“Stand up. That blouse is thin. Quite a sea running. You’ll be drenched. Put this on.”
She stood but raised rebellious eyes to his. Her lips opened to resent his lordly order. Closed. Why make a scene?
“White Pillars, Scott.”
“Yes, Counselor,” the man at the wheel responded. “It’s going to be rough, sir. The tide against the wind which has risen has cooked up a choppy sea.”
“Choppy is right. Get through this as fast as you can, Scott.”
“Cinderella Clinton, where in heaven's name did you come from?” Seth Armstrong demanded, even in the dim light she could see his cheeks puff and deflate. “When you dropped into this boat I thought it was an hallucination induced by an overdose of excitement.”
“It couldn’t have been a patch on my brain storm when she stepped from the closet of the stateroom in which I left my coat, Seth. Tell us what happened, Cindy. I couldn’t get half of it from your excited whisper.”
She told them, omitting the reason for faring forth in the outboard. Her story was punctuated by sudden silences when the bow of the boat bore down on a breaking wave throwing geysers of white spray.
“Why were you alone on the water so late?” Ken Stewart demanded.
She watched the red light of his cigarette glow and fade as she counted the faint strokes of a distant ship’s bell. Only eight o’clock? It seemed years since she had raced down the path from the playhouse at The Hundreds.
“I felt an urge to get away from it all,” she answered lightly.
“And you succeeded, I’ll say. I’m worn to an emotional frazzle by the late events,” Alida Barclay declared. “Fortunately there is only one more.”
“Ally!” Her brother’s low warning was accompanied by the motion of his hand toward the man at the wheel.
“Righto, Seth,” she agreed in a voice as low as his. “Cindy, you must be exhausted. I hope you didn’t take cold. How long were you in those drenched clothes?”
“It seemed an aeon or two but I wasn’t even chilly. Smell the sea. I love it. The sky is clear. Millions of stars. And now that I am on the subject of stars, have you heard that reservations are being booked for interplanetary trips to Mars, Saturn, Jupiter and the Moon leaving a space-port on March 15, 1975?”
“What a corking idea for a twenty-fifth wedding anniversary trip for a man and gal married this year. Children would be old enough to leave at home safely by that time.”
“It would depend a little on how many there were, Ken,” Ally Barclay laughed. “You’re shooting through the years faster than a rocket can shoot through space. Is it that you hear the ring of wedding bells, Colonel?” she teased. “Thanks be, we’re out of that choppy sea. I couldn’t have taken much more of it. We’d better land Cinderella at The Castle first, Seth.”
“I’ll see that she gets home safely, Ally. I left my car at White Pillars,” Ken Stewart reminded.
“The air force has spoken,” Seth Armstrong declared and chuckled.
Perhaps the Counselor wouldn’t be so amused if he knew how she resented the dictation of the “air force,” Cindy thought as after removing the slicker she stepped from the boat at White Pillars landing.
“Come in for a snack,” Alida Barclay invited. “Do you men realize that we didn’t get as far as dinner? Did you have anything to eat on the boat, Cindy?”
“Eat! No. I was too busy planning how to get away to think of food. I must go home. Sary will be expecting me. Colonel Stewart should stay —”
“Colonel Stewart is taking you home, Cinderella. Come on.”
“Ken, report to me tomorrow, tell me where and how you ran down the husband. There is still one piece of the puzzle —”
“Even trees have ears, Ally,” her brother reminded. “Good night, Cinderella. Good night, Stewart. God be with you. Something tells me you’ll need Him.”
When they reached the long green car at the side of the drive Ken Stewart produced a robe from the back seat.
“With the top down you’ll need this. Put it over your shoulders. Comfortable? Let’s go.”
They had passed through the village before he spoke again.
“I know now how you came to be on the yacht. My apologies for suspecting that you had gone aboard with Lloyd. He’s a tiptop agent, but — let’s be charitable and say unreliable when it comes to an attractive female of the species. Ready to tell me why you were in that outboard alone in the late afternoon?”
“No.”
