didn’t speak to him directly. She didn’t look at Daniel either. He was quiet and withdrawn, smoked in silence. She wanted badly to talk to him. Her heart was very sore. She was angry at Nils, bitterly angry, but she would like him to know the truth. It wasn’t possible yet, wouldn’t be until whoever had shot Gilbert Davidson was uncovered. She had ideas about that. . . . But to get Daniel alone was going to be hard.

  Presently the opportunity came. Nils got up first and drifted off. Then Gandy got up. "Oh, dear, we’re almost in Calgary. 'I hey put the open observation car on there, and I want to see everything. I’d better go and pack." Loretta Pilgrim said with dreamy enthusiasm. "Elk and deer, and—and bears," and went with Candy.

  As soon as they were gone, Rose looked around. A brakeman at the back of the car, a man immersed in a book, a bride arid groom in painfully new clothes side by side like wax figures; there was no one near. On the other side of the table Daniel tapped an unlighted cigarette on the back of a hand as though he had forgotten what it was for. His eyes between thick fair lashes, were fixed on the fields drifting past. He didn’t seem to be aware that the others had gone and that they were alone.

  Rose said in a quick low voice, "Daniel, I want to talk to you,” and he turned an unsmiling gaze on her that was still miles away. She frowned. "Pay attention,” she told him, "it’s important. Listen, Daniel. Yesterday evening there was a woman with Davidson in his compartment before you w’ent in.”

  She succeeded in getting Daniel’s attention with a vengeance. He was staring at her. The cigarette broke in his fingers. There was a light in his eyes now, a luminous almost blazing light. He put his hands flat on the table and leaned towards her.

  "Rose—you know. You knew all the time . . .”

  It was an accusation, flat, toneless, inimical. Before Rose could speak he went on, his face very white and set.

  "Candy didn’t kill Davidson. If that’s what you’re thinking, it’s crazy. Candy has no gun. She doesn’t know how to shoot—and anyhow the idea of her killing anyone, with a bullet, is mad. She’s terrified of weapons, all weapons, she made me throw away every single trophy I brought back from the Pacific. She’s even afraid of a cap pistol. . . . No, Candy had nothing to do with Davidson’s death. Someone wrent into his compartment and killed him after Candy was gone.”

  Rose didn’t say anything for a full moment. She was too astonished for speech. And yet all along she had had a feeling that when Daniel burst into her compartment his emotion was too extreme, that simply finding Davidson dead didn’t explain it, that there had to be something else . . . Candy and Davidson. Candy . . . How did Daniel know Candy had been with Davidson? He couldn’t have seen her leave Davidson’s compartment because if he had been watching from some place along the corridor he would also have seen the murderer come and go. Then how did he know?

  Rose thought back. After he had come into her compartment, when he stood leaning against the closed door, his right hand had been thrust into his pocket. . . . He might have been holding something. In the
lounge car yesterday afternoon Candy had worn lemon colored gloves. Last night at dinner she had carried green ones that didn’t go with her suit. Had she carried the green ones because—Rose sat forward.

  “Candy’s gloves were in Davidson’s compartment when you went in and found him dead.”

  Daniel looked at her. He nodded. His face was gray. “One of Candy’s gloves. It was lying on the floor close to his feet . . . but she didn’t kill him, Rose.” He drew a deep breath. “Why should she? Candy never does anything without a reason. She looks impulsive, but she isn’t. . . . Davidson admired her and showed it openly, and she likes admiration. It’s meat and drink to her. Why should she kill him? What possible reason could she have?”

  There was an urgent, repetitive note in his voice. He had evidently asked himself the question over and over again. The answer was—none; Candy had no reason. A cluster of tall buildings thrust themselves up into the sky, pink and white against the blueness; more buildings, they were entering the outskirts of the city.

  “What happened to Candy’s glove, Daniel? What did you do with it?”

  Daniel said heavily, “I gave it back to her. I was afraid someone might ask . . . there was blood on it. I washed it out.”

