“Yes; you’ve explained that. What about Saylor?”
“Saylor was harder to get a line on; nobody knew anything about him. But I found he was registered at the Jung Hotel. It seems he’s a complete stranger here. After dinner at the hotel last night, he asked the desk clerk for the shortest way to the Grand Bayou Line Pier.”
Uncle Gil snapped his fingers.
“Saylor, as Jeff described him, is both inquisitive and intelligent. He wanted to find Captain Joshua Galway, did he?”
“By the Almighty’s britches, sir, that’s just what he wanted! How do you know he was looking for Captain Josh?”
“One part of the evidence indicated it. Did he see the captain?”
“Not right away he didn’t.” After consulting the notebook again, Lieutenant Minnoch returned it to his pocket. “Saylor took a taxi to the levee. Captain Josh had gone out on the town somewhere, so Saylor talked to the purser. Didn’t seem to have much on his mind, the purser says, but I don’t believe it.
“And why don’t I believe it? I’ll tell you. These steamboat people are a friendly bunch; they’ll talk your ears off if they get half a chance. The purser brought out a bottle; they had a few and chewed the fat until ha’ past eleven, when Captain Josh got back to the boat.”
“Serena Hobart,” said Uncle Gil, “was found dead at eleven-twenty. Saylor’s whereabouts can be accounted for until eleven-thirty?”
“Until much later than that, sir! The captain no sooner gets back, you see, than Saylor takes him aside for a mysterious confab in private until after midnight. I talked to Captain Josh today, and then I went to the Jung Hotel and saw Saylor. Both of ’em claim they talked about nothin’ important, but this magazine writer from Philadelphia looked almighty wise when he said it.”
Gilbert Bethune began to pace back and forth between the table and the door.
“Lieutenant,” he declared, “this is sheer lunacy! Two others you will probably eliminate are a nephew of the late Thad Peters and that nephew’s wife. Let’s suppose, for argument’s sake, their alibis hold up. Eliminating Saylor too, and throwing in Captain Galway for good measure, would seem to eliminate every single person even remotely concerned in this affair. No, I am not forgetting Mr. Earl Merriman. According to Jeff’s story, our good businessman from St. Louis must have called at Ira Rutledge’s office at a time very close to eleven-thirty. And that would seem—”
“Ah, but does it eliminate everybody? Just think for a minute, sir. Does it eliminate everybody?”
Lieutenant Minnoch, who had spoken of Saylor as looking wise, himself now looked so wise that he seemed almost bursting.
“I said, Lieutenant, it would ‘seem’ to eliminate everybody: that’s the saving qualification. However, take things at your own summing up! It’s conceivable, of course, that some total stranger killed Serena last night and attacked Dave this afternoon. At the same time—!”
“I still ask, sir, whether you’ve even seemed to eliminate everybody? Will you and Mr. Caldwell come along with me, please? You might tag along too, O’Bannion.”
Carrying his moustache like a war banner, full of internal snorts that indicated satisfaction, the lieutenant led them out into the main hall and upstairs.
Many electric wall candles burned here, throwing soft light into the hall and into the transverse corridor across the house’s breadth. Marching towards the closed door of Dave’s bedroom, beside which stood a large chair of carved oak, the somewhat smug Minnoch altered his direction and turned to face them at the head of the back stairs.
“Maybe I’m not very subtle, Mr. Bethune. Then, again—”
“Are you still going on about subtlety, man? I’ve said this is your case to handle, and it is. I’ve already told you that, haven’t I?”
A sense of grievance rang in the lieutenant’s voice.
“You say it’s my case, I know. You’ve said that more’n once since last night. But when you get started, sir, nobody’s got a Chinaman’s chance to handle things except you yourself. And when I’ve finished, Mr. Bethune, maybe this time you’ll say I’m bein’ too all-fired subtle for my own good. I claim it’s only common sense, which is all a cop needs.
