by Q. Patrick
“Doug, what do you suppose has happened to him?” Her hand had slipped from mine, and I noticed the match quiver as she lit a cigarette.
“Toni?”
“He wasn’t—er—with the others, was he?”
I patted her shoulder comfortingly.
“Don’t worry, my dear, he’s most likely having a conference with your uncle.”
“No, he’s not. I waited till all the guests had gone. Then I—couldn’t bear it any longer, so I came out here.” The burning tip of her cigarette swooped downward as she knocked the ash on to the floor. “I suppose it’s all over now—I mean the police and everything?”
“Yes, Bracegirdle came. It was Polly, of course. Listen, my dear, you’re tired. We’ll give Toni two minutes and, if he doesn’t show up, I’ll drive you home. It’s no good hanging around.”
“Doug, you’re a darling.”
“And when you think of taking on a butler, mind I have first refusal.”
She laughed. “You’re hired right now. Open that window, please, and throw out my cigarette.”
I obeyed her, and for the next few minutes, we sat without speaking. I was just suggesting removing to my car, when the door at my side swung open.
Valerie started. “Toni, is that you?”
“Sorry I’m late.” My room-mate’s voice was curiously strained and low. “Who on earth—oh, hello, Doug.”
“And what have you been up to?” I asked as I scrambled out.
“Just mucking around,” he answered evasively. “You’d better go on first. I can’t start till your car’s out of the way.”
“Okay. Goodnight, Valerie.”
I scrunched through the snow to the other Plymouth and switched on the lights. The engine was pretty cold and it took me several minutes before I finally got started. As I slithered off down the drive, I glanced into the side-mirror. Toni was backing away from the wall, his headlights spreading a wide semi-circle across the white ground.
I shall never forget that drive home. To an artist, I suppose, it might have been picturesque, but to me it was several degrees below hellish. I had no chains and was in constant fear of a skid. One of the windows had jammed and I was obliged to put up with an icy blast striking on my left ear. As I passed the Baines’ cottage I noticed a light in one of the upper rooms. There was, too, a faint glimmer from Mark’s barn. The storm was gathering in strength, and every sound was muffled in that mysterious silence which comes with the first fall of snow. It was deathly quiet. The only noise I remembered was the hollow echo of the car’s wheels as I crossed the bare wooden boards of the covered bridge.
On arriving home I had a good bit of trouble getting into the garage. At the best of times it is a tricky business. One has to swerve in at a particular angle and then back. That night, in the driving snow, it took me several minutes before I finally snapped off the ignition and, leaving one garage door open for Toni, closed the other with a bang.
It was curious, I reflected. In the past few hours I had run the gamut of all the emotions—terror, pity, love. Yet, as I beat the clotted snow from my shoes, the only sensation that remained with me was one of vague irritation.
Chapter VIII
When I woke next morning the snow was still falling and the whole countryside was blanketed with white. I looked into Toni’s room as I went downstairs to breakfast and saw that his bed had not been slept in.
Hardly had I started on my bacon and eggs when Bracegirdle was announced. After being up all night he had been working with his men in Grindle Meadow since daylight. He accepted my offer of breakfast with alacrity.
“Any clues?” I asked, as Lucinda started to fry his eggs.
“I can’t tell you much until the autopsy report comes in, but we’ve found another body.”
“Good God!” Immediately my mind flew to Toni’s empty bed, but the twinkle in Bracegirdle’s eye reassured me.
“Only Polly Baines’ kitten, Dr. Swanson. Or rather, all that the buzzards left of it. One of my men climbed that old oak tree and found it caught in the branches.”
“Well, what do you make of it all?” I glanced across at Bracegirdle who was buttering a slice of toast and sniffing appreciatively at the coffee. “Fastened up there, I suppose?”
