ALM06 Who Killed the Husband?

by Hulbert Footner

Lee shrugged and let it go at that. The young man's manners were perfect, but somehow he left a bad taste in the mouth; he was too smooth, too watchful. Lee made a mental note to check his story with the watchmaker. "Can I see Mrs. Gartrey?" he asked. "I'll see, sir."

  Lee was shown into the music room, which lay between the vast living room on one side and Agnes' boudoir on the other. In order to reach it he had to step over the spot where Jules Gartrey's dead body had lain on the parquet. Denman betrayed no consciousness of recent tragedy. The windows of the music room looked out on the familiar panorama of the park with its leafless trees, the East Drive, the reservoir beyond, the towers of Central Park West in the distance.

  In a surprisingly short space of time, the door from the boudoir was thrown open and Agnes Gartrey appeared, holding out both her hands. Lee thought: Hm! I appear to be welcome. Meanwhile Denman had disappeared.

  "Mr. Mappin!" Agnes cried breathlessly; "this is like the answer to a prayer! Oh, I wanted so to see you! An hour ago I could stand it no longer and I called your office. They said you were out, didn't know when you'd return. I didn't leave my name, of course. And here you are! It is too good to be true. Come into the boudoir. There's a fire and it's cosier!"

  She led the way into the adjoining room. She was wearing a kind of house gown with a lustrous black skirt that trailed on the ground and a cerise waist. Lee watched to see how she avoided walking up the front of the long skirt; there was art in the way she kicked it out of the way with every step. She made an extraordinarily graceful picture. In the boudoir the curtains were drawn together and a flattering rosy light filled the room.

  "Cigarette, Mr. Mappin? Shall I ring for tea? I'm sure you'd rather have a highball, and so would I." Suddenly she dropped the fine lady air and turned to him with a face all broken up and working like a child's. Lee couldn't help but be moved, though he told himself this was just art like everything else about her.

  "Oh, before I ring for the man, tell me about Al," she murmured, clasping her hands. "How does he look? Is he well? Who is taking care of him? How is he bearing up under this frightful charge?"

  "He looks grand," said Lee dryly. "In the pink of condition. Bubbling over with high spirits."

  "Ah, that's just his line," she said quickly. "I expect in his heart he is almost ready to despair!"

  "If he is, he concealed it well."

  "Where is he hidden? Who is taking care of him? Oh, I am sure you know more than you told the newspapers!"

  "I don't know where he is," said Lee. "I wish I did."

  "What was his purpose in coming to see you at such a risk?"

  "To protest that he was innocent; to ask me to prove his innocence."

  "And you will, Mr. Mappin?"

  "I'm going to work on the case," said Lee, "but I cannot undertake to prove his innocence."

  "Oh, he is innocent! He is! He is!"

  "I hope so," said Lee demurely. "I took quite a fancy to the fellow, confound him!"

  "Did he send me any message?" Agnes asked eagerly.

  "No," said Lee. "I am not in his confidence. He would hardly send it by me."

  "But he spoke of me?"

  "Oh, yes, but guardedly."

  She caught her breath. "Guardedly? He...he is not angry with me?"

  "Bless my soul, no!" said Lee; "only trying to protect your good name."

  Mrs. Gartrey paced the room. Her agitation had increased. Lee began to perceive that it was not anxiety for Al Yohe which lay at the bottom of it, but fear of what Al might have told him, Lee. She said: "He told you, of course, that he was out of the apartment before the shot was fired?"

  Lee lied with the utmost blandness. "Yes, he told me that."

  She drew a long breath, her worst fears relieved. "You must be dying for a drink!" she said, pressing a bell for the servant. "Sit down, do!" She draped herself on a low chair beside the fire, and resting elbow on knee cupped her chin in her palm, an infinitely graceful pose. "Did he tell you that I sent him away on Monday afternoon?"

  "No. He merely said that he left. I must tell you that we were interrupted by my well-meaning neighbor before I had finished questioning him. That's why I came to you this afternoon; to get you to fill in the blanks."

  She swallowed this whole. "You did right," she said with restored complacence.