“So I won’t get too much off my chest right now; I’ll wait till I can be dead sure. I’ll just call your attention to one or two things that may be worth thinkin’ about. When I came out here today, I didn’t expect trouble and didn’t bring our fingerprint man. But, as soon as I saw that blackjack they found in on the bedroom floor, I grabbed it.”
“You—?”
“Oh, I don’t mean I grabbed it in the way that sounds! I packed it up in a box, as careful as I could, so nobody else would grab it or touch it, and I told Fred Bull to take it in and have it tested for prints.”
“What do you expect to find, or expect the blackjack to tell us?”
“The blackjack, sir, may tell us a whole lot by not tellin’ anything at all.”
“The subtlety you have in mind, Lieutenant,” Uncle Gil said courteously, “need not rise or descend to Chestertonian paradox. That’s my department; I claim first rights.”
“You can always claim first rights, can’t you, sir? Hell’s bells, am I allowed to say what I want to say, even if it’s only common sense?”
“Yes, of course; sorry.”
“You’re the D.Λ., sir; no need for you to apologize. Now O’Bannion here,” Lieutenant Minnoch went on, “has been claiming all along that the would-be murderer sneaked in by an unlocked side door near the foot o’ these stairs here, sneaked up to this floor, walloped young Mr. Hobart, and ducked out again the same way.”
“You doubt that?”
“I just want to show you something, that’s all. Now it’s rained all day, off and on; the grounds outside are soaked. Will you follow me, sir?”
Taking out his pocket lighter and kindling its broad flame, the lieutenant went slowly down the stairs. Gilbert Bethune descended after him, and then Jeff, while O’Bannion remained at the top.
The staircase, though long and steep, in daylight would have been well illumined by a small panel of windows above the side door at the end of the transverse corridor below.
Minnoch opened this door and held up the flame of the lighter. Outside, under a stone arch like a kind of hood to protect the entrance from wet weather, stone steps led down to the western arm of the driveway past Delys Hall.
Again rain had passed over, leaving only darkness, wet foliage, and a prowling wind. Lieutenant Minnoch held the lighter outside.
“Still quite a pool o’ water,” he commented, “at the foot o’ those steps out there. Now back up the stairs again, gentlemen! And you might keep lookin’ at ’em as we go.
“If I’ve still got the go-ahead sign, Mr. Bethune,” he added, after they had reached the top of the staircase, “I’ll sort of sum up. I’ve been all over the stairs, I’ve been up and down ’em. I’ve been all over the floor of the side entrance down there, and the floor of this passage up here. And the floor of the bedroom too. And there’s not a trace o’ mud, water, or even dirt anywhere on the steps or on the floor!”
“Oh?”
“On a day like today, sir,” the lieutenant proclaimed with energy, “not a man alive could ’a’ gone in and out without leavin’ some kind of trace or track to show he’d been there. See what I mean?”
“You are saying, then,” Uncle Gil returned in a strange voice, “that whoever attacked Dave Hobart must have come from inside the house?”
“Kind of looks that way, don’t it? And that’s not all it proves! With your permission, sir, I have a little plan in mind. Just to show I always take precautions, we’ll keep the young gentleman well guarded from now on.”
Seeing the lieutenant’s eye stray towards O’Bannion, Gilbert Bethune cleared his throat for attention.
“I also,” the District Attorney said, “am beginning to have a plan in mind. To carry out all aspects of this plan, I shall need professional help of several kinds and in several
directions. For instance! You’re about to post Officer O’Bannion as a constant guard, aren’t you? If so, is there somebody you can use for that duty in his place?”
“Yes, sir, course there is! Why do you ask?”
“Because, if I can clear it through Captain Kelly without having to go over Captain Kelly’s head to the Police Commissioner, I want to borrow O’Bannion for a little errand that must be carried out. Tell me, young man: have you ever done any flying?”
“Flying, sir?” O’Bannion stared at him.
Uncle Gil, it seemed to Jeff, just restrained himself from doing a little dance.
“There has been so much talk of transatlantic flying,” he replied, “that the thought naturally jumped into my head. But I meant nothing so ambitious or far-reaching. The proper question is: have you ever been up in a plane?”
