She had wanted him so, listening to his voice over the radio; she had thought that if only he were there, everything would be all right. If he’d only hold her hand as Gig-or whoever he was-did. But he was Con, sprawling back in his easy chair, one knee hooked over the arm. He was here, but the dreadful game must go on; he must be protected, not she; she couldn’t pass the burden to him. For that would be surrender and he didn’t want that. She couldn’t reach one finger out to him lest he think she was trying to get him back.
She asked: “Do you know the Montefierrow twins?”
“Good God! Have you met up with them?” He drank.
She wanted to laugh and cry at his ignorance but she held her mouth taut. “Yes.”
“Good God!” he repeated. He drank again. “They’re here?”
She nodded
“I haven’t seen a paper-except the Times’ headlines.” He said, “I didn’t think they’d stick around here if they came. I thought they’d follow me. Believe me, I’d never have asked you to use the apartment if I’d thought you’d run into them. That’s fact, Griselda.” He meant it. He asked suddenly, “Anything on them?”
She answered no. She hoped he wouldn’t think it was irrelevancy. “Mr. Grain, your superintendent, committed suicide.” She couldn’t mention tonight, not until it was in the papers. “They want the very blue marble. They say it belongs to them. Missy is with them.”
“The kid sister.”
“She’s grown up.”
He remembered. “She saw the marble once. That’s how they’ve traced it to me.”
“Why don’t you give it to them?”
He spoke easily, “I don’t have it.”
She began to shiver. “Con-please…”
He patted her knee. “Listen, baby, I don’t want that marble for myself. You ought to know that. If I did, I’d have done something about it a long time ago. I wouldn’t have to be wearing my voice out plugging a border fracas now. I’d be Warbucks himself-or lying in a ditch with buzzard feathers in my hair.”
She sat very still, too still. “It is valuable then.”
He whistled. “Valuable!” and looked at her curiously. “You don’t know anything about it?”
“How could I?”
“I don’t know.” He laughed. “Only everyone seems to know. It’s been an underground yarn for years. I never quite believed it until the blue marble came to me.”
“Send it back,” she urged.
Again he hesitated. “I can’t. The guy who-sent it to me-got his. A knife in the…”
He was going to say a word but he didn’t. She said, “Through his navel.”
He eyed her, startled now. “Yeah. How did you know?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t say that. I didn’t-”
“Uh, huh.” He was looking at her panic, halfway through his eyes. Once he loved her. Once he couldn’t keep his hands away from her. Now he sat there looking at her as if she were a stranger. “Sure not,” he said.
Her lip quivered and she covered it with her fist. “There must be someone you could give it to.”
“Believe me, honey,” he was serious now, “I’d give it away in a minute if that’s all there was to it But it isn’t. I’m keeping it out of sight for a purpose-”
Her eyelids tilted.
“I haven’t time to spin much of a yarn,” he said, “and you’re better off if you don’t know too much. But the secret service is trying to round up-certain killers…”
Breath hissed in her nostrils.
His eyes narrowed. “A bunch that kill for the sport of it-or because they have to, maybe-but they kill, and they take what they want. Unfortunately they’ve wanted too many state secrets and sold them to the wrong parties. There’s been no proof to pin on them. But they want the blue marble now.” He shrugged. “If they don’t get it, maybe they’ll show their hands.”
She didn’t stir. “You say, ‘they.’ You know who. The secret service knows?”
“Yeah. The Montefierrow twins-and a yellow-haired doll that runs with them.”
Chill was in her again.
He said, “They’ve put a punk on me. Irish his name is, Irish Galvatti. Hasn’t the foggiest what it’s all about, except to keep me in sight. That’s why I was certain, they’d handle me themselves, not hang around New York.” He reassured her eyes. “Irish doesn’t bother me. I keep him drunk most of the time. He doesn’t move without orders. But he’s a killer too. I wonder about this fake Gig.”
“He isn’t one of them.” She was sure of that “They’ve threatened him. And tonight…”
“They did it?”
“David did. He must have.”
