Double or Quits

by Erle Stanley Gardner

  “I’m nice. Mamma says if I’m a good girl, she’ll run the motion-picture machine tonight.” Mrs. Croy laughed. “I’m afraid I’m making her very vain,” she said. “I took a lot of family pictures. She loves to see them over and over.” Selma looked at me seriously and said, in her childish voice, “Pictures of Uncle Doctor, too. Uncle Doctor’s gone to sleep, and he isn’t going to wake up any more at all.”

  “Is that so?” She nodded with slow solemnity.

  Mrs. Croy said, “I’ll get Jeannette to take care of Selma. I want to go where we can talk.” She pressed a button, and after a few moments, when the maid came to the door, said, “Will you stay with Selma, please, Jeannette?” Jeannette gave me a smile of recognition, said, “Yes. Mrs. Croy,” and held out her hands to Selma.

  As I left the room I felt that Jeannette was watching me with some interest. I noticed a mirror, placed at just the right angle so I could watch her reflection. She had crouched and was holding one arm around the child’s waist. Her eyes were staring steadily at me. It was several seconds before she realized I was looking at her in the mirror, then she shifted her eyes and caught mine. For a moment only she was startled. Then her lips parted to show even, white teeth as she smiled.

  “This way,” Nadine Croy said.

  She took me out into the patio over to a secluded corner behind the big olla and the green vine. She indicated a couple of chairs which looked as though they had been placed there especially for the interview.

  As soon as we were seated she began abruptly, “Did Dr. Devarest tell you anything about me?”

  “No.”

  “About—about my domestic problems?”

  “No.”

  “You’re certain?”

  “Yes.” She waited as though trying to find the most advantageous angle of approach, then, apparently deciding to plunge right in, said, “My marriage was very unfortunate. I was divorced eighteen months ago. I had plenty of evidence I could have used against my husband, but I didn’t want to. I only introduced enough evidence to get the decree—and, of course, the custody of Selma.”

  “Alimony?” I asked.

  “No. I didn’t need any. You see, that’s the trouble. I inherited rather a large sum of money from my father. Walter —Walter Croy, my husband—met me shortly after my father died. He was very kind, considerate, and helpful, and—well, I was attracted to him and married him.

  “Shortly after the marriage I realized that he was not at all insensible to the advantages of the money I had inherited. Then he began trying various schemes to get control of that money. Fortunately, because the estate was so large, it had been necessary to keep it in probate for some time, and I had an attorney who was very shrewd and very loyal. He warned me specifically against turning over the control of my property to my husband.”

  “Who’s the lawyer?”

  “Forrest Timkan.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “I think Walter knew that Timkan had warned me against him. I don’t know for certain, of course. As I made one excuse after another, Walter became more and more insistent, and then was when it became so plainly evident that the money was—well, really all he wanted.”

  “He didn’t love you, you mean?” She snapped her fingers and said, “He didn’t care that much for me, or for any other woman. He’s an exploiter. He’s handsome, magnetic, and he twists women around his fingers. One woman means nothing whatever to him. That’s what I’m getting at. After he found out that I’d been warned against turning over my property to him, he simply lost interest in everything. Not even Selma could hold him. He forged my name to cheques, did half a dozen utterly despicable things. Well, as I say, I got my divorce, and, of course, custody of Selma.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “About six months ago,” she said, “Walter started attacking the problem from a new angle. He wanted part-time custody of Selma.”

  “I thought you said he didn’t care much about her.”

  “He doesn’t care a thing about her, but some day Selma is going to have money. That’s something Walter would naturally take into consideration, and he also thought that—well, he put it up to me rather crudely.”

  “Put what up to you?”

  “That I could buy him off.”

  “Did you do so?”

  “No. Mr. Timkan said that once I started that, there’d be no end to it.”

  “So what happened?” She said, “Walter was being really disagreeable. Then suddenly everything stopped.” She looked at me with searching eyes. “Did Dr. Devarest tell you anything about that?”

