by Zenith Brown
Jonas grinned at her.
“Indian giver!” he said.
“No, indeed, Dr. Smith. I was just going around the house, and I saw the fish in the kitchen window in the hot sun. I felt they were not getting the proper care. So I—”
“Maybe you’re right,” Jonas said.
The child’s china-blue eyes were so full of distress that even if he had dearly wanted the goldfish he would have been delighted for her to take them. He smiled at her again.
“You said the other day you wanted to see me? I’m free now, if—”
“Oh, no, Dr. Smith. I didn’t have that in mind at all. I was just on my way home, and I—”
She dropped her knitting bag, her hairbrush and comb falling out of it on the floor. Jonas recovered them and took the bowl out of her hands. “Why don’t you let me walk home with you, and carry some of this stuff?”
“That would be very kind of you, Dr. Smith. I’m afraid I have more than I can comfortably carry. And I do want to get things straightened around.”
“I take it you’ve decided Professor Darrell is going to get well?”
“That isn’t kind in you to say, Dr. Smith.” There were sudden tears in the child’s voice. “I never had any other thought, or wish. It’s just that now we don’t have to… to worry about things any more, I felt it was my duty to go home. If you’ll hold my bag a minute, my cat’s right over there by the tree.”
She stuffed her knitting bag under Jonas’s arm. The cat was secured to a branch of a crape myrtle. Jonas watched her release it. He and Miss Olive and the cat on its red leather leash continued through the iron gate to the street.
“It’s just a step, as you know,” Miss Olive said. “And we haven’t walked much lately. It isn’t that I mind losing money to Tinsley, when of course he doesn’t accept payment. But it is provoking. Thirteen per cent of the people of America who buy playing cards play pinochle. But now it’s decided that Jenny had nothing to do with that dreadful thing out on the Creek, I don’t feel they need me any more. I suggested to Elizabeth that Jenny could come stay with me, but that upsets Tinsley too. He’s very aggravating, Dr. Smith. However, I think now we can take it for granted Mr. Grymes did kill himself, and I’m sorry if I’ve mentioned anything I should not have. Least said soonest mended, was one of Papa’s favorite sayings. Now if you’ll take the leash, I’ll get my key out of my bag.”
She gave Jonas the leash and took her knitting bag from under his arm.
“It’s all a great relief to me, I assure you, Dr. Smith. Come in, won’t you? Just take the bowl out and put it on the kitchen table.”
She closed the screen door, fastened the hook, closed the door carefully and took the leash off the cat.
“Miss Olive, why did you think Jenny was mixed up—”
“I’d much prefer not to talk about it.” Miss Olive turned on the tap and added fresh water to the bowl.
“But I’d like very much to know.”
“Would you care for a glass of sherry, Dr. Smith?”
“Thank you,” Jonas said.
The sherry was in Papa’s sanctum. He followed the plump white-haired little lady in and watched her as she poured them each a glass. She sat down by the marble-topped table and crossed her feet.
“I really think you ought to tell me.”
“Well, I’m sure it’s very simple, Dr. Smith. Jenny is a sweet child but very aggravating. She takes after her mother, who was a delightful woman. All her trouble was that she didn’t stand up to Tinsley. If she’d simply put her foot down, Tinsley would have admired her. She was afraid of him, and it provoked him. Jenny’s the same way. Papa always said to me, Olive, stand up and say Oh, pshaw! and you’ll always get along with Tinsley.’
“You see, Dr. Smith, Jenny had an engagement with this man Saturday night. She admitted it to me when she changed her plans and brought her frock over to me the last minute to cut off the skirt where the net had stretched. She came by for me to see her with her midshipman on the way to the hop. I normally retire early when I’m home and haven’t company. When my cat is restless, I sometimes take him across on the College Green, which I did Saturday night. I saw a big car go in the Court, and I was curious, so I walked over that way. I saw Jenny and this man. I wouldn’t have hesitated to stop them, but I wasn’t properly clothed to speak to a gentleman, and my hair was up in curlers. But they were talking about the St. John’s dance, and I knew Elizabeth intended being there, so while I was worried, I didn’t wish to be unreasonable. But that explains why I felt it was my duty to say something Sunday after church. Of course I was not aware, Dr. Smith, that Miss Van Holt was married to the man. That surprised me very much.”
