“Knew what?”
“That she was already dead,” Evangeline concluded simply.
“Oh.” Freddie felt a mite sheepish for having missed something so obvious.
“Since Roland no longer worked at Hyperion by the end of April, it’s unlikely he would have heard the news of Nora’s death until some time during the afternoon of the twenty fourth, long after the flowers were delivered.” Evangeline rose and began to stir the fire, which was beginning to die.
“Let me get that.” Freddie offered to help while the lady stood back contemplatively, watching the flames slowly spring back to life.
“Something else to consider is that Roland has a whole crowd of people who can provide him with an alibi for the night of the murder. Martin’s only alibi is Desmond. I find that fact to be an even more significant indication of guilt.”
Freddie nodded solemnly as he continued building up the fire. “But what was Martin’s motive for killing her? He doesn’t seem the violent type.”
“I suspect that the picture you found in the safety deposit box may have been intended as a gift from Nora to Roland, and Martin somehow got hold of it. Maybe she brought it to work with her on April twenty third intending to present it to Roland, and Martin found it in her desk. The idea that Nora preferred the nephew to the uncle might have infuriated him. Perhaps Martin confronted Nora about it that night. While he might not be violent under ordinary circumstances, I can certainly picture him as vindictive if his pride were wounded. Vindictive enough to kill her for her duplicity.”
Freddie rose from the hearth, dusting off his hands and his trousers. He stood before the fire, looking at his friend. “What about Euphemia? Why would Martin kill her?”
Evangeline gazed at him briefly then stared off into space trying to formulate a theory. “I remember the way she looked at her husband after the scene Bayne caused the night of the séance. Coming so soon on the heels of the Hyperion strike, for which she must have held Desmond responsible, it would have been the last straw. I thought there would be hell to pay after we all left that evening. I’m sure Euphemia gave Martin an ultimatum to get rid of Bayne or else. That put him in an impossible situation. If he sent Desmond packing, then Mr. Bayne would no doubt expose Martin’s whereabouts on the night of April twenty third. The cat would properly be out of the bag with respect to Martin’s liaison with Nora—not to mention the possibility of a murder charge. He stood in grave danger of losing not only Euphemia’s fortune, as I originally thought, but his life as well.”
Freddie sat up eagerly. “So he had a perfect motive for getting rid of Euphemia.”
“Quite.
Freddie pondered Evangeline’s theory for a few moments. “Yes, everything fits nicely together. Now all we have to do is convince the sheriff and the Chicago police that our theory is right.”
The lady sighed. “And we have to do that quickly. We’re running out of time. I’ve been sending messages to Sheriff Weston all week to keep him up to date on our discoveries. I just don’t know how long he can continue to hold Serafina in the Shore Cliff jail. In fact, he may have transferred her already to the jail in Waukegan. Then the poor thing will have to go through an arraignment hearing, and it will only get worse for her from there.”
A note of concern crept into Freddie’s voice. “What can we do to wrap this up posthaste?”
Evangeline shrugged matter-of-factly, as if there were only one possible strategy. “We confront Martin and offer him a choice. Either he turns himself in to the police and confesses, which will probably make things go easier for him with the law, or we will expose him ourselves.”
Freddie frowned. “But, Engie, what if he doesn’t go along with the idea?”
“May I remind you that we now have the blackmail evidence that Bayne was using to control Martin.”
“And?”
“And, we’re in a position to call the tune now. Between the picture of Nora with his surname on it and the florist who can identify him sending flowers to her, there’s the suggestion that he was involved with her. We could drag Bayne in and force him to testify that he saw Martin kill Nora or be faced with a charge of accessory to murder.
“That ought to make him sing,” Freddie observed.
“If we can make a convincing case that Martin killed Nora, then that means we can establish his motive for killing Euphemia in order to conceal the first murder. In light of all these facts, I doubt that he would think his best interests were being served by denying everything. There’s too much circumstantial evidence against him.”
“But what if he panics and runs?”
“We won’t give him time to do that.” Evangeline smiled cryptically as she rang the bell for Jack.