“I’ve been up once or twice, sir, with those barnstormers who used to take you on very short spins at five dollars a time.”
“Already,” said Uncle Gil, “they have begun to fly the mail. Within twenty years or even less, it’s been predicted, there will be regular passenger flights from city to city. Meanwhile, in a much more modest and restricted way, a similar kind of service is provided by our own Ted Patterson here in New Orleans. You won’t mind too much, Lieutenant, if I borrow your subordinate?”
“If you say so, Mr. Bethune, borrow him and welcome! But—”
After a thunderous kind of pause, as though holding himself in check before he hurled a thunderbolt. Lieutenant Minnoch settled down to continue.
“I asked you, sir, what else the evidence proves. And I’m a little bit surprised, maybe, that anybody as keen as you didn’t tumble to it right away. I mean the noise.”
“The noise?”
“Well, the lack o’ noise. Like this! Whatever happened in that bedroom over there, it’d seem, somebody had to get in and then out again. O’Bannion, as he’s told you, heard a kind of cry. He heard the table and dishes go over with a smash. But that’s all he did hear, and he didn’t see anything. He himself made a lot of noise running up the main staircase, and there’s no carpet in this passage. How was it the attacker, whether from outside the house or inside it or wherever the attacker came from, didn’t make any sound at all?”
Gilbert Bethune regarded him in something like consternation.
“Lieutenant, I greatly fear—”
Uncle Gil did not finish. Quite literally he put his hand over his mouth as the heavy door of Dave’s room opened and closed behind silver-haired Dr. Quayle, who joined them near the back stairs and spoke in a low voice.
“That will do for the present,” he said. “I hope I’m not needed here again tonight. If the whole situation weren’t so serious, I might have just cause for complaint. Any questions?”
“One or two,” Uncle Gil told him in the same tone, “but mainly: how is Dave’s heart?”
“The one predictable thing about such an ailment is that you can’t make predictions. He’ll do, I think. Organically Dave is in better shape than his father; and his father, cardiac condition or no, lived until the fairly ripe age of sixty-seven.”
“Did Dave say anything?”
“Oh, yes. He kept trying to talk until the sedative took effect. I hate to give him so much sedation, but I had no choice.”
“Could he—talk coherently?”
“Yes, to a degree.” Dr. Quayle swung the black bag against his leg. “The boy’s had a bad shock, of course; but apart from physical causes his principal emotion seems to be one of anger. Before hitting him with that weapon, the murderer you’re after first tried to smother him with a pillow.”
“To smother him? Then that explains—!”
“The pillow on the floor? Yes, to be sure. The bed had two pillows. Dave’s head was on one of them. He lay stretched out, eyes closed and resting, but not asleep, when all of a sudden the other pillow came down on his face with the full weight of somebody’s hands and arms and shoulders.
“He didn’t take it, if I may say so, lying down. Dave’s a very powerful young fellow. He jumped to his feet, tearing the pillow away and down, and stood up to face the assailant.”
“He saw who it was?”
“He couldn’t see the fellow’s face, though he must have been as close as I am to you now. His assailant let go the pillow, and swung up a left arm—in some kind of loose raincoat, Dave says—to hide the face. Anyway! On a dark day, startled and confused like that, what happened isn’t surprising. He saw the man’s right arm go up. Something hit the boy; he knew he was falling against the table, but that’s all he knew before the light went out.”
“He can’t say anything else?”
“No, I’m afraid not.” Dr. Quayle drew a deep breath. “I begged him not to excite himself, but you know Dave. And I asked only one question. Late on a drowsy Sunday afternoon, with not a noise in the house, the unknown attacker creeps in and takes his victim unawares. ‘You mean,’ I said, ‘you didn’t hear a sound to warn you?’”
“Did Dave answer?”
“Yes, if you can make anything of it. The boy said, ‘I couldn’t have heard anything. Doctor. He wasn’t even wearing shoes; he was in his stocking feet.’”
15
JEFF PULLED THE Stutz Bearcat in at the curb and switched off the ignition.
