Death for Dear Clara
Page 21
A slight smile moved Patricia’s lips. “As you so cleverly guessed. Mr. Trant, we were all of us stupid enough to let Mrs. Van Heuten exploit us.”
“Not stupid,” said Timothy quietly “just unlucky, Princess. In her way, Mrs. Van Heuten must have been a genius. I doubt whether there ever was quite such a tactfully and discreetly run racket.” His gaze moved to the three other women. “And it’s easy to see from the other people she exploited that she only went after the highest stakes.”
“It’s also easy to see,” put in Beatrice Kennet calmly, “why we four foolish—er—virgins haven’t been exactly eager to cooperate with you, Mr. Trant. After all, no woman likes to admit she’s been a bartered bride.”
“And no woman likes to be made a bartered bride.” Timothy’s eyes were very serious. “God, you think I don’t sympathize? As a human being, I’d have gotten up on my back legs and cheered if you’d murdered Mrs. Van Heuten and Tolfrey for pulling such a thoroughly low-down trick. But I’m also a policeman. You four ladies had every opportunity to commit the crime—and every inducement.”
“We’ll admit it.” Gilda Dawn was gazing in a small mirror while she added to the exaggerated carmine of her lips. “But we didn’t commit any murder, Mr. Trant. God knows, I’ve broken all ten commandments on the screen often enough to know that crime does not pay!”
Patricia Walonska had lighted a cigarette and was toying with it reflectively.
“We did nothing more criminal than to demand our rights, Mr. Trant. I was the first to find out what Mrs. Van Heuten had been doing. I discovered it quite by accident. I had been married about three months when my husband suggested our buying up an old family estate on the continent. I had always wanted a European home and the idea seemed delightful. Of course, I knew Dmitri hadn’t much money of his own—that didn’t mean anything to me. He mentioned a certain sum which he said would cover all expenses and I credited him with it at the bank. A few weeks later he sailed for Europe.”
Timothy nodded to Bobby Bristol. During the past minutes, the boy had been taking only occasional notes, now he started to scribble industriously.
“It was really rather amusing,” murmured the Princess slowly, “After Dmitri had gone, I thought I would give him a surprise and arrange personally for the place to be modernized. I put the matter in the hands of an agent. That’s how it all came out. He told me the estate was worth just a little less than half of what Dmitri had asked me to pay.”
“And you guessed the balance of the cash had gone to Mrs. Van Heuten?”
“I had absolutely no proof, of course. Clara was far too careful for that. But I’d never quite trusted her and eventually I found out enough to make me sure what had happened. I was—well, fighting mad, to say the least. Of course, I really got what I deserved. Anyone that married an impoverished prince usually has to pay good cash for him some way or another. And I’ll admit I married Dmitri principally because I thought it would be—well, fun to be a princess.”
“And an excellent job you did of it,” said Timothy gravely.
To his surprise, Patricia smiled again. “I’ve never believed in doing things by halves,” she said. “But even if my heart wasn’t broken by Dmitri’s feet of clay, I felt pretty humiliated. And ready to wring Clara’s neck. At first I was going to confront her myself and let her know exactly what I thought of her. But I realized that would get me nowhere. That was the clever part of Mrs. Van-Heuten. Once she’d married one of her friends off, she had her hands absolutely tied. She’d never dare expose her.”
“Not even after her death,” added Timothy. “That’s why I had such a tough time. I suppose you realized your best bet was a mass attack?”
Patricia Walonska nodded. “I knew I couldn’t have been the only woman involved. I also knew that unless someone stopped her, Clara Van Heuten would go on indefinitely disposing of her friends on commission. I thought of all the people I’d met at her house who had recently married impecunious men.”
“And she finally picked on us,” put in Beatrice Kennet. “The other saps.”
“You got the Denton detective agency to work on them, Princess, to be sure you had the right people?”
“And fairly soon I was convinced.” Patricia Walonska shrugged. “I sent them all telegrams urging them to come and talk it over. Some of them had already guessed.”