Freddie raised a quizzical eyebrow.
When the caretaker arrived, she said, “Jack, prepare yourself. We have a social call to make this evening. I’ve heard that Mr. Allworthy has returned to town, and I long to pay him a visit.”
“Will you want me to fetch the carriage, Miss Engie?” the major domo asked.
“No, Jack, I’ll want you to fetch your revolver. We can walk the distance. It’s only a few blocks.”
Freddie winced at the mention of firearms.
Jack flashed a pleased grin, displaying his gold front tooth in the dim parlor light. “What, just the one, Miss Engie?”
Evangeline laughed. “I hate to disappoint you, Jack, but I think the shotgun might be a bit too obvious. One weapon for you should suffice, since I’ll be armed as well.”
The caretaker nodded and left, humming a happy little ditty as he went off in search of his cap and pistol.
Failing to notice her friend’s dismay at the turn events had taken, Evangeline began to pace and think out loud. “Now which will it be? The colt or the derringer? Six-shooters are such awkward weapons for a lady, really. They never fit properly in a handbag, and when I try slipping one in a skirt pocket, it invariably tears the seam. A pity you don’t travel armed, Freddie. I, myself, never go anywhere unprotected. Yes, I think we can hold him at gunpoint until the police are summoned, should he prove to be uncooperative. Now where did I put my reticule? I’m sure the gun’s already in it. I know I left it around here somewhere—”
She stopped her search abruptly and regarded her friend with exasperation. “Don’t just stand there gaping! Fetch your hat. It’s past eight o’clock and we still have a murderer to catch this evening.”
Chapter 24—Downfall
The bell for quitting time on Friday night had long since rung at the Hyperion Electroplate Factory. Martin Allworthy knelt on the catwalk above the shop floor.
It had to end, Martin thought grimly. The man was like a cancer that had to be cut away before it destroyed him completely! Ever since he first set eyes on Desmond Bayne, his life had been blighted, his prospects sent into a downward spiral by that depraved wretch. Everything the leering devil touched had become contaminated with iniquity. He had tainted the Allworthy factory, the Allworthy home, the Allworthy name itself. And now, even the Allworthy fortune!
It was bad enough that Bayne had managed to bleed the company nearly dry. Now, with Euphemia gone, the rascal was bound to bleed away Martin’s personal inheritance as well. That was ironic. For the first time in his life, Martin actually had control of millions in his own right. He could do with the money as he liked. No need to ask his wife. No need to answer to anyone—except that filthy blackguard who kept whispering threats in his ear. Kept vowing to go to the police with what he knew.
Bayne did it for pure sport. Martin realized that. Just to get a rise out of him, to send his heart racing out of control and leave him gasping for breath at the fear of exposure. And then Bayne would laugh and pat him on the back and tell him not to worry. That old Desmond was the best friend he had in the world. But Bayne had no idea that Martin was about to terminate the friendship. It had become too much of a burden to bear. His nerves were ready to snap. He was determined to make an end of it. By God, he would mak
e an end of it, at last!
Martin stood up decisively, a wrench still in his hand. He tested the results of his labor. The catwalk railing shuddered slightly at his touch. Very good, he thought to himself with satisfaction. Just as it should be.
He looked down at the collection of metal nuts he had removed from the underside of the catwalk. The ones that held the railing bolts fastened to the platform. He had completely removed the first four and loosened a fifth just enough to allow it to fall away should any weight be pressed against the railing. Say, for instance, the weight of a man’s body.
He put the hex nuts in his coat pocket and examined his handiwork with a critical eye. The catwalk ran a length of twenty feet. It was suspended approximately fifteen feet about the factory floor. His foremen used it every day to observe the business of the factory. But Martin’s business would be completed before any one of them set foot on the catwalk tomorrow morning.