  “No.”

  “Well, everything was suddenly hushed up. Mr. Timkan couldn’t understand it. But we were, of course, willing to let things ride along—let sleeping dogs lie.

  “Yesterday,” she went on, “Walter’s lawyer rang up Mr. Timkan, said that there’d been a slight delay in connection with the presentation of the matter because Walter hadn’t kept his word on bringing in money to cover fees and costs, but now the lawyer was ready to proceed.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” I asked.

  “Because I think Dr. Devarest’s death had something to do with all this. I’ve talked with Mr. Timkan about you, and he’d like to see you.”

  “All right, where do I find him?” She took from a pocket of her blouse one of Timkan’s cards, handed it to me. I looked at it, then dropped it in my pocket, and said, “All right, I’ll go see him.”

  “I wish you’d feel free to—” She broke off and stood watching the man who had emerged from the living-room door to stand in the patio, looking at the fountain. He had bowed rather formally, but was obviously waiting for us to finish our conversation. I could see a puzzled, somewhat apprehensive expression on her face.

  “Who is that?” I asked.

  She said, “Corbin Harmley. One of the people Dr. Devarest befriended. He’s been in South America on an oil proposition. He got in by air the day before Dr. Devarest died. He intended to come and see him the first thing, to pay back a loan.”

  “How much of a loan?”

  “Two hundred and fifty dollars. It seems that he was very friendly with my uncle. He’d meet him at a luncheon club, and they’d chat. Harmley is a wanderer, a man who makes his living promoting oil leases and things, and he’d come and go, which is the reason Aunt Colette had never met him. Then he got badly down on his luck, and at just that moment had an opportunity to go to South America. My uncle staked him to the money he needed for expenses.

  “Well, as I get the story, Harmley had a little good luck and a lot of bad luck for a while, and then he got hold of something that he thought would really work out. But it was a difficult matter, trying to handle it so the big corporations that wanted to get control wouldn’t freeze him out. You know how they work.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “That’s all there is to it. He’s finally managed to get his deal all lined up and is putting it across. He flew back to the States in connection with this business matter, and one of the first persons he wanted to see was Dr. Devarest so he could pay back the loan and tell him the good news. Then he picked up a newspaper and read of his death. It was a terrible shock.

  “He wrote Aunt Colette. It was a very fine letter. She showed it to me, one of the nicest letters I’ve ever read. He told her that at her convenience he’d like to call and make repayment of his loan.

  “He told her some things about Dr. Devarest in the letter, things we’d never known—about how he had helped other people quietly, and unassumingly, not only with cash loans, but by encouraging them and backing them in every way.”

  “Then he came out to see your aunt?”

  “Yes. She met him at the funeral. He asked if he might be permitted to attend, and—well, he certainly is nice, tactful,considerate. It seems at one time he’d started drinking pretty heavily, and Dr. Devarest straightened him out, gave him a stake to carry on.”

  “Why are you afraid of him?”
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br />   “I’m not—only—I think I’ve seen him before.”

  “Perhaps if you’d talk more frankly, I could listen more intelligently.” She laughed. “I’m really not beating around the bush,” she said. “It’s just that I don’t know, and I don’t want to get you off on the wrong trail. I’ve seen this man before. I’m almost certain that he came to the house one night to see my husband, Walter. I had only a brief glimpse of him. It was shortly after we’d been married.”

  “Have you asked him about it?”

  “No, I haven’t. I didn’t feel like discussing my domestic affairs with him, and it may just be a case of mistaken identity.” I said, “Why are you telling me all this?”

  “Because,” she said, “in addition to what you’re doing for Aunt Colette, I want you to help me. I want you to go see Mr. Timkan. I want you to find out, if you can, whether Mr. Harmley knows Walter. I can’t get the idea out of my mind that Harmley may inadvertently have given my uncle some tip about Walter which enabled him to bring pressure to bear. I’m almost certain there was something, and, whatever it is, we’ve got to find out about it.”