“I thought we might trade experiences, that you would be interested to hear what led up to the appearance tonight of the abandoned husband.”
She sustained it as if from an electric shock, resentment forgotten.
“I am, oh, I am. Terribly interested, but — I don’t want to tell why I borrowed that boat — I did borrow it without asking — it’s a comfort to know that if it’s lost I can pay for it — the reason I took it may have been entirely cooked up by my imagination.”
“That’s enough for the present. Perhaps sometime when we are friends again you’ll tell me the whole story.”
“We’ll never be friends, never,” her breath caught in a strangled sob.
“Never is a long time, darling. Want to hear the story?”
“Please.”
“Alida Barclay did a piece of detective work abroad. When the head of the customs department heard she had a brother in this town he contacted her and asked her help. Save your startled ‘Really?’ You’ll need it later. You heard the chief of police of this district read the warrant, so you know what she was sent here to unearth. It was weeks before she suspected Mrs. Drew. She told me you caught her tapping the living-room wall at Rockledge. From what the chief of police said, it wasn’t a patch on the tapping going on at the present moment. She had been tipped off that there was storage space behind sliding panels. She was trying to find a spring that would open one. That same day you introduced me to Lloyd. He is an agent with whom I worked on a case.”
“You said you never had —”
“Heard the name Laurence Lloyd. Right?”
“Right. Forgive the interruption. Go on. I’m so tense my toes have curled under in Mrs. Drew’s sandals. It seems as if the stars were nearer, as if they had leaned down to listen.”
“If they have, they haven’t heard anything yet Remember that a couple of days later I went to Washington? It was to renew my credentials — I served in Intelligence before the airlift — so I would have a right to help Ally run down the smugglers.”
She remembered how she had missed his companionship, and set her teeth hard in her lips to steady them.
“The night of the dinner at the Armstrongs’ I watched the faces of the guests in the living room as the announcer of the Missing Persons program described the wife for whom the Captain of Infantry was searching. I noticed Lydia Fane’s loss of color, her tilted coffee cup — that means a story — but I was more interested in Mrs. Drew. A spasmodic twist of her eyes when the wife’s expertness at bridge was mentioned set me on her trail like a bird dog on a scent. I asked her to be my partner at contract — I told you she was dumb at the game, too dumb to be true, but I didn’t tell you that I let her fumble halfway through, then signaled for a certain play that only an expert would understand. She fell into the trap and came across triumphantly. That tied it. I had found the runaway ‘Patty.’
“The morning after — the day of the discovery of the bag of jewels in the turret room — I long-distanced Washington and was put in touch with Captain Max Gould who was trying to find his wife. We arranged for him to come here and check. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t butt in when a woman deserts a husband, it’s the business of the couple — but in this case I was convinced that the missing lady was wanted also by Uncle Sam. When she left her husband she had these jewels and objects of art. To my mind that tied her up with the smugglers. There were plenty of contributing clues to back me up. I discovered that long ago the Captain had decided she had sold their treasures. That fact helped
. That’s the score so far. Only one piece of the puzzle missing now. Who has passed on the loot after it was landed at Rockledge?”
“I’m sure I know,” Cindy declared eagerly.
She reminded him of the shadow with the tilted hat brim she had seen in the hall of the The Castle; went back to the man on the beach with the parlormaid from Rockledge; to the lacquered black hair of the clown who had stolen the limousine; told of her startled recognition of him when she saw the servant at Hal Harding’s playhouse this afternoon. She felt his quick look at her and wished she had omitted that last item of identification.
“I believe that he had hidden the jewels in the turret room the afternoon I saw him in the hall,” she concluded.
“Could be, though I would hesitate to accuse a person of crime on the sole evidence of a tilted hat brim. Now that so much has been uncovered the finish will come in a burst of speed. I shall be glad to have it cleared up. I’ve been called to Washington.”
“Not back into the service?” That wail sounded as if she cared. “I thought you intended to stay here until you finished your book.” That was better. The statement held just the right amount of tepid interest.