  "You said you sent him away on Monday. Why?"

  "I had an engagement."

  Denman entered and was ordered to bring Scotch whisky, soda, ice. His face was as expressionless as paper.

  When he had gone out, Lee said: "You had an engagement Monday afternoon--where?"

  "At Madame Helena Rubinstein's establishment. I don't know if you have heard of it, but Madame Rubinstein possesses a marvelous collection of antique doll's furniture. It is all arranged in miniature rooms down both sides of a corridor, perfect in every detail of each period, and beautifully lighted..."

  "Marvelous, I'm sure," said Lee, "but we're getting away from Mr. Yohe."

  "Sorry. Madame Rubinstein had arranged to give a public view of her collection on Monday in aid of Polish Relief and I had to be there since I am on the Committee and..."

  "Mr. Yohe left here at what hour?"

  "About half past three. I couldn't tell you to the minute. My maid ushered him out."

  "And you?"

  "I went into my dressing room to change for the street. My maid joined me there."

  "And then?"

  Agnes bit her lip. "Wait a minute," she said. "Wait until we get rid of the servant." When she heard Denman coming she turned on her social chatter like a phonograph record, starting in the middle."...perfectly fascinating, Mr. Mappin! There are Spanish rooms, French rooms, American Colonial and English rooms of different periods, each one complete even to the tiny china utensils in the bedrooms. Madame has been collecting the furnishings for years. They say that Robert Edmond Jones painted the little interiors for her."

  "How interesting!" said Lee.

  The servant entered bearing a tray which he placed on a little table beside his mistress.

  "You needn't wait," she said.

  When he had closed the door behind him, Lee said inquiringly: "Well?"

  She held up a delicate hand. "Let me mix the highballs first. I always begin to tremble when I approach that moment in my mind."

  When she handed Lee his drink, he held it up. "To happier days!"

  "Ah, you're so kind and understanding!" she murmured gratefully. After she had taken a swallow of her highball--and a big swallow, Lee noted, she picked up her story at the precise point where she had dropped it. "I was dressing in there when I heard the shot." She put a hand over her eyes.

  "You ran out?" prompted Lee.

  "Not immediately. I was paralyzed with terror. Nothing brutal has ever been allowed to approach me, you know. I am spoiled. I am no better than a hothouse plant. I couldn't move. And Eliza was just as bad. We clung to each other. I picked up the house phone then--the switchboard is in the servants' hall, but I could get no answer, no answer! 'Eliza,' I said, 'we have got to go and see!' It was the hardest thing I ever had to do in my life!"

  "You ran out together?"

  "Yes..." She quickly corrected herself. "Not together. I ran across this room and through the music room to the foyer. Eliza went by the corridor."

  "Why did you separate?"

  "Don't ask me! Neither of us knew what we were doing!"

  "How long a time passed after the shot before you got out in the foyer?"

  "I couldn't answer that either. It seemed like ages."

  "Well, say two or three minutes. And what did you find?"

  She covered her face. "My husband lying on the floor...bullet hole...gun...Hawkins kneeling beside him..."

  "Was anybody else there?"

  "The maids. Maybe they came afterwards. I don't remember."

  "And then?"

  "I think I cried out: 'Pick him up! Pick him up!' It semed so dreadful to see him lying there on the floor, an old man. And Hawki
ns said: 'He is dead, Madam."

  "What did Hawkins look like when he said it?"

  "Look like? He looked like a butler. A butler's expression never changes. If the house was blown to pieces he would say, without changing his tone: 'Do you require anything more, Madam?'"

  Lee ironed out a smile; Agnes did not mean to be funny. "Were you completely dressed when you ran out in the foyer?" he asked.

  "No...yes...no...Why do you ask me that?"

  "Well, in Hawkins' story, he said..."

  "That I was fully dressed. I see. And it would have been impossible, of course, for me to make a complete change in five minutes. You had better disregard Hawkins' story entirely..."

  "But the other servants also..."

  "I had my suit skirt on when the shot was fired. Before I ran out I put on the jacket of my suit, so I had the appearance of being completely dressed."

  "The jacket was buttoned, I assume."