  “Are you afraid to go into court on the custody matter?” I asked her.

  Her eyes met mine for a moment, then shifted uneasily. She said evasively, “Selma is getting old enough to understand now. The testimony—well, it wouldn’t do the child any good, and if Walter should ever get even a part-time custody, it would be terrible—for her, I mean.” I thought things over, then said, “I’ll go see Timkan.”

  “Please don’t spare any expense,” she said. “This is something that is so important. Of course, I don’t want you to throw money away, but ”

  “I understand.”

  “Would you like to meet Mr. Harmley now?”

  “Why not?” She arose at once. We crossed the patio. Harmley watched us coming toward him. He was an interesting figure, a man in the middle thirties with an abundance of dark hair that swept back from a high forehead. He held his chin high, as though he had a lot of pride in himself and his work. His eyes were keen, penetrating, and held a touch of humour.

  Mrs. Croy said, in a swift undertone, “I’m going to introduce you as a friend of the family. And from now on we’ll call each other by our first names. Aunt Colette thinks that’s the way to handle it and ”

  “Fine,” I interrupted.

  She performed the introductions. Harmley’s hand clasped mine in a warm, firm grip. His voice when he spoke was low, but so well modulated that it gave one the impression of a dynamic reserve power.

  “If,” he said, “you were intimately acquainted with Dr. Devarest, you had the privilege of knowing a very remarkable man.”

  “I certainly thought so,” I agreed.

  “That man changed my entire life,” he observed simply, started to say something else, then stopped, giving the impression that a feeling of gratitude was battling with a certain natural disinclination to talk about himself in connection with any tribute he wished to pay to Dr. Devarest.

  Mrs. Croy said, “Well, I’m going to run along and see how my child’s getting on. You’ll go see that person I mentioned, won’t you, Donald?”

  “I’ll be glad to.” She smiled, moved away. Harmley, watching her speculatively, said, “You know, Lam, it’s damn funny, but I have the distinct feeling that I’ve met that woman before somewhere, and for the life of me I can’t place her. I can’t remember where I’ve seen her.” He swung his eyes back to mine. “I know I’ve seen her.” I said, “That frequently happens. I’ve felt the same way myself on several occasions.”

  “What is it? Do you suppose we’ve met people about whom we feel that way, and forgotten them, or–”

  “More likely,” I said, “you’ve sat across from her in a streetcar, happened to be attracted by her unusually large eyes and now that you’ve met her have a vague recollection of having seen her before. Or perhaps some time when you and Dr. Devarest came out of a restaurant she was waiting in his car.”

  “By George, that must be it. But it certainly is a peculiar feeling.”

  “She has a cute little girl.”

  “Hasn’t she? She and her husband are separated?”

  “Divorced, I understand.”

  “Too bad.”

  “I understand you saw quite a bit of Dr. Devarest?”

  “At intervals. I’d see him very frequently for a week or two, or perhaps a month or two at a time, and then wouldn’t see him again for months.”

  “Did you and Dr. Devarest have many friendships in common?”

  “Oh yes. We were members of the same luncheon club. I gave up my regular membership some time ago, but I’d usually attend as Dr. Devarest’s guest when I was in town. I haven’t been here for some time. This last trip kept me away six or eight months.” I said, “Rather an interesting coincidence. About six or eight months ago, some man gave Dr, Devarest a tip on a certain person who was a mutual acquaintance—something that impressed Dr. Devarest very deeply at the time.” He looked at me searchingly. “I say, old chap, that’s a bit vague, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” He laughed. “I didn’t mean to criticize, but ”

  “I understand, but it’s something his wife has been trying to find out about.”

  “You don’t know who this chap was?”

  “No.”

  “You don’t know who the person under discussion might have been?”