“I’m not called back into the service. I had planned to stay here and finish my book, but, the Inn closes early and —”
“This country is gorgeous through September and October.” Why was she trying to sell him this place when she would be glad to have him go?
“It must be. There’s The Castle ahead. I’m coming in, Cinderella. I have a plan to present to —”
She clutched his arm.
“Stop! Quick. A light flashed in the turret room. The rest of the house is pitch black.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“I DON’T understand the absence of lights. Where are Sary and Joe?” Cindy whispered.
“We’ll find out. I’ll park the car in the shadow, lock it and dim the lights. I don’t dare leave it dark for fear of an accident. If I drive nearer the house, we may be heard. Come on. Walk on the grass. Have you a key?”
She nodded. Her throat was so tight from excitement she couldn’t produce a whisper. Were they on the trail of the person who had hidden the jewels? Could they trap the man with the tilted hat and lacquered hair? He had made a miraculous getaway when the limousine had crashed into the roadblock; “I don’t know how he done it unless with mirrors,” the sergeant had declared truculently. Another flash in the turret room so quickly gone she wondered if she had imagined it. The front steps at last. Ken Stewart held out his hand.
“The key.” His whisper started icy tingles along her veins.
He opened the door. Closed it soundlessly. In the dark hall they stood motionless. Listened.
“Footsteps. Hear them?” The faint distant creak of a floor board brought with it the memory of the many times she had shivered with childish fear in this very spot imagining she heard the smugglers. “Whoever it is appears sure there is no one in the house.”
“I’m going up,” she whispered close to his ear, “to lock the door to the stairs. Lock him in.”
“No. I’ll rout out Joe and we’ll nab him. He won’t have a chance.”
“We can’t spend time locating Joe. He may be knocked out somewhere, must have been, or the person in the turret room couldn’t have entered the house.”
She twisted free from his tightened grip, kicked off Mrs. Drew’s sandals and ran swiftly up the stairs. Lucky she knew every inch of this house, she thought, as she felt her way in the Stygian gloom of the upper hall. Why hadn’t Sary left lights? Perhaps she had. Perhaps the man in the turret room had put them out — or his accomplice had.
Accomplice. That was a thought. The door to the stairs. At last. She listened. Came another creak of the floor above as if someone were walking carefully. With a little prayer that it wouldn’t squeak, she slid the bolt cautiously. Now to get downstairs before a hand could grab —
An iron grip closed on her shoulder. She caught at the fingers covering her mouth. A seal ring. Ken Stewart had followed her.
“Did you lock it?” he whispered.
“Yes.”
They crept down, stopping every few stairs to listen.
“Hear that? He’s at the door to the hall trying to get out. It’s bolted. He’ll have to come down the secret stairs.” At the door of the old kitchen she caught his hand in hers.
“Hold tight to me. I know the way. We’ll c-catch him. Could you flash your cigarette lighter just once till — I can feel your ‘No’ headshake. I’ll find what I want without it.” With hand outstretched before her, she crossed from the desk to the old oven. She stood still. Listening.
“That’s Sary. Putting her key in the front door. Stop her. Quick,” she whispered. She saw his dark shadow move toward the hall. Heard his stifled, “Stay out.”
On the step he pulled Sarah Ann Parker close to the door.
“Don’t speak,” he warned. “Someone in the turret room.”
“Lot I care who’s in the turret room,” her low voice was hoarse. “I was called on the phone an’ told a boat had been found on the beach with Cindy’s sandals; that a cardigan with her initials had been picked up floatin’. I knew I hadn’t ought to, but I made Joe go with me. I saw ’em. They were hers. I don’t care if I don’t live any longer with her g-gone. I’ve just been hangin’ on till she married an’ had a baby I could love.” She pressed her head against his shoulder and shook with dry sobs.
He put his arm about her. Whispered close to her ear.
“Cindy is inside, Sary.” She jerked up her head. He warned. “Don’t speak. That was a yarn to get you out of the way and —”
“But I saw —”
“Never mind what you saw. She’s inside. A light flashed in the turret room. We heard footsteps. Where’s Joe now?”
