Puzzle for Wantons

by Patrick Quentin

  All he said was, “This Mimi Burnett was engaged then to Miss Pleygel’s half brother?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Know where she came from or anything about her?” “Nothing much. He met her in Las Vegas, I think.”

  The Inspector nodded. “Apart from Miss Pleygel and Mrs. Wyckoff and you three, there are four other guests in the house—Chuck Dawson, Miss Pleygel’s half brother, Mr. Flanders, and this Count Laguno?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Where are they?”

  “Around somewhere,” said Wyckoff. “Must be. They’re not upstairs.”

  “All right.” Inspector Craig slipped Dorothy’s purse under his arm and Janet’s will into his pocket. “I’m ready to see them now. I guess they don’t know about Miss Burnett’s death—that is, I mean, none of you told them?”

  I looked at Wyckoff. He shook his head. “No,” he said. “We haven’t told them.”

  “Well,” said the Inspector, “there’s one person in the house who didn’t need any telling. It’s up to us to find him—or her.”

  Saying it like that, he made it sound as simple as picking a needle up from the floor.

  But, as far as I was concerned, the needle was still very deep in the haystack.

  XVII

  We found the four men in the library. They had put up a card table in the middle of the huge Aubusson carpet and were playing bridge. Under the circumstances it seemed an incongruous thing to be doing, and they made an incongruous foursome. The Count was leaning over his cards, sharp-eyed, like the kind of citizen one used to be warned against on transatlantic crossings. Bill Flanders, his crutch propped against his chair, showed sulky disinterest, while Chuck and Lover had the grim determination of people who were forcing themselves to keep from thinking about other and unpleasant things.

  They were concentrating so intently upon having a bad time that our presence wasn’t noticed until Inspector Craig gave a formidable snort. Chuck, Lover, and Laguno sprang up, leaving Flanders at the table. With a poor imitation of a smile, Chuck strode over to us and pumped the Inspector’s hand.

  “Glad you got here, Craig.”

  The Inspector’s bright gaze held Chuck under close scrutiny. “Quite startling news I hear about you in Reno, Chuck. So you’ve sold your club to Jack Fetter and his outfit.”

  That came out so smoothly that for a second I did not grasp it. An awkward flush deepened the tan of Chuck’s handsome face. He looked like a boxer who had received a punch where he least expected it.

  “News certainly travels fast,” he said lamely.

  “It’s all over town. Fetter’d been trying to buy you out ever since you opened up, and now you suddenly decided to sell—quick like a bunny.” The Inspector shrugged. “Cash sale, I understand too. That’s a lot of cash. But I guess you’re right keeping any deal with Fetter on a cash basis.”

  “Yeah.” Chuck was looking down at his feet. “I was cleaning up okay but—what the hell? A guy gets tired of being tied down. I sold the Club and I’m glad to be rid of it.”

  “Chuck, you’ve sold the Club!”

  We all turned as Lorraine’s voice sounded from the doorway, sharp and challenging. She had come in without our hearing her, and she went to Chuck, her eyebrows startled into arcs.

  “Chuck, you can’t have sold the Club. It’s impossible. I mean you never told me anything. You—”

  “I sold it this afternoon, honey. I had a good offer, so I just sold out like that. I was going to tell you, but—” His eyes, watching her, were pleading. “I did it on account of you, baby. This place isn’t healthy for you any more. I don’t want us to have any ties in it. I’m going to take you away.”

  There was something about the two of them as they stood there close together, something keyed up and jarring that kept us all interested in them to the exclusion of everything else. I was doing a little wondering about this remarkable news that Chuck had sold his club on a lightning cash deal with his local rival. His expressed motives for the sale were gallant enough. But, even for so gallant a motive, it seemed odd that he should have taken it upon himself, without Lorraine’s knowledge or consent, to sell a club which had been financed entirely by her.

  His wife was still gazing at him with enigmatic intensity. “But, Chuck, how could you have sold it? You know it was our idea, from the beginning to tell Mr. Throckmorton that you owned the Club and were running it successfully, that he should see you there and—”

  Chuck moistened his lips. “Listen, baby, this is something for you and me to talk about later. There’s plenty else to worry us right now.” He indicated the silent Craig. “Inspector Craig.”