She took a sip of sherry and put her glass down.
“Can you shoot, Miss Olive?”
He asked it casually, watching the rosily flushed cheeks and the bright indignant blue eyes.
“Oh, yes, Dr. Smith. Papa was an old-fashioned gentleman. He felt it was every young woman’s duty to know how to protect herself. He—”
Miss Olive stopped suddenly, and got to her feet with surprising agility. “—I’m not expecting any callers.” She hastily rearranged the white ruffles in the front of her dress. Her ears were sharper than Jonas’s. He had not heard the gate till it closed and Miss Olive was half-way to the front door.
He heard her open it and give a startled gasp.
A man’s voice asked, “Is Miss Van Holt in?”
Jonas went quickly to the hall. Miss Olive Oliphant, deserted at once by her child-like poise and her early training, had recoiled a couple of steps from the door. As Jonas had done on Sunday in the room behind him, she must have felt she had conjured up the ghost of the man she had been talking about.
“Hello, Mr. Grymes,” Jonas said. He moved in beside her. “Miss Olive, this is Miss Van Holt’s brother-in-law. Mr. Franklin Grymes.”
“Oh,” Miss Olive said. “—Miss Van Holt has left my house. I expect you’ll find her at the hotel.”
Jonas thought she was about to shut the door hurriedly in the handsome face of whichever Grymes brother it in truth was. He put his hand on the door and reached for the screen hook.
“I’ll just go along, Miss Olive.” He would have liked to talk to her longer, but he wanted to see the other Grymes. Mr. Grymes was a different man now. His pallor was gone. He was no longer a picture of frenzied despair as he had been on Sunday in Papa’s sanctum. He was debonair, assured and confident to the point of smug self-satisfaction.
He put out a suntanned hand. “Dr. Smith, isn’t it? Glad to see you again, sir,” he said cordially. “My car’s down the street. Can I give you a lift?”
“I’m just a block or two away,” Jonas said.
He closed the gate and looked back to smile at Miss Olive. She was standing in her doorway. Her eyes were curiously distressed, the roses in her cheeks faded to a mottled bluish-grey. She seemed almost to be appealing to him, in some way he could not make out. As he hesitated for an instant, as if to go back, she closed the door quickly. He heard the chain rattle as she fumblingly barricaded her door.
“Funny little old lady, isn’t she,” Grymes said. “—You know, doctor, I think I’d like to explain—”
“You don’t have to explain anything to me,” Jonas replied. “It’s none of my business.”
Grymes shrugged. “Well, now it’s all settled, I’m frank to admit I had a pretty bad few hours. And I feel damned sorry for the girl. Jane… Janey, what was her name? My sister-in-law called me this morning and told me she’d confessed.”
Jonas started to speak, and stopped.
“I’d have gotten down here sooner, but I had to go into a huddle with my lawyers. If there’s anything I can do for her, of course…”
They had come to the gate to Blanton-Darrell Court. There was a patronizing air to Mr. Grymes’s offer that made Jenny
Darrell sound in some way like a common tart and made Jonas Smith suddenly boiling hot under the collar. He stopped.
“There is some reason to believe she—”
He broke off as he saw the shiny green car at the curb a little ahead of his own and Sergeant Digges getting out of it.
“There’s the Sergeant,” he said stiffly. “He can probably give you the latest.”
Grymes turned his head sharply. From the expression on his handsome face it struck Jonas he would have preferred getting it somewhere else. But Sergeant Digges was already coming toward them.
“Howdy, Mr. Grymes. I heard you were expected down. Thought I might run across you. I’d like to talk to you a few minutes.”
He turned to Jonas. “Could we drop in your place, doctor?”
Grymes looked at his watch. “My time’s limited, I’m afraid. Glad to see you some other day. I have an important business engagement—”
“—With Miss Van Holt,” Sergeant Digges said politely. “She’ll wait, I imagine. I won’t keep you long.”