“Yes. The child was bound, and then someone must have climbed the tree, thrown the rope over one of the top branches and hoisted her up—and the kitten, too. The rope had been twisted and tied fast. They might have stayed there till the Last Trumpet if the bullets from your guns last night hadn’t just happened to shoot through the rope.”
“If it weren’t so awful, it would be funny,” I remarked. “Try some of this peach jam.”
Bracegirdle helped himself. “Funny’s the word. As I said before, there’s no rhyme nor reason to the whole business.”
“Still, it’s a pretty good place to hide a body—at the top of the only thick evergreen in the neighborhood. Sanitary, too, when you come to think of it.”
I had become so accustomed to the idea that Polly Baines was dead that it was impossible for me to get tragic about it now. A note of tragedy, however, was injected into the proceedings a few minutes later when Toni came in, having spent the night at Rhodes helping Dr. Brooks with the autopsy. He, also, had had no breakfast, so Lucinda was dispatched to prepare a third meal.
While he was waiting, Toni lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply.
“This goddamn criminal of yours, Bracegirdle, is the most monotonous, the most unoriginal example of a monomania—”
“You mean …?”
“Yes. I mean exactly that. God knows, I’ve opened a thousand cadavers in my life, but this one was the most complicated business I’ve ever seen. What with natural decomposition and the fowls of the air—”
“But how was she killed?” I interrupted quickly.
Toni threw away his cigarette and sat down to the breakfast table.
“She died of exposure, loss of blood and, well—general rough treatment. There were five bullets in her, but I’m ready to swear that they come from old Alstone’s guns. Apart from that, we could find no lethal wound. In fact, it’s my guess that she was alive when someone trussed her up and hoisted her into that tree. Of course, I wouldn’t care to be quoted.”
Bracegirdle rose from the table, pushing aside, only half-eaten, his plate of eggs and bacon.
“I’m getting back to work,” he said grimly.
As he reached the door, Toni called after him with his mouth full.
“By the way, Bracegirdle, just as I was leaving, one of your men brought in the remains of that kitten. The person who killed it must have liked animals better than children, because there was a neat little hole in its skull which Dr. Brooks said was probably caused by a bullet from a small revolver. Of course I’m no ballistic expert, but it wasn’t made by any of Seymour Alstone’s guns last night.”
The deputy seemed pleased. “Well, that’s something to go on any way.”
“Doubt whether it’ll help much,” said Toni. “He’s had almost a month to get rid of it.”
After Bracegirdle had left, Toni’s mood changed. I asked a few more questions about the autopsy, but his answers were curt and, while he spoke, he kept staring at me, half-curious, half-amused. Somehow I had the impression that he suspected me of knowing something which I was keeping to myself. But, if that was the case, he was too tired to try and pump me. After the third egg he announced his intention of going to bed and duly disappeared upstairs.
Left to myself I felt restless and uneasy. I had been unable to work on my article for some time now, and the snow made riding out of the question. In desperation, I decided to stroll round to the Goschens’. Millie was always a good pick-me-up, and perhaps I should find Valerie there, too.
Complete with arctics and muffler I started off down the drive. I had not gone very far when I saw a car bearing down upon me. Considering the snow, it was going at an unusual speed. I stepped into a drift to let it pass. As I did so, it drew up an
d old Alstone’s head emerged from the window. He called and beckoned imperiously.
“Do you know where I can find the sheriff’s deputy?” His voice seemed to lack its usual complacency. “I have been calling the station for half an hour. Nobody answers.”
“I expect they’re all down in Grindle Meadow, sir,” I said. “Is anything wrong?”
“Yes,” he replied tersely. “I must see Bracegirdle immediately.” He started fingering the brake-lever and then seemed to change his mind. “Care to come along?”
Assenting with enthusiasm, I jumped in at his side. To my surprise I noticed that his hand was shaking as he snapped the car into gear. His face, too, wore an expression I had never seen before. Until that moment he had been the only person in the valley to preserve a completely detached attitude toward the series of crimes that had taken place among us. Now, I could see in his eyes the same look of uncertainty and apprehension which lately had stared out from those of all the other inhabitants of Grindle.