  Lorraine swirled around to the Inspector with an automatic hostess smile. “Oh, yes, Inspector Craig. How charming of you to come. How—” She seemed suddenly to recall that Craig’s visit was not a social one. “Oh dear, yes, you’ve come about poor Fleur, of course. Or is it Dorothy—or Janet? I suppose it is all of them really.” She gazed at the Inspector earnestly. “I only hope you’ll be able to do something about it before anything else happens.”

  “I am afraid, Miss Pleygel,” said the Inspector, “that something else has already happened.”

  There was an ominous quietness about him that impelled attention. They were all staring at him.

  Lorraine said, “Something else? You mean—something we don’t know about?”

  Craig looked down at his nails and then up again quickly. “Yes. Lieutenant Duluth and Mrs. Duluth have just found Miss Burnett out in the garage, dead—murdered.”

  “Mimi!” Lorraine fluttered a small handkerchief to her lips and whirled round to Chuck. Her vivid face looked gaunt and spent. “Chuck, did you hear him? He said Mimi was dead.”

  “Dead! Mimi—dead!” Lover, his round cheeks as grey as uncooked biscuits, grabbed my arm. “You found her, Lieutenant?” he said hoarsely. “You found her dead and you didn’t tell me?” He said that again and then again with the idiot reiteration of a victrola needle in a groove.

  Chuck kept very still. Both Laguno and Flanders looked more relieved than anything else. I could guess what was going on in their minds. Mimi was none of their business. Her death, if anything, made things less, rather than more, uncomfortable for them.

  Lorraine took a deep breath and said, “But why?”

  “It’s my job to ask questions not to answer them, Miss Pleygel.” Craig’s voice was unyielding. “In the first place I’d like you to tell me why Miss Burnett was leaving your house with a suitcase at this hour of the night.”

  Lorraine stammered. “Didn’t Peter—Lieutenant Duluth tell you?”

  “Lieutenant Duluth has told me nothing about Miss Burnett’s movements.”

  “Then—then—”

  Chuck broke in. “Mimi Burnett left because she decided to move to a hotel in Reno. She had become scared by the things that had been going on here. She didn’t want to stay in the house any longer.”

  When I promised Chuck to keep quiet about the Mimi-Lorraine imbroglio, I hadn’t dreamed that he was planning to lie to the police in so barefaced a manner. I didn’t know exactly how to cope with this unexpected development.

  “Miss Burnett was leaving the house because she was expecting to be attacked too?” queried Craig.

  Chuck was floundering. “I just mean that she—well, hell, three women had been attacked. She just didn’t want to stick around any longer.”

  “I see,” said Craig.

  “So you do see, Inspector.” Count Laguno stepped into the conversation. His voice was as trim and dapper as his suit. “It is most unfortunate that you do, because the thing you are seeing isn’t true. Mimi Burnett wasn’t leaving the house because she was girlishly afraid. She was leaving because Miss Pleygel had thrown her out.”

  Lorraine swung on him. “Stefano—”

  “I don’t relish discomforting you, Lorraine.” Laguno showed his bad teeth in a bland smile. “But if we weren’t prepared to tell the truth, what�
��s the point of having the police here at all?”

  Craig said sharply, “Is this true, Miss Pleygel? Did you ask Miss Burnett to leave the house?”

  Lover blundered in then. In spite of his shaken condition he seemed to be trying to support his sister. “In a way Lorraine did ask Miss Burnett to leave. It was—ah—all a most trivial misunderstanding. It could have been cleared up immediately if they’d given each other a chance to explain, but—”

  “I wouldn’t call it a trivial misunderstanding.” Laguno was still smiling. “There was quite a quarrel this evening, Inspector, between Miss Pleygel and Miss Burnett on the front steps. I happened to be passing through the hall and I could not help overhearing part of it. As I understand it, Miss Pleygel and Mr. French caught Miss Burnett in a most embarrassing embrace with Mr. Dawson. Miss Pleygel, in case you don’t know, is secretly married to Mr. Dawson. She very naturally objected to what she saw. She ordered Miss Burnett out of the house immediately and in no uncertain terms. She—”

  “One thing at a time,” cut in the Inspector. “Miss Pleygel, are you married to Chuck Dawson?”