He scowled in dissatisfaction. Not enough. Not enough. He’d only loosened the bolts a third of the way across the length of the catwalk. The railing might still hold. He couldn’t afford to have that happen. He got down on all fours and scanned the platform, trying to locate the next bolt. Hard to see in this light. Lying flat on his stomach, he reached over the edge and began to loosen the next nut with the wrench. He had to work quickly. The night watchman was down in the guard shack and might come by to make his rounds at any moment. Martin had told the man that Bayne was expected at nine o’clock. Yes, he and Bayne were to go over some important company business. He hadn’t told the guard that the business would be Bayne’s demise. That would be for Martin to know and the rest of the world to figure out. A regrettable industrial accident. It happened all the time in factories when people weren’t careful.
Martin cursed silently at the nut and bolt. They were fused together by rust. He could hardly get the nut to budge, and he was working from an awkward angle.
What was that? He scrambled to his feet. He thought he’d heard a noise.
He peered anxiously down at the shop floor below but nothing was stirring there. The doors were all closed. Everything was silent. The factory was dark except for the single kerosene lantern he’d brought to work by. It wouldn’t do to light up the whole place like a Christmas tree while he was arranging things. Too easy for someone to see what he was about.
He reached in a pocket for a handkerchief to mop his face. His skin felt clammy. This was ridiculous. Simply his imagination. Casting one more look over his shoulder into the shadows, he bent to his work again. The nut began to move grudgingly. It was agonizingly slow going but he almost had it. And then—
“Halooo! Marty? Marty are ye in here, lad?”
Martin instantly sprang to his feet, kicking the wrench across the catwalk until it bumped into the far wall with a loud clang. “I... I’m up here on the catwalk. Y... you can take the stairs over on the side if you can find them in this light.” His heart was racing. He hoped Bayne wouldn’t notice anything amiss. Not enough time! Not enough time!
“What’re ye doing away up there, lad? And what was that noise?”
“Oh, it was nothing. When you called out, you startled me and I... uh... just tripped over a pipe lying up here. One of the foremen will hear about it tomorrow. Careless fool!”
“Gave me a turn, that it did.” Bayne heaved himself up the catwalk stairs. “Sounded for all the world like a gun going off.”
He was completely out of breath by the time he reached the top. When he got within a few feet of Martin, the owner of the company could detect that his vice president had been drinking again. Bayne was unsteady on his feet. So much the better.
“What’s this... all about now... Marty? Why are we... meetin’ at such an odd... hour?” Bayne gasped for air, still winded from the exertion of the climb. The kerosene lantern, resting on the floor of the catwalk, sent his shadow shooting several feet up the back wall.
Martin was grateful he had chosen to use only one lantern. Perhaps in the dim light Bayne wouldn’t see the railing listing ever so slightly over the shop floor or the hex nut that had fallen out of Martin’s pocket as he jumped to his feet. Perhaps he wouldn’t see that his benefactor was drenched in sweat. Martin silently commanded his heart to stop thumping so hard. He didn’t want to appear nervous. Easier said than done.
“Well, you see, we have to settle the subject of payment for that last little service you performed for me.”
Even in the flickering light, Martin could see Bayne’s eyes glint and a broad smile distort his features at the mention of cash.
“Now, that’s a meetin’ I’d walk many a mile to attend. That I would!”
Martin tried to circle behind Bayne to maneuver him closer to the edge of the catwalk, but the man wouldn’t budge. Rather than risk suspicion, Martin retreated to his previous position. “You’re sure no one saw you that night?”
Bayne sighed. “As I’ve been tellin’ ye for the past week every time you’ve asked the question, Marty, the answer is no! I just let meself into the factory that night after we had our little talk about hypotheticals and such. I went into the supply room like you told me to do, and I got a little packet of that powder like you described it. I put it into a plain white wrapper so there’d be no Hyperion stamp on the packet, and I put it in me coat pocket.” Bayne rolled his eyes heavenward. “Just like you told me to do. I swear it on me poor old mother’s grave. Then I took the train back up to Shore Cliff where you’d already gone and slipped the wee packet under the mattress in that spare room you told me about. Nobody saw me come and go, sure enough. Faith, it was just before dawn when I got the job finished. Who’d be stirrin’ then?”