“I had—kind of,” murmured the Lotus Lady. “My cute husband got under my skin right in the middle of our honeymoon, when he started working on me for a hundred grand to back some play for him in London. Although I’d met him first at Clara’s, I didn’t exactly connect things up, but I felt his art wasn’t worth one hundred thousand dollars to me. That’s why I started divorce proceedings.”
“I was the deplorably dumb one,” Beatrice Kennet smiled wryly. “Clara certainly was smart at picking the most unlikely gigolos. My Darnley Lovering was so very sweet, ethereal and earnestly archeological. When he wanted me to finance an expedition to unearth Tahitian shrines or something, I fell for it like a bird. I never guessed he was enshrining Clara Van Heuten to the tune of fifty per cent of my contribution. Even so, it was fun, while it lasted. Expensive fun—but fun.”
Susan Hobart had been sitting very still and small. She was biting her lower lip. But she did not speak.
“I had already worked out a plan,” said the Princess, “and the others agreed to it. Of course, we had all decided to divorce our husbands. But we also wanted to deal with Mrs. Van Heuten. We were going to her office to make her write a signed statement explaining exactly what she had done. That would give us a weapon against her if she tried to fool anyone else with her—er—matrimonial business. We took the revolvers along so that, if necessary, we could use them to frighten her.”
“Needless to say,” remarked Gilda Dawn, “they weren’t loaded.”
Timothy’s eyes were suddenly intent. “That then is your explanation. You visited Mrs. Van Heuten purely as protectors of Society. Not as—indignant women.”
“The Princess has exaggerated our nobility,” cut in Beatrice Kennet. “We did have the ethical impulse to fix the old harridan’s feet, but we also wanted our money back. I decided I’d never smile again until I’d been reimbursed for those Tahitian shrines.”
“And exactly what happened when you came here to the Advice Bureau?”
“Just what we expected.” Patricia was perfectly calm. “We convinced Mrs. Van Heuten that we meant business. We produced the revolvers and made her promise to write the statement.” She smiled faintly. “Mrs. Van Heuten was alive when we left her. She was writing the statement.”
Timothy picked up the piece of paper on which Mrs. Van Heuten had inscribed: “I, Clara Houston Van Heuten do hereby dec …”
“And yet you didn’t stay until it was finished?”
Patricia Walonska shook her head. “We felt it would be better if she were left alone. That’s why we told the secretary not to disturb her until five. We were planning to go to the cocktail party and obtain the signed statement then.” Once again there was a formidable gleam in her eyes. “We told her that if she didn’t bring it, we were ready to expose her right there in front of her friends.”
“That’s what we told her.” Gilda Dawn so far forgot herself as to produce a piece of chewing gum from her rhinestone pocketbook. “Luckily she was so scared by that time she believed us. Of course, we’d never have gone through with it. None of us could have afforded to let the dirt get out. If my Public heard about it, they’d have horse-laughed me off the screen “
“And perhaps you can see now,” murmured the Princess, “why we acted so queerly at the cocktail party. We were agitated, to say the least; and then, when you sprang the news on us that Mrs. Van Heuten had been murdered—” she glanced at the pale, silent Susan Hobart—“no wonder poor Susan fainted.”
“And no wonder you were so very icy with me,” said Timothy grinning. “I suppose you thought I was another piece of Mrs. Van Heuten’s raw husband material.
Which, in a way, was a compliment.”
Beatrice Kennet glanced rather impatiently at her watch.
“I might as well finish this up, Mr. Trant. It’s obvious to see what an awkward position we were in. Mrs. Van Heuten had been murdered, and if ever it came out why we’d visited her, we’d have been not only shown up as fools but superb suspects, too. Of course, we were terrified the police would get hold of her confession. We’d no idea she’d been tactful enough to get killed before she wrote it. We went into a huddle at the Princess’ and decided the only thing to do was to stick together like clams and present a united front to police inquisition. The unpleasant Mr. Tolfrey helped us out: somehow he’d discovered we’d gone to see Mrs. Van Heuten. He was as scared as we were—more scared. He was terrified his own part in the racket would come out. That’s why he was kind enough to send us those rather inappropriate manuscripts. Incidentally, it’s fairly obvious we didn’t murder Mrs. Van Heuten. In fact, we were mad as hell when we heard she’d been killed. As soon as she was dead, we lost all chance of getting our blood money back.”