He drank. “You’ve got to play-act now, Griselda. Don’t let any of them guess you know anything.”
If he only knew.
“Don’t let this Gig suspect.”
“Oh, no.” She wondered though.
“I’ve got to get on my Gig’s trail. If they killed him-I’ll have the hunt started secretly.” He looked at his watch. “I might see Barjon.”
“Are you working with Barjon Garth?” The fabulous head of the new X Division in Washington. The president’s right hand man. The greatest man-hunter the country had ever known.
He drawled, “In a way.”
”Is that why you’re on the border?”
“No. I’m there for N.B.C. But I’m not wasting time.” He looked at his watch again. “I think I’ll take off and make that Washington stop.” He stood on his feet and she stood in front of him, steadying herself with her legs pressed against the couch.
“You’re not in any danger, Griselda?”
“No. Oh, no.” If he thought she were he might come back into this horror. Not because it was she; he’d do it for any defenseless person.
He hesitated. “If I thought you were, I’d do something despite my situation. I’d do it anyway only my hands are sort of tied. You see, I’m taking orders from the X these days.” He repeated, “The less you know the better, but this much: I’ve known Garth for some time-interviews and what not. When he learned that I held two aces, the marble, and my relationship-previous relationship-with Missy Cameron, he asked me to help out I have to let him run the game, you understand.”
She did. She could even smile, lie. “Don’t worry about me. I’m all right. They don’t want me.”
“Good girl.” He went to the back door; she followed him like a squaw. “Better get to bed, babe, before you pass out on the floor.” He patted her head, let his hand rest a moment there, then jerked it away. “So long.”
“Con.. But there was nothing more to say, nothing she could say.
He unchained the door, turned the bolts, and went out into that horrible dark passageway. She didn’t watch him disappear. She rebolted, rechained the door, tore away her clothes, and cowered in bed. She left the lights in both rooms burning.
PART VII
1
She hadn’t slept at all, or she had slept for a thousand years, when the banging began. Then someone was calling, “Miss Satterlee, ma’am, Miss Satterlee. It’s me. It’s Bette, ma’am.” She opened her eyes slowly as if she were in a strange world. “It’s me. It’s Bette.”
“All right, Bette,” she called. She turned off the bedroom lights, switched off one living room lamp as she went to the door. Bette had it open on the chain. The maid wasn’t alone. There was Tobin’s face over her head.
Griselda closed the door, unchained it, opened it again. She didn’t care. At least Tobin was safety. She could listen to him even if she were too tired to talk. Moore was there too. He took off his cap and Tobin said, “Good-morning, Miss Satterlee. Sorry to bother you again so early.”
Bette explained, “They were at the door, Miss. I couldn’t get in with my key.”
She smiled faintly. “No, I put chains on. I feel safer, being here alone.” She moved to the couch and pulled off that floor light. The two glasses, hers and Con’s, she handed to Bette wordlessly. She didn’t explain
either action. She sat on the couch. Moore went over to the window again, opened it and leaned out, looking at nothing. Inspector Tobin sat in the chair where Con had been.
He said, “Guess you wonder why we’re bothering you again.”
She didn’t answer. Words took more energy than she possessed.”You see, the doc isn’t so sure it was suicide.” She let her eyebrows speak.
“No, not so sure. Seems Grain was knifed before he was shot. And there would have been a lot of blood somewhere. Wherever it happened.” He waited for her to say something but she didn’t. “He was shot down there, but he was already dead, carried down there dead, whoever put the knife in him…”
Moore called over. “A thin knife it was. Maybe a stiletto-or a rapier. The bullet was to cover up the marks. But a way inside their paths didn’t go the same way. The doc says he’d have bled like a stuck pig where it happened.”
She knew what they were doing. Piling on horrors to make her talk. They didn’t know that violence could arouse no emotion in her. There was none left. She stated, “They know all that?” added, “by medical examination?”
Tobin said, “Yeah,” just the way Con had said it last night.