  "How can I be expected to remember such a detail as that?"

  "What did you have on beneath the jacket, Mrs. Gartrey?"

  She hardened. "Why do you ask me that question?"

  "A man like Hawkins might easily have been mistaken, but it seems strange that the maids should have testified that you were fully dressed. Including your own maid, Eliza."

  Agnes changed color under her make-up. She was breathing quickly. "Are you intimating that I have not been telling the truth?" she demanded.

  Lee looked shocked. "My dear Mrs. Gartrey! I never dreamed of such a thing!"

  She was not satisfied. Her lips had drawn back in an ugly fashion. "When Al, Mr. Yohe, told you that he was innocent, did he express any opinion as to who had shot my husband?"

  Lee shook his head. "The poor fellow was all at sea. That is why he insists on remaining in hiding."

  "Did he...did he by any chance suggest that I might have had a hand in it?"

  Lee deliberately paused a moment before answering. "He did not."

  "Oh, God, what perfidy!" she breathed.

  "My dear lady!" Lee assured her, "you are disturbed without cause. Al Yohe never said a word that would lead me to suppose such a thing. On the contrary, his thought was all of you...I am merely trying to get a clear picture of what happened...If you did not start to dress until after he left, how could you have been fully dressed a moment or two after the shot was fired?"

  "I was not completely dressed," she said sullenly. "For an obvious reason my servants were not telling the truth. They wished to protect my good name."

  Lee struck his forehead. "Of course! How stupid of me not to have perceived that at once!"

  She drank off the rest of her highball. Slowly she recovered her self-possession. "You must have patience with me," she said with a return of her caressing manner. "My nerves are gone! Sometimes I scarcely know what I am saying!"

  "Naturally," said Lee soothingly. "I am so sorry that I have to trouble you at such a time."

  "Such a charge could never touch me!" she said with proud confidence.

  Lee was reminded of something Al Yohe had said the night before.

  "And if it should be brought, it would fall," Agnes continued, "because at the moment the shot was fired my maid and I were together."

  Lee inwardly resolved to talk to Eliza Young without the knowledge of her mistress.

  He rose and opened the door into the corridor. "I am trying to fix the layout of this building in my mind," he explained deprecatingly. "On the other side of the corridor wall must be the public hall and passenger elevator."

  "That's right," she said carelessly. "Will you have another drink?"

  "No more, thank you." Lee returned to his chair leaving the door open. "What did you and Mr. Yohe talk about while he was here?"

  Again suspicion made her eyes narrow. "Didn't you ask him that question?" she countered.

  "I did ask him," said Lee with an innocent air, "and his answer was evasive. That made me think that perhaps it had some bearing on what happened later."

  "You're wrong," she said. "Our talk was completely unimportant--so unimportant that it has passed out of my mind...I suppose we talked about the Polish Relief Ball in which we are both interested. We discussed mutual friends--just such talk, in fact, as you would expect between old friends."

  Lee thought: That is a little too good to be true, my lady.

  While he sat with her he heard from the other side of the corridor wall a slight rumble and, after a pause, a click. Insignificant sounds, but unmistakable to apartment dwellers. It was the elevator door opening and closing again. It was important to Lee to know that these sounds could be heard from where he sat. Either Al Yohe or Agnes Gartrey could have had warning that Gartrey was about to return. Lee heard the distant sound of the doorbell.

  "Bother!" said Agnes with an intimate smile. "I hope we're not going to be interrupted."

  "Well, I've told you all I know," said Lee. "Have you anything more to tell me?"

  "Oh, I'm so stupid, Mr. Mappin. I don't know what are the important things. You must question me."

  "Can't think of any more questions now. But we'll meet again."

  "We must."

  The manservant entered. "Mr. Coler, Madam." Lee felt a little uneasy. It might be difficult to explain this visit.

  Agnes said: "I'll see him directly. Did you show him into the living room?"

  "Yes, Madam."

  "Did you close the door?"

  "I...I think so, Madam."

  "That means you didn't," she said sharply. "Close it on your way out. How many times must I tell you to close doors, all doors!"