  Rose was sitting in a fall of bright sunlight, a shiver went through her. “Then Candy knows you were in Davidson’s compartment before you came in to me, knows that I know you found him?” Daniel said yes. So that was why Candy had made herself pleasant. . . . No, Rose thought, Candy never did anything without a reason.

  Daniel said that Candy hadn’t been with Davidson for more than five minutes at the most. After the four of them, Daniel, Rose, Candy and Loretta met in the corridor and Rose had gone into her own compartment, Daniel had had words with Candy before walking off towards the lounge car. He didn’t go into the car. He had remained in the vestibule looking out of the window with his back turned. Me didn’t know how long he stood there, or how many people went past him, or who they were. Then lie started forward again. When he reached Davidson’s compartment he had gone into it on impulse.

  “I was pretty hot under the collar at the whole business, thought it was about time I began to clean house.”

  Rose looked at him. lie was staring down at the table top, his fair head bent. His mouth had a bitter twist to it. Was he still in love with Candy, was it hurt pride that had brought him to her with the certainty of comfort, that, and a terrible fear about his wife? Rose tried to summon anger, and couldn’t. It wouldn’t come. She thought, I’m a fool, but Daniel hurt, in trouble, touches my heart and always will. You couldn’t get over the tenderness you had for someone you had loved deeply, even if the love itself was gone. Besides, there was something defenseless about him . . .

  She said, “Let’s try and figure it, Daniel,” and they worked it out that there had been a ten minute interval, or almost, when Davidson was alone, after Candy went and before Daniel opened his door—wThich was all very well, but if they didn’t know who Davidson’s visitor was it didn’t help any. The train was beginning to slow, was entering the yards. Shining tracks crisscrossing, a shunting engine, the city was all around; solid and sunny and businesslike. They had been together long enough. Rose got to her feet. Daniel didn’t move. He looked up at her.

  “You won’t tell the police about Candy’s glove, Rose?”

  The misery in his eyes shook her. Deeper and deeper, she was getting in over her head. In more ways than one. The less time she spent with Daniel, the better. She said, “No, I won’t tell them,” with the mental reservation “unless I have to,” and left him.

  Back in her own compartment with the door locked, while the train backed and filled interminably and ice was loaded, the question of why Candy Font had removed her gloves during her short visit to Davidson just before he died, and why she had dropped one glove without noticing, continued to tease Rose’s mind. Candy didn't drop things. Property was valuable to her, particularly if it had to do with personal adornment. It was a puzzle . . .

  Meanwhile Todhunter was approaching the goal towards which Rose was unwittingly fumbling by another road. In spite of what he had said the night before, Nils Gantry didn’t leave the train at Calgary to go back to New York. Todhunter ran into him on the platform, hatless and bagless, strolling idly towards the exit.

  Todhunter said, “You’re not getting off here, you’ve decided to go on to Amethyst Lake?”

  “Right. I changed mv mind.”

  Just that. Nothing more. Gantry’s expression was unreadable. Walking beside him Todhunter reflected that Rose O’Hara’s fancy couldn’t have lighted on two more different men than Daniel Font and Gantry. Font was quiet in manner and bearing, and gentleness was natural to him. He wouldn’t want to hurt anyone if he could help it. Gantry was a thruster, hard fibered and tough. And inscrutable. He’d tell you exactly what he wanted to tell you, and no more.

  Lighting a cigarette he remarked that Calgary was quite a city. “If I had money I’d invest in Canada, you can feel it growing, and it’s solid, you can feel that too. It’s all wool and a yard wide —even if there isn’t too much of a variety in color and they’re out of small sizes. We’ve got half an hour, I think I’ll have a look around ...” He walked away.

  The Beldings were waiting for a cab on the curb in front of the station. Todhunter saw them into one and went tranquilly towards the telegraph office. ‘And I’ll be in Scotland afore ye’—he had no slightest doubt that the Beldings would turn up at Amethyst Lake. Belding was a shrewd fellow. If he was involved with the dead woman in New York, or with Davidson’s killing, flight would be fatal.