  “I am.” Lorraine was defiant. “Is there anything criminal about that?”

  Laguno continued. “I lay no claims to being a detective, Inspector, and I certainly don’t want to do your job for you. But since Miss Burnett apparently has been murdered, I assume you’re interested in motives. I draw your attention to the fact that Miss Burnett was a definite thorn in the flesh of Miss Pleygel’s secret married life; she was probably a serious embarrassment to Chuck; and she was certainly a disappointment to her fiancé, Mr. French. There, it seems to me, are three perfectly adequate murder motives.”

  Stefano Laguno played the role of rat with such zest that I could only suppose he enjoyed it. Lorraine’s eyes were flashing as she glared at him. I had never seen her really angry before. It was an impressive sight.

  “There must be a gutter outside somewhere,” she said. “I wish I knew where one was so that I could ask Chuck to throw you into it where you belong.”

  She turned to Craig. “I’d like to remind you that poor Mimi isn’t the only one who’s been murdered. Dorothy Flanders was murdered and Janet Laguno was murdered. Now that the subject of motives has been brought up, it might interest you to know that the Count had been having an affair with Dorothy and had even threatened to kill his wife for her money. Everyone here can vouch for that.” She added in vicious mimicry of Laguno’s voice, “I lay no claims to being a detective. But there, it seems to me, is a perfectly adequate murder motive.”

  The Inspector seemed to be taking all this waspishness in his stride. “Lieutenant Duluth has given me Mrs. Laguno’s new will.” He turned to the Count. “I hope you’ll be as willing to co-operate on the other deaths as you seem to be on Miss Burnett’s, Count.”

  Laguno’s bright insolence remained untarnished. Cocking his head at a jaunty angle, he said, “Naturally, Inspector. In fact, there is something I would like to point out to you right away. If you’ve read Janet’s new will, you will have seen that she left all her property to Bill Flanders. No intelligent inspector is going to believe that I killed my wife merely to benefit someone else.” He threw out his hands. “I make the humble suggestion that, in your search for suspects, you also give some consideration to Bill Flanders. He was far from fond of his wife and—well, Janet’s death leaves him most comfortably off. I can’t quite see how he fits with Mimi’s death, but—”

  “You swine.” Bill Flanders gripped his crutch and swung himself to his feet. “You dirty swine. You think you can sling mud at everyone, don’t you?”

  Laguno smiled at him. “Give me a little more time, Flanders. I still haven’t slung any mud at—Doctor Wyckoff, for example.” His keen lizard eyes fixed on Wyckoff’s face. “I don’t want to confuse you, Inspector, by being top co-operative, but I think you should be interested in the fact that Doctor Wyckoff diagnosed Dorothy Flanders’ death as heart failure when she was obviously poisoned. I think you might also be interested in the fact that Doctor Wyckoff’s estranged wife was almost killed this afternoon when—”

  “Cut that out, Laguno,” flared Wyckoff.

  Pandemonium broke out. Everyone started talking at once, hurling accusations at each other.

  With difficulty Inspector Craig quieted them down. He gave up any further attempt at group interview, however, and announced his intention of questioning each member of the household individually. Lorraine was his first selection. He went off with her into the little yellow room that adjoined the library.

  Left to their own devices, the rest of the party subsided into a stiff silence criss-crossed with animosities. For a long, tedious period while one person followed another into the Inspector’s presence, we sat or strolled around the library doing nothing except pour an occasional drink. In the middle of it all, Craig’s men arrived. There was a further delay while he went out with them to the garage. It was after two o’clock by the time the Inspector had finished his last interview and reappeared in the library.

  He said, “I guess that’s all for now, folks.” He turned to Lorraine. “If it’s okay with you, Miss Pleygel, I’ll spend the night. Under the circumstances I think it’s a good idea for me to be on the premises.”

  That sounded ominous, as if he, like myself, was prepared for anything to happen at any minute. Lorraine arranged for him to have a room and, at his request, found him the key to the cabinet in the trophy room. Craig gave the key to one of his men with instructions to get the poisoned darts for analysis right away.

