“No, Keith,” she said in the patient, almost indulgent tone of a fond mother talking to her child. “You must be mistaken. Vivian wouldn’t do a thing like that. She couldn’t.”
For a moment or so Lambert seemed to waver in his resolve. He glanced again at this girl he had liked so much. He brushed his tousled straw-colored hair back from his forehead with his free hand. There may have been an instant when a further plea by Sally might have turned the trick but before that happened Mark Farrow’s blunt indignant voice destroyed the spell.
“Of course she couldn’t,” he said. “Vivian’s been with me ever since six o’clock.”
“Hah!” Lambert said, scornful now. “That’s what you said the other night,” he argued. “You said you went home together and stayed there. You said neither of you left this house and that’s a lie because I saw her come through the main cabin that night. In a bathing suit . . . You thought I was asleep, didn’t you?” he said to the woman. “You too,” he said, not looking at Scott but speaking to him.
“You wanted me to pass out so I wouldn’t bother Julia. You thought I would if I took one more drink. I was afraid I would too. That’s why I only sipped it and pretended the rest. You took my shoes off, and my jacket . . . Well, I wasn’t asleep and I hadn’t passed out. After you’d gone I sat up. I talked to myself, trying to get up nerve enough to go in and wake Julia.”
Once more his mouth trembled and he said: “I couldn’t make myself do it. I was afraid. I hated myself but I couldn’t help it. I stretched out again. I was still awake when she came into the cabin.” He looked at Vivian. “In a dark blue swim suit,” he said. “You didn’t see me at first and then you stopped and looked at me. You thought I was asleep. You went forward. I didn’t hear a sound and I kept on pretending I was asleep until you left. Then I went in and looked at Julia. She had that pillow over her face and head. She was dead.”
He took a quick breath and said to Scott: “Then you came just after that. I watched what you did. I saw you take the keys from Julia’s pocketbook. I didn’t know what to do. I—I guess I fell asleep. I can’t remember anything until you shook me that morning.”
“What rot,” Farrow said. “You’re lying,” he added harshly.
“No,” Vivian said.
“What?” Mark stared at her.
“He’s right,” she said, her voice strangely quiet. “I did go there.”
“Vivian!”
She did not seem to hear her husband. Her strong-boned face was impassive, but her mouth was white and the proud shoulders had begun to sag.
“I couldn’t sleep after we’d gone to bed,” she said. “I kept thinking of her. Hating her. Knowing she would spoil everything if she could. Finally I couldn’t stand it any longer and I knew what I had to do.”
There was no other sound but the monotone of her voice as she told how she had put on her bathing suit and a long dark robe, how she had driven as close to the club as she dared and then swam out to the schooner.
“I didn’t stop to think of the consequences; I guess I didn’t quite realize what I was doing. Even after I saw Keith on the bunk I wouldn’t give up. I went into her room and looked down at her.”
She stopped and wet her hps. She said: “For what was in my mind I certainly must be guilty.”
Scott swallowed against the dryness in his throat and for some reason found it hard to break the silence that expanded through the room.
“She was dead, wasn’t she?”
Vivian nodded. “I couldn’t see too well but I saw the pillow. It was across her face and I moved it and then I realized she was not breathing. I took her hand and there was no pulse and then—” Her voice broke but she quickly controlled it. “I can’t remember what I did then. I only knew I had to get out. Somehow I did.”
“Just a minute . . . Please!” Lambert shifted the gun and his mouth was slack. He peered bewilderedly at Vivian and then at Scott. “Are you saying Julia had already been killed. I mean, before that?”
“Yes,” Scott said. “And she wasn’t killed by anyone who swam out to do the job.”
“Alan!”
The sound of that voice surprised Scott and he had to glance round to realize that it was Sally who had spoken. She had moved closer to her step-sister, putting out a hand to reassure her. He recognized that gesture for what it was, but it was the look in her eyes that hit him hard inside. Those eyes were silently pleading for help. He had given her hope and she was waiting, expectantly and yet afraid lest some trick or empty promise shatter his hope.