He offered no explanation of his peculiar behavior, and I knew him too well to venture a question, yet, as the car turned up toward Grindle Meadow, my mind was full of confused speculations. Had some new atrocity been committed since last night? Had some member of the Alstone family been the latest victim? Or had Seymour discovered some part of a solution—something which shocked and frightened him?
I was not kept long in suspense. In a few minutes we had parked the car and were hurrying across the meadow toward Grindle Oak under whose snow-laden boughs Bracegirdle and his men were busily at work, searching for more clues.
The deputy seemed surprised to see me again after so short a time. He looked even more surprised when he noticed Seymour’s pale, curiously altered face.
“You want me, sir?”
“I do.” Alstone stared balefully at the oak tree. “My grandson is missing.”
Both Bracegirdle and myself were completely taken aback. I stopped dead, gazing at him in frank amazement.
“You mean Gerald’s disappeared?”
“I think it is worse than that. I think he has been killed.”
“Killed!”
“One of the maids discovered this morning that his bed had not been slept in. The butler discovered also that the gunroom was in a state of extreme confusion—chairs and tables upset, guns out of place, and all over the floor there was blood.”
By now Bracegirdle had recovered his official composure.
“There was nobody, sir?”
“No. No sign of Gerald—no sign at all.”
“When was he last seen?”
The old man lowered his eyes. “That I cannot tell you. The butler saw him for a moment after the hunt. I personally set eyes on him for the last time when I sent him back from here to telephone you. I have yet to ask my guests whether—”
“Is there a ’phone in the gun-room?” I broke in suddenly.
“Yes. There are instruments in all the downstairs rooms.”
I turned excitedly to Bracegirdle. “It was Charlie Goschen who called you about the discovery of Polly Baines, wasn’t it?”
“Yes. I checked up on it. He didn’t see Gerald around, so he rang me to make sure.” The deputy looked up from his note-book. “You think someone might have seen Gerald going into the gun-room to ’phone and—stopped him? Someone, perhaps, who wanted to prevent him from getting in touch with the authorities?”
“Exactly.”
“Was anything missing, Mr. Alstone?”
“Yes. A revolver.”
“And you left everything untouched?”
“Naturally. Nothing has been removed. I had the room locked immediately after I had made my examination. No one but myself and the butler who first discovered it has been allowed to enter.”
“Good work, Mr. Alstone. We’ll be right round. You go ahead!”
Within a very few minutes, Bracegirdle and his men had joined Seymour and me in Alstone’s house. The old man unlocked the door to the gun-room and I noticed at once that its appearance bore striking testimony to the truth of his earlier report. Everything was in a state of wild disorder and there were splashes of dried blood all over the floor.
“The revolver is missing from here.” Seymour was pointing to an empty space in one of the upper racks. “I happened to notice that it was there last night when I came in to get the guns for the party.”
“Did anyone come in here after the hunt?”
“No. I’m afraid the butler was a trifle negligent. It is one of his duties to inspect every room before retiring for the night. Yesterday, however, in all the excitement, he omitted to do so.”
“No one put the guns back, then?”
“No, they are being cleaned, but—I’ve had one of my men count them and they’re all there.”
“Hm.” Bracegirdle was staring at the floor and tracing out the path of blood stains. Suddenly he started eagerly forward. “Look!” he exclaimed. “He went through this door—or, at least, somebody did. There’s blood on the handle.”
The deputy got out his handkerchief and carefully opened the door.
“Don’t touch anything,” he cautioned. “This may be a case when finger-prints will help. Scott, call Bill Murphy on the ’phone and tell him to bring his kit out to the Alstones’ house. Make it snappy.”
The side entrance to the gun-room led out on to a covered porch from which there were steps leading toward the back of the building. As we hurried out I noticed at once that the trail of blood continued over the floor of the porch to the top of the steps. There it became obscured by the thick fall of snow.