“And I only hope,” said the Princess almost pleadingly, “that you’ll be able to keep this out of the case, Mr. Trant. After all we’ve been through to save our faces, it would be too humiliating to have the whole story publicized.”
“Of course, I understand.” Timothy’s tone was sympathetic. “As I said at the beginning, I’m going to destroy all the evidence that doesn’t connect immediately with the crimes. Therefore, if you four ladies didn’t murder Mrs. Van Heuten …”
He broke off with a little shrug.
“Just two more questions. Miss Dawn, when you left the building that afternoon, did you say: Thank God that’s over. The hunted expression in her eyes—I shall never forget it.”
The Lotus Lady nodded. “I guess it was pretty melodramatic of me. But Mrs. Van Heuten had been very scared by us and our revolvers. I hate to see people scared.”
“Thanks.” Timothy looked satisfied as his gaze shifted to Mrs. Hobart. “And you, Mrs. Hobart, you have nothing more to add about the noise behind the screen?”
Susan Hobart’s china blue eyes were suddenly bright.
“Just that I heard it—I swear I heard it.”
“That, Mrs. Hobart, is very kind and useful.” Timothy glanced at the door. “I think that’s all for the moment, ladies. If you’d be so good as to wait in the outer office until …”
“You mean,” asked Patricia sharply, “that we are not allowed to leave?”
Timothy’s smile was faintly enigmatic.
“Not just yet, Princess.…”
XXIV
As the four women left the room, Timothy wiped almost invisible beads of sweat from his forehead. The first four clams had allowed themselves to be pried open. It looked as though the day were won.
He turned to Bobby Bristol who, with a look of dazed bewilderment on his face, was nursing his wrist after much scribbling.
“That, Bobby, was your respectable, kindly Clara Van Heuten.”
He glanced at the list of visitors and pressed the buzzer for Madeleine.
“Mr. Muir, please, Miss Price.”
He tossed Bristol the pad inscribed with Muir’s name and leaned back in his chair.
Almost immediately the opening door gave way to Mr. Muir. Perfectly in tune with his new and extravagant gray suit, the young man moved to a chair and sat down. He seemed more than usually pleased with himself.
“Well, Mr. Trant, what can I do for you?”
“You might,” suggested Timothy abruptly, “tell me why you’ve been lying so persistently throughout this investigation.”
Muir’s fingers started to rip cellophane from a cigarette package.
“A lie is only a lie when it’s proved to be one.”
“Your proven lies to date include lying about your acquaintance with Dane Tolfrey; lying about the two hundred and fifty dollars he sent you; lying about your profession as a mystery story writer; and lying about your visit to Mrs. Van Heuten.”
“That’s quite a lot of lies,” agreed Muir pleasantly.
“It’s enough to make an excellent case against you for murdering Mrs. Van Heuten and Dane Tolfrey.” Timothy picked up the manuscript which Muir had submitted to him. “Too bad the Students’ Overnight Service didn’t have time to finish this, Mr. Muir.”
“I gathered you had unearthed that from your small-hour telephone call last night.” Muir gave an elaborate shrug. “Well, now that I’ve been exposed it’s quite a relief.” His fingers were shaking very slightly as he held a match to his cigarette. “But despite minor inaccuracies in my statement, I fail to see that you have any sort of a case against me. After all, you may recall that I knew the murdered woman only for a couple of minutes. Or am I just one of those motiveless murderers?”
“You had an excellent motive, Mr. Muir,” said Timothy curtly. “Wounded vanity. Tolfrey picked you up and sent you around to Mrs. Van Heuten as potential talent for her non-literary business. For some reason of her own, Mrs. Van Heuten didn’t find you suitable. That would have hurt your pride. It would also have dashed what hopes you might have had for making a little easy money through matrimony.” He looked up. “There’s your motive, Mr. Muir. What are you going to do about it?”
Muir’s almond eyes wavered behind a carefully blown smoke ring.