Bette brought the breakfast tray, asked, “Shall I start in the bedroom?” Griselda nodded assent.
Tobin looked at his thumb-nail. “You sure you didn’t see Grain Friday?”
She was put together more compactly now. She could smile. “You don’t think I knifed him?”
He pushed his hat back. “No, we don’t. But maybe it happened in here.”
She looked at the rugs. They didn’t know about the small one. Not unless Bette had told them. Had they questioned Bette? She was careful. “I told you the truth. I dined at my sister’s. After I came home, friends dropped in. I told you who. If he’d been killed here wouldn’t there have been blood?”
Tobin said, “Quarts of it.”
Moore nodded. “That’s what we’re telling you. We were wondering if maybe we could take the rugs down to the lab-for testing.”
She could smile. “I suppose you could. They’re Con’s not mine. Would it take long? A place is so barren without rugs. That small one,” she pointed to it, better tell them, “was cleaned Saturday. One of the boys spilled a drink on it, and it stained. He had it cleaned.”
“You know where?”
“I don’t.” She called, “Bette. Do you remember what cleaner returned the rug?”
The woman brought in her unsurprised face. “No, Miss Satterlee. A messenger brought the things. There wasn’t any tag.”
Would they notice the plural? They would. They noticed everything.
The doorbell rang. She was rigid. No one spoke. Bette and the carpet sweeper opened the door. It was Gig walking in, shyly, hesitantly.
“Gig!” Griselda clattered her cup and crossed to him. “You’re all right?” She took his arms, held him off to look at.
He was sheepish. “Yes, I am. I couldn’t understand why that nurse was there with me when I woke up. She says I’d been out all night.” He didn’t notice the others until then.
Griselda drew him over to the couch. “Dr. Gigland, Inspector Tobin, Sergeant Moore. They are investigating Mr. Grain’s death, Gig. They don’t think it was suicide.”
Gig blinked, “No? But what?”
Tobin remembered. “You were here that night. Friday night. Notice anything peculiar?”
Griselda went for a cup for Gig. If they could but tell how peculiar it was. But they couldn’t. Not now.
His mild voice was saying, “I don’t remember anything very strange.” He was sweet She didn’t care why he was masquerading. He was sweet and normal.
There was no reason why one street noise should rise above the others through the open window. But it did. A newsboy’s shout, “Extra! Extra! Man dead in Madison National Bank-” The room was silent.
The cup and saucer slid from her fingers, crashed. She looked down at the splinters, said simply, “Oh.”
Bette rushed in. “What a shame! I’ll get it, Miss.”
Griselda said, “Oh,” again, and stood motionless.
Tobin was in the bedroom without asking, dialing headquarters. Griselda went back to the couch. Her voice sounded queer to her own ears when he returned. “What?”
“The Madison National watchman murdered. That’s your brother-in-law’s bank, isn’t it?”
She answered, “Arthur is a vice-president.”
“Nothing missing-so far as they know-haven’t checked much yet of course. Didn’t discover it till nine. It’s in my district. We’ll come back another time, Miss Satterlee.” He and Moore were gone before he finished speaking.
She sank. Gig asked so quietly Bette could not hear, “You knew about this?”
She nodded tiredly. She pushed at her hair. “Oh, Lord, Gig. I’m supposed to lunch and dress Nesta today. And I can’t. I just can’t. Call for me. Tell her anything.” She closed her eyes, didn’t think while he was in at the phone.
When he returned, he said, “She isn’t in, hasn’t been in since yesterday.”
“Did she leave a message?”
“No. I left word for her to call, that you couldn’t make it.”
“Thank you.” She smiled up at him and he smiled back.
He said, “Poor Griselda. Better go back to bed. I’ll look in on you later.”
She returned to the bedroom.
“Bette, would you be an angel and stay here while I sleep? Guard the door. Don’t let anyone or anything disturb me.”
Bette would. Griselda removed the phone from its cradle. She climbed back into bed and she slept.
2
It was three o’clock when she woke; not enough sleep but better. Bette was in the living room, nodding over the paper.