“I know nobody saw you at the villa, but what about here?” Martin asked urgently. “Are you sure? Not even the night watchman?”
“Oh, him.” Bayne sounded abashed.
Martin felt a sting of alarm. “What do you mean ‘oh, him’?”
“Well, I’d forgot about old Mr. Sparrow and that’s a fact. I did see him when I was comin’ in the gate, but I just told him I’d forgot something in me office.”
“Did he follow you in?”
“No, no, that he didn’t. Kept on makin’ his rounds and wished me a good evening was all.”
Martin was slightly mollified at the reassurance. “Well, I suppose that will have to do.”
“Aye, ‘t will. There’s nothing to be done about it now, boyo. But, on my honor, old Sparrow didn’t see anything he shouldn’t. I was just as light and easy with him as if I’d met him at a party.” Bayne slapped Martin reassuringly on the back. “Now, don’t you go fretting, lad. Didn’t I say I have a natural gift for puttin’ things to rights? And I’ve made a proper job of it, too.”
After a brief pause, Bayne broached the subject always uppermost in his mind. “Now, what’s this you wanted to tell me about me reward, as it were?”
“Ah, yes. Your reward,” Martin echoed. “Well, you see, the sum you insisted on was rather steep.”
Bayne’s expression was angelically mild but his voice carried a veiled threat all the same. “How can ye put a price on a human life, Marty? On your life, as it happens. I’d be thinkin’, if I was you, that anything you have to pay to escape the hangman’s noose would be a good bargain.”
“You misunderstand me.” Martin tried to keep a tremor out of his voice. “I’m not disputing the price you quoted. I merely wished to point out that I would never keep a sum that large in the house.”
“Oh... oh, I see.” Bayne relaxed his guard.
“I have a safe here at the factory where I keep more substantial sums and I thought the... er... exchange could best be accomplished without too many prying eyes around.”
“A good idea, Marty! A smashin’ good idea, that one is!” Bayne thumped him approvingly on the back again. “Always a wise thought to keep a wee bit aside to tide you over for a rainy day. Something that the little woman doesn’t know about.”
Bayne’s face took on a cunning look
as a new idea occurred to him. “But now the little woman’s gone, Marty, and you’ve no need to fear. Since I’m the nearest friend you’ve got in the world, boyo, we shouldn’t be keepin’ secrets from each other. That safe, Marty. That nice fat safe you’ve got here that I didn’t know about. I’m longin’ for you to teach me the combination to it.”
Martin, outraged at the suggestion, answered without thinking. “You go too far, Irishman!”
Bayne took exception to the note of challenge in his benefactor’s voice. “Do I now? I’m the one who goes too far, is it?” He advanced a step toward Martin. His shadow looming higher up the wall. “Well, I’m not the one who goes about pushin’ wee little girls to a watery death, am I? And I’m not the one who gives poison to his wife to drink, am I? And I’m not the one who cooks up a scheme to plant the poison on another poor innocent, am I?” He poked Martin in the chest for emphasis. “If I was you, Mr. High and Mighty Martin Allworthy, I’d be thinkin’ about who it is that’s gone too far!”
Martin, his nerves stretched to the breaking point, backed away.
Bayne continued to advance. “And another thing, Mr. Allworthy, sir! I’ve had a bellyful of yer prideful ways. Indeed I have! Sure an’ it is, I’m doin’ you a good turn by keepin’ yer scrawny, worthless neck out of the hangman’s noose, and ye still treat me like somethin’ to wipe yer boots on!”
Martin retreated another step. Without warning, Bayne took a swing at him. Dodging away from the meaty fist, Martin lost his footing. He stumbled backward against the catwalk railing.
For one awful second he was aware of the barrier bending backward, the scraping sound of metal against metal as the bolts popped loose from the floor. As he felt himself going over the edge, he clawed for something, anything to break his fall. He found it. Part of the railing remained bolted firmly to the platform. The rest was bent above the factory floor, twisted back by the weight of his body as he clung for dear life to the slippery metal railing.
Shrouded In Thought (Gilded Age Mysteries Book 2) Page 24