“He was here a minute ago.”
“We’ll find him. Come in. If you stumble over anything I’ll —”
“You won’t have to break my neck. I know every inch of this house light or dark. Want to know somethin’?” Sarah Ann Parker was herself again. “If you make a sound it’s your neck’ll be broken. Come in.”
“You here, Cindy?” The low query was strained and breathless.
“Yes, Sary. Ken. He’s opened the turret room door to the secret stairs. Listen.”
“O.K. Sary, find the light button. When I say go, snap it, understand?”
“Sure, I understand. Here, grab this warming pan, he may be ugly.”
“Keep it. I’d rather have my two hands. Cindy, go back by the door. You —”
Came the sound as of a truckload of hardware clashing, crashing down stairs, accompanied by a cannonade accompaniment of thud! thud! thud! Simultaneously light flashed on; pumpkin-yellow walls glowed; copper shimmered; the cupboard banged open with a force that sent treasured plates of mulberry and black Canova to the four corners of the room. A figure shot out from behind it, with a grayish-white bag clutched in its arms, a hat with a tilted brim tipped over its face.
“Enter, Mr. Simpkins! I was expecting you.” Cindy’s voice and laugh were high with excitement. “There are ladies present. You really should remove your hat, Mr. —”
“Cindy, come here.” Ken Stewart grabbed her arm but not before she had snatched the felt hat. She stood as if turned to stone.
“Hal,” she whispered incredulously. “Hal Harding!”
As if he realized the absurdity of his position flat on the floor staring stupidly up at her, Harding rolled to his knees, and with a grimace of pain struggled to his feet.
“Whoever planted that assortment on the stairs is wasting her time in this village, Sarah Ann Parker. She should be in the FBI.” He tenderly massaged his right hip as he talked. “Too bad I couldn’t finish the job of protecting you, Cindy. I intended to get the stolen property you have been hiding out of the house to save you the unpleasant notoriety of appearing in court to testify why you are aiding theft.”
“Me? I — aiding theft? You’re cr
azy. That bag was hidden in the turret room by —”
“He doesn’t need your explanation, Cinderella. He knows who hid it there.”
“I do, do I?” Harding’s menacing step forward matched in vicious intent his truculent voice. “You’ve interfered in my affairs, Damon or Stewart — whatever you happen to be calling yourself now — for the last time. You —”
“Not quite the last time.” Ken Stewart’s cold voice sent icy inchworms of apprehension looping along Cindy’s veins. “Unfortunately — I didn’t want the job — I shall be forced to testify that I have known for some time that you are the liaison man between Mrs. Drew’s importations and the gang that comes to your place to collect the smuggled loot.”
“No. Oh, no!”
“Liar!” Cindy’s broken protest was lost in Harding’s shout. A little foam had gathered on his lips. “You’ve cooked up this yam because Cindy loves me and you want her. ‘Peter, Peter, had a wife and couldn’t keep her,’ that’s you. I don’t know the Drew woman. Never saw her until I met her at the Armstrongs’.”
“No? How come you picked up her favorite pet name, ‘sugar’? I heard you call Cinderella that the first time we met, remember? When Mrs. Drew came out with it at the Armstrong dinner, it fitted like the missing piece of a picture puzzle. I knew you were the guy I was looking for, that you were in cahoots with the smugglers, that you had picked up the name from constant association with Sally Drew. If you knew nothing about the woman why try to prevent Cindy from calling on her? You knew the outer measurements, interior and deck arrangement of her boat because you had sailed on it with a former owner, you said. Phooey! You’ve sailed with her, and you declared you never had met her, that statement will take a lot of explaining in Court.”
Harding flung himself on the speaker in a fury of hate.
“You — you —”
“That’s enough of that, Mister.” A burly man in a red and black plaid lumber jacket caught his hands and pinioned them behind his back. Had “Brother Joe” materialized from the air, Cindy wondered.
To Love and to Honour Page 23