  “No.” He shook his head, frowned and said, “I don’t get it.” I said, “Well, I’m just asking questions here and there of 1 a few of Dr. Devarest’s acquaintances. You saw him six or eight months ago?” He frowned thoughtfully. “About seven months ago to be exact.”

  “Did you see quite a bit of him at that time?”

  “No. As it happens, I didn’t. I only saw him for a very brief visit. We had lunch together two days in succession, and he met me after dinner at his office. One evening we chatted for some little time. He was telling me about the way he’d fixed up his study.” Harmley stopped talking abruptly, and his eyes regarded me searchingly. He said, “Did Dr. Devarest take you into his confidence concerning his study?”

  “The obsolete medical equipment?” I asked.

  “Which housed the liquor and the detective stories,” he supplemented, laughing.

  I nodded.

  “Hilton kept that pretty much a secret, I fancy,” he said. “I guess only a few of his more intimate friends knew about it.”

  “Do you remember whether he mentioned having installed a safe when you talked with him?” I asked.

  Harmley stared steadily at the fountain for quite a few seconds, before he said, “There was something about a safe—something said about a safe. Wait a minute. I think it was the second day I had lunch with him. He told me that he had just placed an order for one of the best wall safes money could buy. Seems to me he placed the order that day.”

  “Look here, Harmley, I’m going to be frank with you. It’s rather important that we know what you and Dr. Devarest talked about just prior to that time.”

  “Why? Good heavens, do you think I gave him some information which was valuable to him?”

  “Yes.” Harmley frowned. “I can’t think of a thing I could have said.”

  “Try to recall any persons whom you discussed with Dr. Devarest at that time, and particularly what you said about them. Take a little time to think it over.”

  “That’s something of a job,” he said, “but I can do it if you want me to.”

  “I’d like very much to have you.”

  “Tell you what I’ll do. I’ll sit down this evening and try and reconstruct all of the conversation. I’ll make a few notes as I go along, and then some time within the next day or two I’ll talk to you about it. I hope I won’t be boring you with a lot of foolish comments, but I’m afraid that will be about the size of it. You know how it is when you get together with someone you know and like after an absence. You ask what’s become of this fellow or that fellow, and ”

 
“This may have been about someone that—look here, did you happen to show Dr. Devarest any photographs of people —perhaps some group photos of those who were associated with you?” He said, “Why, yes. I was just starting on this South American thing, and I’d had my picture taken with a couple of chaps from South America, also with some of the landholders, and—and there was a picture I’d had taken in San Francisco. We were laughing about it, a picture I’d had taken at an amusement park. Now that you speak of it, I remember Dr. Devarest wanted a copy of the picture. I gave it to him. What made you think of photographs, Lam?”

  “I didn’t think of them. I was asking questions.”

  “Well, you asked about photographs.”

  “Because they were a possibility.” He said, “Well, the photographs I showed Hilton couldn’t have had any bearing on anything you were investigating. They showed a group that was interested in the South American properties, and Hilton was interested in the photograph merely because that South American venture meant so much to me.”

  “Dr. Devarest didn’t have any money in it?” I asked casually.

  He glanced at me quickly, said, “No—I wish that he had had now. You cover a hell of a lot of territory—with your questions.”

  “I try to,” I said.

  He didn’t thaw out after that, but said with a rather frigid dignity, “I’m glad I met you, Mr.—Lam. I’ll see you again perhaps.” I countered his formality with the breezy manner of a visiting delegate at a convention. “Oh, I’ll be seeing you. I’m around here quite often.” He walked away, and a few moments later Nadine Croy came out from the place where she had been watching. “Learn anything?” she asked.

  “Not much. He gave Dr. Devarest a couple of photographs, group pictures showing some of the people who were associated with him in his South American venture.”

  “I don’t see how that could have any bearing on the case.”

  “Neither did he. He thinks he’s met you somewhere before.”

  “Then he was the man who came out to see Walter. Did you tell him—I mean, remind him?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I thought it would be better to let him place you by himself. My business is to get information—not to give it.”