by Philip Wylie
Virtually everyone called the captain "Wes."
Aggie sat frowning in one of the hickory chairs which he had put in a shadowy corner. Ralph Patton noticed the frown and walked over to explain. "The state cop is Wesley Wickman--a kid from a town near here who used to bring the newspapers.
Everybody liked him. Davis--and your aunt Sarah--and a bunch of the others--sent him through college. They were disappointed when be decided to be a policeman--at first. But he rose fast--and he's got this district--and they're kind of proud of his record. That's why he's so easy-going now. He's sort of universal nephew of Indian Stones." Ralph talked as if the act were a sedative for his none too well-concealed nervousness.
"Oh," said Aggie. He couldn't help feeling a twinge at the phrase, ''universal nephew." It wasn't envy, exactly, but be compared his own life with that of the tall cop, and it did not seem that providence bad been quite fair. Captain Wes Wickman could walk into that roomful of fairly rich and reasonably snooty people without any embarrassment. He could grin and chuckie--and they'd eat out of his hand. Aggie could walk in--and they'd turn their faces away to snigger. Aggie flushed with frustration at the thought; he decided he didn't care much for men of the trooper's general type. Dumb Adonises.
Meanwhile, Wes bad pulled out the piano bench and seated himself on it. He turned to the manager and said, "Jack, just round up everybody here, will you? I want to talk a few minutes--and ask some questions."
Browne went out to the other rooms. Aggie saw Bill Calder slip unobtrusively into the billiard room--and be saw the captain observe that reappearance also. Stragglers arrived from the dining room, the terrace, and the bar. All the lounge lights were on, and the glass eyes of deer, moose and fish gleamed at the informal assembly.
CHAPTER 5
"Folks," the trooper began, "I'll make it as short and easy as I can. I've been up on the side of Garnet Knob--and I've had Jim Calder's body taken away. Our doctor'll look over the body and there may be an inquest. Probably will. You're all thinking one thing--
and I know what it is, of course. There wasn't much love lost on Jim--" He glanced over a row of heads. "Sorry, Bill--Beth--Martha--Mrs. Drayman!--and you're all wondering if it was an accident or if somebody did it on purpose."
He looked around the room. There was a general murmur. Some people were denying any such suspicion--others admitting it. The trooper evaluated that set of moods.
"I think it was an accident," he finally said. That brought another assortment of private discussions. "Here's why. Jim was a great fellow to stamp around the woods--even at night. We all know that. There's a good moon now--late, but good. I've known him to go to Garnet Knob for the moonlight-often."
Aggie heard somebody--some man--say sotto voce, "With a conscience like his--
who could sleep?" It was a thought Aggie himself had once expressed.
The officer's eyes bit into' the crowd, searching alertly but briefly for the author of those words. He went on: "Since you people have posted this whole reservation and the game has--come back thick, we've had plenty of trouble with poachers. Trappers and hunters. Mostly kids--high school age--from over in Parkawan and some men who work in the Lanting Mills. That bear trap was a semi-amateur job. It might have worked--
there's plenty of evidence of bears hanging out around there--but it wasn't any master-mind trap. It was built recently. Maybe yesterday--maybe last night--probably in the last three days or so. The bread in it was about three days stale-so it may have been baited that long ago. Last fall and winter, my men took a dozen trap lines out of your woods-and one set-gun that could easily have shot somebody's legs off. We've arrested twenty youngsters with out-of-season game, no licenses, and with birds that aren't supposed to be shot. Bill, when did your dad arrive here?"
Heads turned with the unison of tennis watchers. Bill tried to speak, cleared his throat, and answered firmly, ''Two days ago."
"And you and your wife?"
"This morning. We arrived about eleven, I'd say."
"Mmm. I stopped by your place before coming over here. You only had one servant in the house until this morning."
' That's right, Wes. We--Beth, too--were at Mother's."
The trooper took a small notebook from his pocket. "Name of Gannon. He says he went to bed last night about ten. Tired out. Your dad was still up. That's all Gannon knows. I mean to say--this morning, he found your dad's bed unmussed. Thought he'd stayed at some other house up here. Didn't even begin to wonder--as you people apparently didn't either--till late this afternoon."