He went through the gate and up the path to Jonas’s wing without a backward glance. In the consulting room he ignored Mr. Grymes still further by going first to the desk, and out on the terrace. He came back, dropped his hat on the floor by a chair and stood leaning on the chair back, looking steadily at Jonas.
“What happened here last night? Miss Van Holt tells me your lamp’s gone and you had a new piece of glass put in.”
“Somebody took a shot at me. I didn’t report it because I thought I knew who it was. I understand it’s out of your jurisdiction anyway, and I didn’t see any use calling in another set of policemen. So I just kept my mouth shut.”
Sergeant Digges nodded in ironic approval. “And you found you were wrong again. I told you to look out, I wouldn’t be here.”
He turned to Grymes. “Where were you last night?”
“In Washington. I had a business appointment. Miss Reed says she explained that to you. From what my sister-in-law has told me, I shouldn’t think you’d have to look far for the people who’d be interested in shooting Dr. Smith. I understand—”
“You can let me worry about that. It’s you I’m interested in right now. You’ve got some explaining to do, Mr. Grymes. What is your first name?”
“Franklin.”
“I believe not. Your name is Gordon Darcy Grymes. Your dead brother was Franklin Grymes. Is that right?”
There was a tense silence in Jonas’s consulting room. The man standing by the fireplace flushed, and went curiously putty-colored. His color returned slowly, his eyes lighting with anger.
“My sister-in-law… ?”
Sergeant Digges shook his head. “The FBI and the Los Angeles Country Police, Mr. Grymes. Your brother’s fingerprints are on record in both places, from January 18, 1940… seven months before you took his name and came to Baltimore.—You didn’t know such a record existed, did you, Grymes?”
“Not until—” Grymes checked himself quickly. “No. I didn’t know it. I’d never have let myself out on—”
“You’d never have let yourself out on a limb if you’d known it?”
Sergeant Digges looked at him curiously.
“You mean you wouldn’t have killed him if you’d known the record existed, and he could prove ownership—”
Grymes’s voice rose hysterically. “I didn’t kill him! And he didn’t own the Foundry!”
“I think he did, Mr. Grymes.—Your uncle left the Old Foundry to Franklin Grymes. It’s in the deed and it’s in his will. He deeded one half of it to Franklin Grymes in August, 1940 and left the other half to him in his will in 1942. You, Gordon Grymes, took your brother’s name and took his property.”
“That’s a lie. I didn’t take it—my brother gave it to me. He didn’t want it, we agreed on it. He’d never done any business, he didn’t want to have anything to do with it. It was a liability when my uncle tried to give it to him. He’d have gone bankrupt waiting for the old man to die before he could sell it to some museum or historical society. I wanted it. I could use it. I’ve built it up to a five million dollar plant. But my uncle wanted to keep the name Franklin Grymes. He wouldn’t give it to me. That’s why we switched names, and my brother dropped the Grymes because Darcy sounded better in Hollywood. It was a friendly agreement. The old man couldn’t tell us apart, and nobody else could have if he hadn’t been arrested before we switched. I never knew it, and he must have forgotten about it.”
“You’re sure he forgot? Are you sure that isn’t what he reminded you of when you had dinner with him Saturday night?”
Gordon Grymes had controlled himself. “He knew it was my brains and my work that made something out of it. I was willing to make a deal with him. That’s what I came back for. I didn’t kill him, Sergeant. There was never any idea of fraud—”
“You’re sure of that too, Grymes?” Sergeant Digges asked shortly. “I’m not. Seems to me there’s a little matter of draft evasion you’ve forgotten? Or have you? Your brother Franklin was an obvious 4-F. If you hadn’t taken his place in the Foundry, you’d have been drafted back there. You sure the Department of Justice wouldn’t be interested in you?”
Grymes’ face was grey.