  There were no messages from the inspector waiting for him. He sent off his report. The big busy station was emptying. Todhunter joined the throng in front of the gates that led to the platform. Candy Font and her mother were in front of him. People craned to stare at the pink poodle over the girl’s arm. The crowd was dense. Voices were a high hum, feet shuffled, a baby cried. Out ahead, the constable in uniform, a benign giant in black bonnet held by a chin strap kept order. Someone said, “What’s the difference between tourist and first class?” and the constable answered succinctly, without moving a muscle, “Sittin’ up, layin’ down.”

  A ripple of laughter—it was then that Candy Font put a hand on her mother’s arm. Her pretty shoulders were suddenly stiff. She was looking in front of her and to the right. “Loretta,” she exclaimed in a low voice, “over there, beyond the woman in red, it's . . . it is."

  Loretta Pilgrim half turned, and looked where her daughter was looking. She frowned. Her color faded. The frank blue eyes were narrow, fixed. She said in an agitated voice, “Yes, it is. . . . Now what—I don’t like this."

  Todhunter craned in an attempt to see who the two women w'ere staring at, but the man in front of him was as big as an ice house and completely blocked his view. He was trying to edge past the fellow when the gates slid back and he was swept forward on the surge of packed bodies that streamed onto the platform. Candy Font and Loretta Pilgrim walked rapidly towards the rear of the long train. He searched the crowd for a face turned towards them, a pair of watching eyes, and got nothing for his pains.

  The particular cage in which they had been penned up was devoted to passengers who had left the train and were waiting to reboard it. People getting on at Calgary were in another enclosure. The individual whose presence had surprised and dismayed mother and daughter had therefore been on the train all along. He or she couldn’t be in the Pullman section, or they wouldn't have registered shock, which they very certainly had. Whoever it was must have come from the tourist section. The conductor w'ould be busy for awhile, have a talk with him later; Todhunter mounted the steps of the nearest car and made his wray forward.

  The four tourist sections were crowded to capacity. Every car was bursting at the seams. To winnow out an individual passenger who was faceless, nameless and of indeterminate sex, would take a lot of time—more time than there was. The Commonwealth was due at Field at 3
:20. The Pullman dining car divided tourist and first class. Todhunter talked to the chief steward, who said that most certainly it was possible for a tourist passenger to get through to the Pullmans. They had trouble like that, not often, but occasionally.

  The little detective ate a sandwich and drank a cup of coffee morosely. The area of inquiry into the death by violence of Gilbert Davidson had now been expanded to include an additional 430 people to those already on hand.

  An open observation car had been put on at Calgary. Half an hour out of the city the train began to climb. The mountains were coming nearer, then they were past Morley and in them, and the long snake with two Diesels for a head wound its way through deep gorges and narrow valleys between immense rocky shapes, tier on tier of them tumbling up into the sky, savage, formidable, and untouched. No villages clung to their high slopes, above the timber line there was nothing but rock and snow.

  Loretta Pilgrim and her daughter left their own quarters and went back to the open observation car. Todhunter drifted after them. They had been knocked for a loop outside the big station a short time ago, they were O.K. now. Mrs. Pilgrim, pink and white, wind ruffling her smoky curls, unloosed a flood of information that attracted the interested attention of a half dozen eager tourists. She seemed to know the country, talked vivaciously to her daughter in her light clipped voice. “I remember it all so well. . . . Bears and big horn sheep and Rocky Mountain goats. . . . Look, oh look, there are the Three Sisters coming up, see those three peaks—and that’s the Bow River. . . . The color, darling? It gets to be that milky jade from the glaciers emptying into it. Isn’t it lovely, isn’t it wonderful? In a minute now we’ll be at the Great Divide. There, over there, ” she waved a dimpled hand, “see it, the signboard? And there’s Mount Bourgeau—and the peak beyond it is Pilor Mountain. . . .”