"Father," said Bill Calder, "was headstrong and secretive. You never knew where he was going, or when, or how long he'd be gone."
The captain nodded. "Mmmmm. You were over at your house just now. What for?"
Bill flushed red and then began to lose color. He looked hopelessly at his wife. He stood up in the room, as if standing would help him to reply, People waited stiffly for his answer. "When I learned my father was dead," he began unevenly, "I--I--oh! you all know! Dad wasn't ever--well--idealistic. He was tough. He and I didn't get along--and you know that. I--I tried to persuade him not to come up here at all this year. Look, Wes.
I went over because I thought I'd like to get hold of any papers--business letters--that Dad has here--and hide 'em. There might have been something embarrassing in the stuff. But when I got to the porch--I saw a trooper inside --so I came back."
"You took a long time."
"I was--Lord!--upset. Can't a man be upset when his father gets killed in a horrid and unexpected way? Sure I took a long time! I was walking around--trying to get calm!"
He sounded frantic--almost tearful.
Wes nodded and said, "Sorry, Bill."
"Ralph?"
In answer, Ralph Patton stood up, looking serious and granite-like behind his steel-rimmed spectacles. He smiled fugitively at Beth. "Yes, Wes?"
"You know anything about Jim's finances at present? His income?"
The accountant shrugged. "I handle only part of his work. As we all know, Jim had been an in-and-outer--an up-and-downer. Right now, so far as I know, he's in good shape. I don't know very far." The admission seemed to hurt or to anger him. His temples showed stress. "Jim had a big income. Some people pay taxes on their incomes and some bury them. What condition his estate is really in--I couldn't say."
"Know anything about his will?" Ralph nodded. "His estate--whatever it proves to be--is evenly divided between Beth and Bill."
The captain glanced toward the place where Beth sat. ''You and Bill--Martha and her mother--were asleep all last night? No disturbance? Jim didn't stop by?"
"No," said Beth clearly. "Nothing happened."
"Sit down, Ralph. I'll see you later about Jim's property. . . . Aggie Plum."
Aggie found himself rising. The eyes were on him. He had a weak feeling in the pit of his stomach--as he'd had in school when the teacher had called him to recite on a subject for which he was not prepared. He had intended to tell the police about his spying--but he'd expected the telling would be done in private. The thought flickered through his mind that Wes Wickman's system of public inquisition had certain points in its favor--for the inquisitor.
"I just stumbled on it," Aggie said--so lamely that somebody snorted. He thought it was Beth, but he could not be certain.
Wes was eying him--incredulously. "You--too--were fond of tramping about the woods?"
"I--why, yes."
"You were here this afternoon?"
"I was."
"When did you go out--for a stroll?"
"I don't know--exactly."
"Anybody notice? Jack?"
The manager said uncomfortably, "Why, I think Aggie was here until about five, anyway. I saw him telephoning--"
Wes nodded. "You went for a stroll. You happened to take that particular road.
You found Jim. When did you get to Indian Stones?"
Aggie told him when--and how. He told about Sarah's mumps. Dr. Davis corroborated one or tw
o points with murmured words.
The trooper presently said, grinning slightly, "So Sarah has the mumps! Tough!
I'll drop in and see her. Dr. Plum, did you know Jim?"
"I must have--years ago. When I was twelve."
"Never saw him afterward?"
"No."
"Never did business with him? With any of his companies?"
"Never."
"You were taking that stroll with Danielle--"
He dropped in that question--more as a statement than an inquiry--so unexpectedly that Aggie balked again, even though he had been preparing himself for it.
' With Miss Davis?" he repeated. "Strolling? Why--why--yes."
"That's a lie," said Danielle flatly.
Again the room refocused itself. The officer was looking at Danielle and there was a glint in his eye. "Is it?" he asked blandly.
Now Danielle stood. Aggie sat down. She stared at him for a moment. "Bill Calder is an old friend of mine," she said presently. "I asked him to take me up on Garnet Knob to see the sunset." She glanced at Martha, Bill's pretty wife, and her eyes were veiled. "We'd done it often--when we were younger." Then she looked at Dr. Plum.