“Are you sure, Alan?” she whispered.
He swallowed against the sudden thickness in his throat, grateful that what she wanted to hear was the truth.
“Yes,” he said. “I’m sure.”
“How do you know?” Lambert demanded, his tone suggesting he believed none of this.
“A swimmer’s feet would have been clean.”
“Clean?” Farrow’s hard-jawed face was grim but his dark gaze held a baffled look. “Naturally they’d be clean.”
“I saw the wet spots on the deck that Vivian had made.”
“But-”
“A swimmer coming directly aboard from the water could not have brought sand with him,” Scott said, and then went on to tell how he had gone below in his bare feet once he had awakened. “I’d swept up before I went ashore,” he said, “but when I stopped outside Julia’s cabin there was sand on the carpet. I felt it. There was more sand on the cabin carpet.”
When there was no reply he said: “It didn’t mean anything then. I felt it and somehow knew that sand shouldn’t be there but all I could think about then was Julia. Not until tonight when Freddie made me think, when I knew he’d been on the beach—not until then did I realize that if there was sand in the alleyway and cabin—and there was—it meant the killer brought it from the beach. It stuck to his shoes after he’d rowed out. When he went below some of that sand fell off.”
“What you’re saying is that Vivian didn’t kill Julia,” Crane said finally.
“I’m saying Julia was killed before that by someone who came aboard from the beach.” He hesitated, glancing from one to the other. “Maybe you don’t know about Waldron.”
“Waldron?” Lambert said. “How does he—”
“He came aboard that night,” Scott said. “I’ll tell you about it. It may take a while but you ought to know about him.”
He had Lambert’s attention now and that pleased him. He still did not like the look in the young mans eyes nor the way he clung to the gun. It scared him a little and he was hoping that if he took his time his words might work as a mild soporific which, if it did nothing to change Lambert’s mind, might at least make him less alert.
“Waldron was a friend of Julia’s,” he said, “and she phoned him the night she arrived. Howard knows about that”—he glanced at Crane—”because Waldron was questioned the other afternoon when we were. Maybe the rest of you know too, but what you don’t know is that Waldron isn’t the right name.”
He went on unhurriedly to tell who Waldron was and why he had come to Barbados. He spoke of the newspaper clipping that Julia had sent him and then he went back to relate the story of Waldron and Luther and the plan which was to get Luther oif the island and remove him as a witness until Waldron felt safe.
“Julia intended to blackmail Waldron,” Farrow said.
“That’s the way it looks.”
“And Waldron killed her?” Lambert asked in slow bewilderment.
“He says not.” Scott hesitated. “And if the one who killed Julia also killed Freddie then it couldn’t have been Waldron because Briggs has had him wrapped up since four this afternoon when they took Waldron off the Colombie”
“But”—Crane frowned and shook his head—”you’re trying to tell us that Julia was killed by someone that came from the beach, and Waldron did just that, but Waldron didn’t do it.”
“That’s right.”
“Then—who did?”
&n
bsp; “You,” Scott said. “The way I figured it, Howard, after I’d talked with Freddie, is that it had to be you or him and Freddie’s dead. That leaves you.”
Crane started to laugh, then stopped abruptly. “You are serious, aren’t you?”
“You know I am.”
CHAPTER 21
FOR A MATTER of two or three seconds a shocked silence settled over the room. No one moved; no one made any attempt to speak. Everyone seemed to have forgotten about Lambert and his threatening gun. Everyone but Scott. While the others stared at Crane, he moved a step closer to that gun, not knowing what might happen but wanting to be prepared. As with the others, there was astonishment in Lambert’s gaze but deep down the eyes remained hot and bright and unpredictable.
It was Crane who broke the silence. He cleared his throat with a chuckling sound and a grin began to work on his tanned face.
“You’re being ridiculous, Alan.”
“Maybe,” Scott said. “Maybe not.”
“But what basis is there for thinking—”
“Let’s start with the hotel. You searched her room.”