Griselda said, “Thank you.” She put a folded bill in the woman’s hand. “Now go have a party. Did anyone come?”
“No-one. Thank you, Miss. But there’s two wires there, Miss, that came.”
She took them. Both were signed David. The first was that he had phoned to no avail and he wished to see her, would she meet him for dinner, for cocktails? The second was a follow-up. She crumpled them into the basket.
She waited for Bette to leave, chained herself in, showered. She remembered to replace the phone while she was dressing. It rang but she ignored it, ignored the insistent continuance. Dressed, she dialed Academy 9-6254, asked for Mrs. Stepney.
Ann’s voice was querulous. “Where have you been, Griselda? I’ve called and called. Have you heard about Arthur?”
Panic filled her again. “What about him?” she cried.
“The Bank. Poor Kerrigan murdered in cold blood.”
Griselda said, “But Arthur…”
“He’s simply overwhelmed,” Ann spoke pathetically. “All of us are. I’ve been flat on my back all day.”
Griselda made a face at the receiver. Then she listened.
“And Arthur’s been trying to get you all day. The police want to see you.”
She whispered, “The police? Me?” They couldn’t! They couldn’t! And yet see what they had known from poor Grain’s body.
“Yes.” Ann went on and on. “They’ve been checking and nothing seems to have been touched except your deposit box. They wonder if anything is missing.”
Griselda’s relief was shattering. Her voice sounded too loud. “How strange, Ann! I want to hear all about it. May I come up?”
“If you only would,” Ann sighed. “I need some solace, I’ll call Arthur that you are on the way. There’s no reason for you to go down to that hideous bank. The police can just talk to you here.”
Griselda agreed and discontinued the conversation. The phone rang again while she took her black satin bag and gloves, touched her lips redder, threw her black furs about her. She could face Tobin now. At least she looked normal.
Still ignoring the phone she opened the door, thankful for the empty hallway. Opening the elevator was a hurdle but she leapt it, was grat
eful for its emptiness, and again for no one in the downstairs foyer. She walked to Madison, hailed an uptown cab, gave the address. Only then was she safe for the moment from the twins.
Ann was on her scarlet and cream chaise longue, languorously lovely in cream lace. Her hand manipulated an enormous chiffon square of scarlet, damp with eau de cologne. She cried, “Griselda! Never have I had such a day! Never! Are you going dancing later?”
Griselda laid off her furs and bonnet. “No. I just dressed for moral support. I was feeling wretched.”
“It’s horrible. But you don’t know. And after divine yesterday-the cocktail party really was amusing, don’t you think? And afterwards we had dinner at Morocco with those adorable twins.”
Griselda’s eyes were wide. She was thoughtful. “Did they return to the party?” She explained, “They left before Gig and I, you know.”
Ann nodded. “We met them there at nine.”
Nine. They went from the bank.
“They had the most delightful dinner ordered. A special champagne.”
To food and wine.
Ann’s eyes were animated. “And how they can dance. I’ve never been able to rhumba before, but With David!” She laughed, a woman adored, remembering.
To flirtation, to music and laughter. And a man died for nothing.
“Missy, of course, behaved abominably. Griselda, you wouldn’t believe! Eating like a little pig and glowering at everyone except Jasper Coldwater. He and that Nesta were there, too, I forgot to mention and she simply leaning all over Danny and Arthur, too, though I must say David saw through her. And then Missy simply sprawled on Jasper.”
Griselda jumped a little as Olga opened the door.
“Mr. Stepney is here, Mrs. Stepney, and another gentleman-a man.” The second girl in her precise uniform didn’t seem quite certain of the other man. “They asked for you and Miss Satterlee.”
Ann said, “Yes, Olga.” She smoothed her hair, painted her lips darker, and used a large, cerise, frothy powder puff. She laid away the cream lace hostess gown for one of pale green brocade, silver sandals. She poured eau de cologne on a cream chiffon square, examined her face again, and said, “Let’s go in, Griselda.”
The So Blue Marble Page 8