“I was deferred. I was in an essential occupation. The statute of limitations—”
“You were deferred by fraud, under another man’s name. And you’ve had your lawyers look up the statute of limitations? You’ll be glad to hear there’s some question about that. But what I’m telling you now is that Saturday night, here in Annapolis, you and your five million dollar plant were at the mercy of your brother. You didn’t know till Saturday that he had legal proof to establish his identity as Franklin Grymes, and it wasn’t merely a matter of his word against yours. You were down here in Annapolis—”
“I tell you, I didn’t see him the second time I came down. I went to his hotel room. He wasn’t there. A woman called and I got out. I went straight back to Baltimore. I’m trying to keep Miss Reed’s name out of this, but she—”
Jonas Smith, sitting at his desk, absently turning over the cards he’d filled out on his variegated young patients, tossed them aside and got up. He felt an intense annoyance. For a man who was trying hard to keep Miss Reed and her name out of it, Grymes certainly managed to bring her and it in, johnny on the spot, whenever he thought they would do him any particular good.
“Excuse me,” he said. “I think I’d like a little fresh air.”
He strolled out on the terrace and through the wicket into the Darrells’ garden. Even a glimpse of Elizabeth would clear some of the murk out of his mind. He looked up at the big house. The doors and windows were wide open, but it seemed strangely quiet. He glanced up at the Professor’s window. His chair was there, but the card table was closed and leaning against the wall in front of the window. The place was too quiet. Jonas had a curious sense of malease as he wandered toward the kitchen wing. The gravelled space behind the old carriage house was empty. Elizabeth’s car was gone, and so was Wetherby’s dilapidated vehicle that usually stood there.
He went around the kitchen to the front of the house. The drive was empty. The black-and-gold bumble bee was buzzing on the outside of the screen door, trying to bully his way in. He hesitated an instant and went up the steps. The screen door was hooked. He knocked tentatively. Someone was inside; he could hear the murmur of voices coming from the living room. He knocked again.
“Hello!” he said. “You were supposed to be in bed asleep.”
It was Jenny who appeared in the hall doorway. He didn’t like the hard white flesh at the sides of her nostrils, or the too-bright, too-fixed look in her eyes. “What goes on?”
“Nothing. I was in bed, but I got up. Elizabeth had to go out, and Wetherby took Grandfather to the Club.”
She spoke quickly, drawing the door half-shut behind her to exclude
him, pointedly not asking him to come in.
“Who’s here, Jenny?” he asked quietly.
“Nobody.”
But there was somebody. Through the space between the heavy iron hinges of the old door he could see the light from the back garden windows. He caught a scarlet flash as someone moved noiselessly across it, moving back, out of the way. It was Philippa, in there talking to Jenny.
“Sure?” he asked.
Jenny’s eyes brightened and two red spots came out on her pale cheekbones.
“I’m allowed to have anybody I want to come to this house, Jonas Smith,” she said hotly. “You don’t have any right to ask me questions. I’m talking to an old friend of mine, trying to see if I can remember if I saw anybody out at the cottage that night. I have a perfect right to talk to anybody I like.”
“Sure you do, Jenny. I beg your pardon. I’m sorry.”
Jonas looked at her intently a moment before he moved back. He raised his voice. “By the way, if you should happen to see Philippa, tell her her brother-in-law’s over at my place talking to Sergeant Digges. She might—”
“Sergeant Digges? Is he over there too?”
Jenny caught her breath. He saw her hand tighten on the door knob.
“Yes. He’s there. Would you like to see him, Jenny?”
“No.”
He had the impression she’d quickly changed her mind, and that that was the impulse she’d had. She moistened her lips as she moved back.
“No. What would I want to see him for?” She was closing the door slowly. “I’ll… tell Elizabeth you were here. And if I see Philippa, I’ll tell her what you said.”
He went down the steps and toward the wing. He was profoundly disturbed. Philippa Van Holt was a shrewd, bitter and determined woman. Her friendship and sympathy for Jenny, in contrast with her antagonism toward Elizabeth, had been one of the best things about her. He was worried now. Maybe she did believe Jenny had killed her husband, and was going at it here, in some way, to find out for sure. Or perhaps she’d given up that idea and was working at it through her own special brand of truth serum, trying to make Jenny remember.