“This is the third time in four days, Penny,” he said to the girl at his side, “that a car in which I was riding will have been left here in University Place. The first time, Friday night, we were together in your Hudson. Saturday night I was alone, driving this car, and on my way to Ira Rutledge’s office. Yesterday, Sunday, Uncle Gil and I paid several visits without touching here. This afternoon …”
“On the way in,” Penny conceded, “you’ve told me about yesterday afternoon. But what about last night? I know I oughtn’t to be so horribly curious, but I can’t help it. Some unknown man attacked poor Dave and got away. What happened then?”
“Very little, as I’ve also tried to tell you. Lieutenant Minnoch, afire with some great idea he won’t explain, said he would explain today when he could be dead sure. And Old Nemesis isn’t the only one. Uncle Gil, with two separate sets of great ideas—they go in different directions, he says—won’t explain until he’s dead sure. Seeing you today, Penny …”
“I—I do wish you wouldn’t say dead sure!”
“Sorry; there was no intent to …”
“Of course there wasn’t!” Penny assured him. “I—I did drive up to the Hall yesterday afternoon, which must have been just before the attack on Dave. But I couldn’t go in. It may have seemed cowardy-custard, when I was so fond of Serena and like Dave a lot too; but I couldn’t!”
“There’s no reason why you should have. And you did manage it today.”
“Yes, because I was resolved not to be such a ’fraidy cat! Then, when I’d no sooner got out of the car, you insisted I must leave it there and drive to town with you. There’s no need to be so masterful, you know; I’ll do whatever you ask whenever you ask it. But, now that we are here, what are we doing here?”
“That can be explained, Penny, by rounding out last night. Dr. Quayle left. Lieutenant Minnoch left, still muttering to himself. Cato persuaded Uncle Gil and me to have something to eat. When we finished eating …”
Under the clear blue sky of Monday afternoon, April 25th, Jeff had a sharp memory of Gilbert Bethune in the refectory the night before.
“Dr. Quayle, Jeff,” Uncle Gil had remarked, “pays high tribute to Dave Hobart’s courage and presence of mind, saying Dave was very much like his father. It’s a fair verdict. My late friend Harald had presence of mind and undoubted courage. All his life, so far as I know, Harald feared only one thing.”
“Oh?”
“He feared heights,” Uncle Gil had said. “Harald might have gone up in a plane, because you can be strapped into your seat. But he wouldn’t have walked near the edge of a precipice, even a very low precipice.”
“Is that important?”
“It’s to visit number 701b Royal Street, according to the invitation of the anonymous note. Am I likely to find anything interesting there?”
“It’s possible, it’s at least possible. For I think I have remembered those premises,” Uncle Gil had answered, “and the rather curious character who inhabits them.”
“Curious or not, is he a sinister character? Need I look out for squalls if I buy tobacco there?”
“Sinister, Jeff? No, quite the opposite! Whatever else may be said of him, old—the gentleman in question won’t carry a blackjack in his sleeve. It’s safe enough, physically speaking, to do business with him.”
And so, behind the wheel of the Stutz in University Place that warm Monday afternoon, Jeff looked at Penny Lynn.
“As you say, here we are. There’s now no reason why I shouldn’t tell you about the anonymous note on the steamboat, so I’ve told you. On Saturday night I drove past 701b; not unnaturally, it was closed. Knowing your dislike of taking a car into the Vieux Carré, I’ll leave this one here. If you’d care to accompany me to the address in question …”
More alluring than ever in a white summer dress. Penny climbed out of the car and joined him on the pavement.
“Of course I’d like to go, Jeff! It’s a cigar store, I think you said?”
“The proprietor calls it a cigar divan, which is a term I associate only with—!” Jeff hesitated. “If I could just understand some little part of what’s going on, and prove I’m not as dense as I must sound—!”
“You couldn’t sound dense whatever you said or say.” Then Penny made a despairing face. “But then nothing at all seems to make much sense, does it?”
Jeff did not reply until they had crossed Canal Street and turned south along the border of the Old Square.
Deadly Hall Page 19