“Darn this snow,” muttered Bracegirdle. “I wonder—” he turned to Seymour. “His car isn’t missing, I suppose?”
“Nothing is missing. I have already made investigations—and reported all I know. I have also sent my son, Franklin, over to see young Foote at the hospital. It occurred to me that the boy might be there. But I think it unlikely. Besides, it would have been impossible for him to get there.”
“But your guests? He might have gone with one of them.”
“It is possibe, of course. I have not yet questioned them. I’m afraid.it would only spread alarm and produce nothing.”
Bracegirdle grunted.
“I should like to speak to the servants, please.”
Seymour nodded and turned toward the gun-room.
“No, not in there, Mr. Alstone. I want that room locked, if you don’t mind.” There was a note in Bracegirdle’s voice which made me suspect that he secretly enjoyed issuing orders to the tyrant of the valley.
We passed into the living-room, and the servants were summoned one by one. Their stories were remarkably consistent. Dr. Conti had stayed behind for a while after the others left for the coon-hunt. At some period of the evening he had gone out and no one had seen him return, though one of the housemaids thought she had heard a voice which sounded like his later on in the evening. Her evidence, however, was not conclusive since, on being questioned, she admitted that she really could not have recognized Toni’s voice if she had heard it.
Hall, the butler, was the only one who made any real contribution. He had opened the door to Mister Gerald at about eleven o’clock—some ten minutes before the other guests returned. The young gentleman had been out of breath and very agitated. He had said nothing to Hall about the finding of Polly Baines’ body.
“Did he go to the telephone?” queried Bracegirdle.
“Well, sir, I don’t rightly know. I thought I heard his voice as I was going back to the servants’ quarters, but I couldn’t say whether he was telephoning or not.”
“You didn’t hear anything else—no fight or quarrel?” “No, sir.”
“And you didn’t see anyone hanging around?”
“Wel-l.” Hall hesitated a moment. “A little while before Mister Gerald came back, it so happened I looked out because Angy—that is one of the girls, sir—said it had started to snow. I caught a glimpse of a man outside the back door and I called out to hi
m. He said, ‘It’s only me’ and then went around behind the barn.”
“You recognized the voice?”
“Yes, sir. It was—Mark Baines.”
Bracegirdle shot me a swift glance. “Did you by any chance hear a shot or any noise that was out of the ordinary?”
“No, I didn’t—at least, not then, sir. A little later on, after the party got back, I thought I heard one, but I didn’t pay much attention, as it seemed to come from outside and at this time of year—what with the cold weather and cars back-firing—”
“What do you mean by ‘It seemed to come from outside’?”
“Well, sir, you see I took it for granted. The report was not loud.”
“Might it have come from the gun-room?”
“I’m afraid I couldn’t say, sir. I was in the kitchen which is at a considerable distance from that part of the house.”
“You’re sure it was after the party had returned?”
“Yes, sir. The young gentlemen from the college had just started to sing and I remember thinking that, seeing as how—” He broke off with a nervous glance in the direction of Seymour.
“You couldn’t say who was in the house when you heard the shot?”
Hall explained that Mr. Alstone had given orders for the door to be left open as soon as the guests began to come back, so he had admitted no one excepting Mister Gerald. From the noise they were making, he judged that most of them had returned at the time of the shot. He had heard Mrs. Goschen’s voice, but could not recognize anyone else’s.
“Did anyone stay on after the others had gone?”
Hall thought a moment before replying. “Yes, sir. I remember going in to the reception room to clear away the glasses. Miss Valerie was there alone. She asked me whether I had seen Dr. Conti and, as I couldn’t help her, she said she was going home.”
“How long was that after the guests had left?”
“About half an hour, sir.”
“You saw neither Miss Middleton nor Dr. Conti again?”
“No, sir.”