“Suppose you prove it.”
“The only way I can prove it,” Scott said, “is by the process of elimination. The police checked the Carib Hotel the day after the murder. Briggs will tell you that, as he told me. Briggs says that no one asked about Julia that first night or made any inquiries about her room. So, without inquiries, how would anyone know which room was hers?”
He answered his own question when there was no reply. “You were the only one who could know without asking, Howard. You met her at the airport. You took her to the hotel. Whether you went up with her, or stood beside her while she registered, you knew. And later when you wanted to search that room you had to wait until the porch was empty before you could climb to the window. You had to do it that way because you didn’t have a key.”
Crane waved the argument aside. “Assuming you’re right,” he said, “assuming I did go to her room, that hardly justifies your accusation of murder. What possible motive would I have?”
“All I can do is guess about that. You sent for her.”
“I admitted that to Major Briggs. I told you why.”
Scott nodded and told the others what Crane had said. “You thought if you got Julia down here she’d clamp down on Keith so he wouldn’t put any money into this club of Freddie’s. You didn’t want the competition.” Scott shifted his weight and said: “It was a good story. I believed it and I guess Briggs did too.”
“It happens to be the truth,” Crane said.
“I doubt it. I think there was another reason you sent for her but it didn’t occur to me until this evening. I’ll admit I’m guessing about this but”—he paused to glance about the room—”you can stop me if I’m wrong.”
He looked at Lambert, found he still had the other’s attention, and continued to Crane: “I understand you have a very pretty wife. I’ve been told she’s not only lovely but rich. I think she’s very important to your way of life.”
“Agreed.”
“You can play all the tennis you want, and sail your little sloop, and race your horses and fool around with things like the Surf Club. All on her money, Howard, because the way I get it you don’t do a lick yourself and couldn’t pay your own way on any of those things.”
“Just a minute.” Crane’s face flushed and his eyes grew mean. “What happens between Mrs. Crane and myself needn’t concern you.”
“But it does,” Scott said. “You want a motive for murder and I’m trying to give you one. You’ve admitted you were friendly with Julia last summer while your wife was in England. Everyone seems to know about that part of it. I think it was a lot more than friendship. I think—”
Lambert cut him off.
“How right you are,” he said. “I knew what was going on. Three different times you and Julia went to Trinidad by different planes,” he said to Crane. “I hired a detective in Port of Spain to be sure in case I ever wanted a divorce and Julia contested it. I never needed that evidence because by fall she had decided to get her own divorce. What she did last summer meant nothing to me but it would have to you, Howard, if your wife had found out just how friendly you were with Julia. She let you spend her money but she would have left you in a minute if she’d ever known how it was with you and Julia. And do you know what would happen then? You’d have ended up clerking in the grocery store.”
He ran out of breath as he finished and Scott continued, speaking again to Crane.
“You knew where to cable Julia,” he said. “If I’m going to guess I’d say she’d been blackmailing you by mail. She’d made a terrific mistake by divorcing Keith too early and it must have bothered her plenty. She’d settled for a little cash and a handful of jewelry when she might have been rich. She probably brooded about it and I think she finally came down here with a three-way plan in mind.”
He hesitated, palms damp and the perspiration beginning to prickle on his scalp. The room seemed unnaturally hot and still and there was no sound but the muted crunch of the surf on the beach outside. Crane was waiting, gaze narrowed and his jaw set. The others were waiting too but he was no longer concerned with them. He swallowed and said:
“She had this idea of a colossal bluff she wanted to put over on Keith, hoping for some sort of a quick cash settlement before he discovered she was lying about the divorce. We know she expected to collect from Waldron, or Welsh, so why not collect a final payment from you while she was here? You’d have to pay and you knew it, so you sent for her, wanting her to come while your wife was away in Jamaica, planning all along to kill her, maybe not knowing how or when until you saw the perfect chance the first night.”
“You’re still guessing,” Crane said.