"Aggie heard me make the date. He wasn't phoning when Jack saw him--he was listening in on me. He followed Bill and me up the Knob. He listened to what we said. Aggie doesn't approve of me, Wes. And he's the Peeping Tom type. I suppose he gets a kick out of poking into other people's affairs." Again her eyes touched Martha. "Anyway, I saw his tracks in the old road when I came down with Bill, and I left Bill and took· a short cut we kids used to know--and there was Aggie--and there, as he told me, was Jim Calder."
A considerable buzz followed that. A buzz that forced the officer to say, "Quiet, everybody." Then he turned to the miserable anthropologist. "Were you tagging Danielle?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because--" Aggie halted. He was surely not going to inject Sarah into this. And yet--how else could he explain? He finally blurted, "Curiosity. Just pure curiosity."
People laughed. People looked angry. Beth had sucked in her lips with an expression of fascinated amusement in which was mingled a profound disdain. He did not try to look at Danielle. He knew that his original hope of achieving a pleasantly inconspicuous niche for himself at Indian Stones was ruined. He was angry, suddenly. Angry at the people for misunderstanding him--and angry at the cop for exposing him to such humiliation. His anger lighted his eyes and at the same time darkened the color under their shine. His chin shook and that made his Vandyke quiver. He took hold of the chair in front of him.
"I suppose you noticed that Jim Calder had been bitten by a dog," he said.
The effect of that was remarkable. As a non sequitur, it startled the audience. As a change of pace and mood, it caused Wes Wickman to frown and at the same time to look slightly amused. "Yes," he said, "I did notice it." He glanced around. "Anybody know what dog? Bill, did you have one?"
"No."
' There's one at the club here," Jack Browne said. "Mr. Calder was over for dinner.
Played with it. Friendly dog, though. Belongs to the chef."
"What kind?" Wes asked.
"Mongrel."
The officer was impatient. "What size, then?"
"Oh--size of a fox."
Wes nodded. "That'd be about right. Well, Dr. Plum, so what?"
Aggie was still angry. He dismissed the dogbite. "I suppose, captain, you also noticed just what sort of yank or jar it would take to bring down that deadfall?"
The trooper's apparent amusement increased. He looked around the room. His tone was sardonic. "The professor's a regular Sherlock Holmes! Trails people. Notices things. Certainly, Plum. We set it up and tipped it off to try it. It worked hard. It was heavy. I suppose you noticed that a couple of rocks had been used for ballast? They'd rolled into the brush. With them on-it worked even harder. But not too hard."
Aggie said, "Yes, I noticed."
Wes thought a moment. "Okay. Anybody else think of anything? We'll try to get whoever built that deadfall, of course. There'll be an action in it. Not homicide, though, in the deliberate sense. You can sit down, Plum."
Aggie didn't sit. Instead, he said, "Where's Hank Bogarty?" That question obviously perplexed Wes Wickman. He frowned and said, "Hank who?"
Dr. Davis responded at that point. "I can explain, Wes. I know what Plum means--
though I think it's making a mountain out of a molehill. In fact, I'd say our friend here was doing his level best to push you off asking him any more embarrassing questions about his private traits."
"Exactly! Dead right, George!" The corroboration came from old Mr. Waite--the man who had been covertly terrified by the news of Calder's death.
Dr. Davis rose in a leisurely manner. "Plum," he began, "refers to an old friend and business associate of Calder's and Waite's and mine. Sarah's, too. A man named Hank Bogarty. A self-taught engineer and metallurgist. He spent a summer here-long ago. Long ago. I had a wire from him yesterday saying he was coming on to get another stake. I--well, I must say, I thought it was a joke. Not that I didn't think he was coming--"
"Why did you think it was a joke?" Wes asked curtly.
The surgeon hesitated, glanced at Waite, and then said casually, "Why, because it was our understanding, through the years, that Hank Bogarty had done very well in the West. Didn't need money. I imagined he sent the wire in a spirit of fun--to remind us of the old days--and nothing more."