  "Yes, Madam." He went out.

  "It's just as well not to advertise the fact that you and I are friends," Agnes said to Lee. Agnes was keeping certain things from Coler, then. Lee was relieved and also a little puzzled.

  "Quite!" he said. He got to his feet. "There's just one thing that bothers me. I'm not sure how Al is fixed for money. If I should find out that..."

  She didn't wait for him to finish. "Oh, you must come to me for anything that may be needed!" she said eagerly. "Shall I give it to you now?"

  "I wouldn't know how to reach him," said Lee. "But if he communicates with me again..."

  "If he does, you must find out how he is fixed for money. Make him tell you. And call on me for any amount. You needn't tell him it comes from me."

  "It would be dangerous for you to draw a check to me," suggested Lee.

  "I don't need to! I always keep a store of cash by me, quite a large sum. Always have done so. Checkbooks are apt to be dangerous."

  "Quite," said Lee.

  They laughed together agreeably--but not for the same reason.

  "If you hear from him again, beg him to communicate with me," she said longingly.

  It had the sound of a genuine plea.

  He went out thinking over all she had said. It did not hang together at all. She was acting alternately as if she adored Al Yohe and as if she hated him poisonously. Lee thought: Hell knoweth no fury like a woman scorned!

  Chapter 9

  On Tuesday morning, as Lee got out of a taxicab in front of the little building on Madison Avenue which contained his offices, he was accosted by a breathless woman:

  "Mr. Mappin...if you please...I recognized you from your picture in the newspaper...may I speak to you?"

  Lee sized her up. While extremely agitated, her aspect was not at all dangerous; a stout woman of fifty-odd, with a plain, pale face; well dressed in a sober style; no make-up, no effort to appear younger than she was. She never had been beautiful, but she looked honest, well meaning, sensitive in her distress. Obviously, it had required a great effort for her to nerve herself up to speak to a strange man.

  "What can I do for you?" asked Lee.

  "I have some information about the Gartrey case."

  "Won't you come into my office?"

  "I intended to call at your office," she stammered, "but...but my courage failed me. There will be other people there...clerks, perha
ps newspaper reporters. If I could see you alone!"

  "Well, there's a hotel on the next corner," said Lee. "Let us go in there and order a cup of coffee."

  She thanked him gratefully.

  They sat down in the coffee room of the hotel with a little table between them. Lee made conversation to put the nervous woman at her ease. Her faded eyes had a good, kind expression; he believed in her honesty.

  "My name is Bertha Cressy, Mrs. Cressy," she said. "I have been a widow for over twenty years. I was a friend of the late Mr. Gartrey's." She hesitated painfully.

  "How long have you known Mr. Gartrey?" asked Lee to help her out.

  "Mr. Mappin," she said distressfully, "will you give me your word that you will keep what I am about to tell you to yourself? I could not bear to have it printed in the newspapers. I have a horror of publicity. If the newspaper reporters found me out, I...I don't know what I'd do!"

  "I certainly will not relay your story to the newspapers," said Lee kindly, "but how can I give you the assurance that you require? If you have evidence to give in this case it must be brought into court."

  "I have no evidence to give," she said. "I don't know who killed Jules Gartrey. I only want to see justice done to my dead friend. The newspapers are making him out a perfect monster! He was kind to me. It seems so unfair!"

  "The newspapers do that sort of thing in order to heighten interest in the case," said Lee. "It sometimes makes me indignant, too. Unless there is something in your story that requires to be told in court, I promise you I will keep what you tell me to myself."

  She thanked him profusely. "I have known Mr. Gartrey from the time of his first marriage, but not intimately," she said. "That is thirty years ago. I was a girlhood friend of his first wife, Mona Hawley. We were schoolmates and we continued to be friends until she died eleven years ago. Long before that, the death of my husband had left me in very straitened circumstances and Mona helped me out, in fact she supported me. Her husband knew nothing about it, and when she died it ceased. I didn't see Mr. Gartrey for some time after that. A year after Mona's death he married for the second time. Do you know about that?"

  "Only that it turned out badly," said Lee. "There was an ugly scandal of some sort."