“I think,” he murmured, “that, as you put things so emphatically, I shall be compelled to tell the truth.”
“That’s very sensible of you.”
Muir glanced a trifle mockingly at Bobby.
“Take this down verbatim, Mr. Bristol, and I’ll be delighted to sign it. It’s the official confession of a man who didn’t commit murder, who didn’t write murder stories and who, in fact, didn’t do anything at all.” He turned back to Timothy. “In spite of your dark hints, Mr. Trant, I’m still rather vague about this sinister non-literary business of Mrs. Van Heuten’s. I did know Tolfrey—but only as a very passing barroom acquaintance. When I met him, he was decidedly drunk, but he also seemed a shrewd sort of fellow and I was on what is vulgarly known as my beam end. When he started making a rather alcoholic proposition, I listened avidly. He said something about putting me on easy street by introducing me to the right people. The right people, of course, sounded alluring. I encouraged him and he mumbled Mrs. Van Heuten’s name. He even wrote that celebrated introduction for me.”
“By which,” put in Timothy, “he meant a very accomplished lady killer.”
“So I gathered later.” Derek Muir shrugged. “I didn’t realize it at the time. All I gleaned from Mr. Tolfrey was that Mrs. Van Heuten knew a lot of rich people, would take a maternal interest in me and was to be permitted to do all the talking. My job was to be a mystery story writer, to sit and grin and discuss manuscripts. It all sounded mildly crazy, but I followed it up. I went to see Mrs. Van Heuten; I sat; I grinned; I talked about manuscripts. She showed extreme lack of interest. And that was that.”
“So you had no idea what was going on?” asked Timothy skeptically.
Muir smiled. “I can hardly claim complete ingenuousness. As soon as I saw her, I had a pretty shrewd idea that Mrs. Van Heuten wasn’t quite as nice as she seemed. But as I obviously wasn’t going to be included in her nastiness, I didn’t give the matter a great deal of thought. I merely departed that much the sadder—and, I assure you, none the bloodier.”
“All very unsensational.”
“But life is unsensational, Mr. Trant.” Muir waved a sophisticated hand. “Lurid aspects developed later, however. That evening when I was safely returned to the bosom of La Perkins, the telephone rang. It was Mr. Tolfrey. He was extremely agitated. Had I heard the terrible news? If I knew what was good for myself and for him, I must keep my mouth extraordinarily shut. If the police visited me, I was to be a struggling mystery story writer plus the story he would send me.”
“And you extorted the two hundred and fifty dollars from him as a bribe for your silence?”
Timothy was leaning over the desk. “Did Tolfrey say anything else?”
“Why, no. That is—he asked if I’d known about anyone else visiting the Bureau. I told him about Gilda Dawn and her girl friends. He seemed immensely concerned.”
“Excellent,” said Timothy.
“Perhaps you are beginning to see why I haven’t been strictly accurate in our little conversations.” Muir tossed his cigarette into a tray. “I lied to you for three excellent reasons, Mr. Trant. I did not want to be involved in what I suspected was a rather sordid business. Having accepted Mr. Tolfrey’s money, I felt the least I could do was to stand by him. And, lastly, when I saw what an unconventional policeman was on the case, I couldn’t resist the temptation of giving him a mild run around.” Derek Muir’s smile was amiable. “And I’ve really enjoyed myself quite a lot.”
“The Homicide Bureau is always eager to give people a good time,” said Timothy quietly. “Thanks, Mr. Muir. That’s all for the moment. If you’ll kindly wait outside …”
Muir rose and moved to the door. Then he paused, a faint flush darkening his cheeks.
“I’d be grateful, Mr. Trant, if you’d do me one favor. Miss Dawn is looking out for a new leading man and she’s rather keen for him to be a sophisticate and a New Yorker. I’ve stressed the point that I was born and bred on Manhattan’s happy isle. I’d—I’d hate to have her know I emerged so recently from the depths of Iowa.”
“I am not likely to be discussing geography with Miss Dawn,” said Timothy.
As the young man left the room, Bobby glanced up inquiringly from his shorthand. But Timothy did not seem to notice him; he was absorbed with his own thoughts.