“In a way,” Scott said. “This is no court of law. It’ll be a police job in the end and right now all I’m trying to do is answer your question . . . I say you had a perfect chance to kill Julia,” he said. “The minute you saw me at Club Morgan you knew it. You knew she was alone on the schooner and you knew it would be a while before I started back. Waldron knew it a little later—you couldn’t have missed him by much—and he tried the same thing. So everyone but you and Waldron and Freddie Gardner thought I was still aboard, Freddie because he hung around the beach too. I don’t know why unless he was also trying to get up enough nerve to do what so many people wanted to do.”
He wet his lips and said: “Julia was dead when Keith and I came back at one o’clock and no one in his right mind, believing I was still aboard, would have tried to sneak on until I’d had a chance to get to sleep. Vivian did wait. She and Mark drove home when they went ashore—that was around eleven twenty or so—and she didn’t come back until about two. Keith came to Club Morgan just after you left so he had no time to kill Julia, and I know he didn’t do it later because I took off his shoes; he couldn’t have tracked sand into the cabin. Neither could Waldron because he did not come aboard from the beach. He came from the Aquatic Club pier. That left you and Freddie, and now there’s only you.”
He paused again, feeling the tension building up inside him and still afraid of what might happen. He sidled a bit closer to Lambert, still watching Crane and seeing now the grayness showing through the tanned skin, the shine of perspiration on the forehead.
“That’s it, Howard,” he said. “What did Freddie want, money? Did he threaten to go to Briggs?”
Lambert forestalled an answer. It seemed now that he had heard enough and he spoke to Crane, his voice ragged but surprisingly quiet.
“Step away from Sally, Howard!”
He gestured with the gun and Crane, seeing that wild look, obeyed. Then Sally, understanding finally what Lambert had in mind, cried out.
“Keith! Please, Keith! Look at me!”
“Now look here, Keith,” Farrow snapped. “Put the gun down. Think what you’re doing, man. Think, damn it!”
With that Scott got into the act. He tried hard in the only way he c
ould think of, hoping his voice sounded bluff, hearty, deprecating.
“Get smart, kid,’ he said. “What you need is a drink. Let’s all have a drink and then we can sit down and talk this over and—”
“He’s right, Keith,” Vivian said, interrupting. “It’s a job for the police now. Mark can call the Major . . . Go ahead, Mark!”
The telephone was no more than six feet away and Farrow moved towards it, one eye still on the gun. He glanced at Scott, who nodded encouragement. When he picked up the instrument Scott said: “Try him at Freddie’s. He should be there now.”
Lambert seemed not to have heard any of this. His gaze was fixed and beneath the thin, high-bridged nose his mouth moved silently and grew wet at the corners. To Scott it seemed that the other had nearly worked himself up to the last desperate, half-mad moment of decision, and Crane seemed to sense this. He backed away a small step and made a futile gesture with his hands.
“Easy, man,” he said. “That’s Freddie’s gun.”
“Does it matter?” Lambert said in a broken voice Scott had never heard. “Freddie was my friend. He never did a mean or vicious thing in his life. It wasn’t in him to hurt anyone.”
“I didn’t go there to kill him,” Crane argued. “He phoned me. I went to see him on my way to pick up Sally. He said he’d seen me row out to the schooner. He said he thought the police suspected him and he’d have to tell what he knew. I argued with him. I guess he had the wind up by then because he took out the gun and I grabbed for it. That’s the way it happened.” Scott let his weight come forward and his arms swing down. He knew now that further argument was useless. In some ways Lambert had never grown up and he had lost temporarily all sense of reason and judgment. A slap in the face would have shattered the spell his mind had woven but Scott was afraid to gamble. When the gun raised two inches and the ridged knuckles tightened he leaned forward and slapped at the wrist.
He hit it as the gun exploded. A section of the window glass three feet from Crane dissolved in fragments. Then, as Lambert cried out, Scott struck him across the face with his open palm and, still moving in, knocked the automatic from his hand.
Uninvited Guest Page 18