Wes was looking thoughtfully from one face to another. "I see. And he hasn't checked in?"
Waite and Davis shook their heads and shrugged. The surgeon glanced at Jack Browne--who also shook his head.
Dr. Davis said finally, "He wired from Albany. Deliveries are late around here, as you know. He might have spent the night there. He was probably driving--since the train service is poor. Maybe he had an accident. Maybe he changed his mind and decided not to come. It ought to be easy to learn about Hank Bogarty--and I, personally, feel that Dr.
Plum is injecting a good many irrelevant matters into this discussion."
Several other people muttered the same thing. The investigation continued for another half hour. Then, rather abruptly, the captain dismissed them. "I think that will be all. I don't believe there's any ground for believing there was foul play. We'll do a thorough job on that deadfall, of course. Fingerprints, and so on. But if I were you, folks, I'd just try to forget it--and sleep well tonight."
Aggie heard Waite say, "With Jim Calder gone--everybody ought to sleep better!"
Then he walked out of the club. He knew Sarah would be waiting for him--and he had a great deal to tell her. Far more than she'd bargained for. He started walking briskly toward the cottage.
Behind him came Captain Wes Wickman, walking even more briskly. When Aggie perceived that he was being followed, which was very soon, he waited. The trooper came up and fell into step. They walked a hundred yards before he spoke--and Aggie had no intention of starting a conversation with him. The policeman's words startled him. "Say, Plum. Why in the name of sin were you tagging that Davis girl?
You're not the type--and don't go on trying to make out you are! I read your book about Primitives on the Tundras--had to, compulsory at school-and I know you're not the guy to trail blondes and indiscreet husbands. Or--" a thought struck him--"are you stuck on Danielle?"
Aggie then explained about Sarah, her self-appointed mission in life, and her inhibiting mumps. It was an explanation he had intended to make, anyway--in private.
The policeman choked with laughter. He leaned against a tree, slapped his thigh, and blew his nose. Finally he said, "Sarah! What a woman! I ought to have guessed it! Lord, Plum, the Indian Stoners are going to look down their noses at you for this! If they don't learn the facts, they'll think you're some sort of social monster!" Then he became calmer-
-quite serious. "You don't believe that guy just happened to shove himself into that trap, do you?"
"Do you?"
<
br /> The trooper considered. "I think it's possible."
"Mmm. Yes. Possible."
"And darned unlikely."
"As you say--darned."
"See here, Plum. I tagged along to find out if you'd come clean with me-and you did. I questioned that Whole mob together because I wanted to see how they affected each other. I got the net impression that even if somebody had bumped off Jim Calder, the majority of our friends here would be for hushing it up. They don't like scandal or bad publicity. They're clannish. I daresay it's a good riddance. Waite--for instance--"
"What about Waite? He was in a sweat."
The policeman's eye again darted approvingly over the figure of the bearded man.
"You got that, eh? Well--in those papers Bill tried to get was a bunch of correspondence from Waite. I glanced at it. No time for anything but a glance. But, if ever one man hated another, Waite hated Calder. You know that Calder had a reputation for squeezing the blood out of even his best friends--"
Aggie nodded. "Heard about it."
"He must have bored into Waite. And Waite's a first-rate miser. Mean guy about money, anyhow. I remember driving a baseball through the windshield of his car, once."
The trooper smiled. "Anyhow, Waite's letters were full of stuff about what 'ought' to be done to Calder. Boiling him in oil was the gentlest I ran across. There were more threats than there are feathers on a goose."
"Too many," Aggie said. Then he frowned. "On the other hand, if you were going to push somebody over, it might be very ingenious to write a sheaf of wildly threatening missives. I mean--the police would assume that nobody would threaten so much, and then actually take the risk of doing the job."
"Thought of that. It's a possibility. If Calder was deliberately killed, the person who did it was darned imaginative. Darned. Imaginative to lure him into that trap---or to bang him one and carry him to it."
Aggie chuckled. They had reached the boundary of Sarah's place. "I thought, earlier this evening, that you were pretty stupid. I'm wrong."