  I had no idea what conclusions, if any, the Inspector had reached, but he was obviously very much on the job.

  Just before three, when we were all still assembled in the library, he returned and said, “You’d better get some sleep. There’ll be quite a day for all of you tomorrow. Incidentally, I recommend you all keep your doors locked—particularly the women.” The steady eyes settled on me. “Maybe you’d be willing to stay up a bit longer, Lieutenant. I’d like to speak to you.”

  I could tell that Iris was bursting with eagerness to hear what the Inspector had to say. Moving towards him with a ravishing smile, she said, “Why, yes, Inspector. Of course we’d be glad to stay up.”

  Craig’s lips twisted wryly. With uncompromising politeness, he told my wife that it would be more than sufficient for his purposes to talk to me alone. Before Iris had time to realize what was happening, he was easing her out of the library in the wake of the others.

  “But, Inspector,” she protested, “my husband and I always—”

  “Fine, fine.” Craig gave a chuckle. “If you’re interested in what we’re going to say, I’m sure the Lieutenant will tell you all about it later on.” He manoeuvred Iris through the door. “Okay, Lieutenant, let’s get our teeth into this thing and see whether we can’t make some sense out of it.”

  Iris stared from him to me. “But, Peter—”

  I grinned ruefully at the Inspector. “I’ll just see my wife safely upstairs, Craig. Then I’ll be right down.”

  As I guided Iris firmly through the hall, her indignation boiled over.

  “Peter, what does he think I am? An infant with long golden pigtails? It’s—”

  “I’m sorry, honey. He’s just the old-fashioned type. He doesn’t go for women detectives. Matter of fact, I’m glad. I’ve got a hunch the whole thing is still as dangerous as a volcano. I want you out of harm’s way.”

  Iris sulked as we went up the great staircase. When we reached our room, she exclaimed vehemently, “Harm’s way. I’ve been working on this thing from the very beginning. Now when it’s getting really interesting, the little woman has to be kept out of—harm’s way.”

  That stupid phrase echoed in my mind as I glanced around the zebra-striped walls. Only that evening someone had broken into this room, searching for something. Suddenly it occurred to me that by leaving my wife alone here I might well be putting her bang slap into harm’s way rather than keeping her out of it
. I had visions of someone breaking in again while I was downstairs with the Inspector, someone creeping to the bed, bending over Iris…. The evening had rasped my nerves to such an extent that the thought made me dizzy with anxiety.

  I took Iris’ arm. I tried to look very lord and masterish. I said, “Listen, baby, I want you to sleep somewhere else tonight”

  “Somewhere else?”

  “For all we know, whoever broke in here’s going to try it again. Come on. Get your nightdress, your toothbrush.” Iris gave me a pained glance. “I may be a helpless female, but at least give me credit for being able to lock a door.”

  “I don’t trust locks. I don’t trust anything. I want you sound in wind and limb for the rest of my leave. I’m taking no chances.”

  My wife gave me a little sigh. “All right darling.”

  Reluctantly she rummaged around, collecting an exotic black nightgown, a housecoat, all the things she needed. Together we went out into the passage. Now that the mortality rate had been so high, there were plenty of empty rooms. I chose Janet Laguno’s. Chambermaids had already obliterated all traces of its former occupant. Iris dumped her things on the bed and gave me a meek look.

  “The little woman will wait up for her lord and master. Run along now to the Inspector and your masculine pursuits.”

  “Lock the door,” I said, “and don’t let anyone in. Anyone. When I come, I’ll knock four times.”

  Iris grimaced. “Like a spy story. Okay.”

  “And no funny business. No dare-devil Iris Duluth, Hollywood’s lone she-wolf crime-buster.”

  My wife shook her head. “Don’t worry. I’ve no spirit left I’m a broken blossom.”

  I kissed her, wishing that we were somewhere quite different and had never so much as heard the name Lorraine Pleygel. While my wife started fiddling with the black nightdress, I moved to the door. I wanted a cigarette. I felt in my pocket. Instead of the familiar package, I felt a hard, bulky object. I pulled it out. It was the Selected Poems of Edna St. Vincent Millay which I had absentmindedly picked up from Mimi Burnett’s side and completely forgotten.