The Second Mystery Megapack

by Ron Goulart

  She moved around a truck, picked up speed again. “But Wondrous finally paid off the mortgage and seemed to lose his hatred for Unc. He even invited him to the big house, along with others, for the parties he gave.

  “Wondrous would exhibit his magic tricks. You know, card tricks, catching canaries out of the air, turning water to ink, and so on. One of his favorites was placing Jarvis—his valet—in a big trunk, exploding a smoke bomb, displaying the empty trunk. In a few minutes Jarvis would come in the front door. Wondrous wouldn’t expose the secret of the trick, even to me.”

  Cain clucked like an old hen. “I take it, then, you were a special friend of Wondrous?”

  She bit her lip vexedly. “The town gossip will tell you anyway. Wondrous likes me. He’s a handsome man with magnetic eyes and compelling actions. But leave that to the gossips.

  “On this night, when he asked for a volunteer to enter the trunk, Unc stepped forward. Wondrous always asked for a volunteer, but never expected one. He seemed surprised. So was everybody else. They began laughing and joking at Unc. This goaded him into going through with it.”

  She paused a few moments. “So Unc got in the big trunk and was locked in. Wondrous exploded his smoke bomb and opened the trunk. Unc was gone, all right. But after the proper wait, he failed to come in the front door. Wondrous looked perplexed. He shouted to Unc to come on in. But Unc did not appear. And he has never reappeared.”

  Cain looked thoughtful. “Where was Jarvis during this?”

  “He helped put Unc into the trunk. Wondrous sent him to look for Unc. He soon returned and reported he couldn’t find him. Everybody thought it was part of the trick. But as time came for the guests to depart and Unc failed to show up, they began eyeing Wondrous ominously. Bill Smuts—he’s our chief of police—stepped forward and sternly ordered Wondrous to produce my uncle.

  “Wondrous admitted that he couldn’t produce him; that he didn’t know where Unc was. So Smuts led the other men in a search of the house. They found nothing at all. Smuts didn’t know what to do or what to charge Wondrous with. He finally clapped Wondrous in a cell, but after forty-eight hours had to turn him loose. Smuts ransacked the house from top to bottom as crowds of curious people filled the yard. He found no body and not a sign of Unc.

  “It’s very mysterious. The town has taken sides. One side says it was a frame-up between Unc and Wondrous. Unc has always been a bear for publicity. The other side”— she looked embarrassed—“whisper that Wondrous and I did away with Unc so I would get his wealth; that later we planned to marry.”

  She looked as if she would weep. “So I decided to hire a detective to clear the thing up.”

  Cain rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “You mentioned marriage. I take it Wondrous is unmarried. Has he ever been married?”

  She looked as if she were reluctant to answer. “I’ve been waiting for you to ask that question. The town doesn’t know about his former affairs. I might as well tell you, though Wondrous told me in strict confidence. However, it’s so serious I won’t keep anything back. Wondrous has been married and divorced twice.

  “Then there was another affair”—she looked decidedly uncomfortable—“in a little town in Missouri. He took a man’s wife away from him. The man was named Joe Feagan. After a year or so she killed herself with a dose of poison. Wondrous would never tell me why.”

  “Quite a Casanova, wasn’t he?” Cain said dryly. “Look, are you the only relative?”

  “I suppose so. Unc had no children. His wife is dead. There was Britt Sparks, a nephew. But months ago he was reported missing in action over France. We think he’s dead, as he was never reported a prisoner of the Germans.”

  * * * *

  By the time they reached Korris, Ned, Cain had the history of the town in his vest pocket. She dropped him off at the local inn. Cain wrote his name on the ledger, winked at the baldish, long-nosed, little man behind the desk. Winked because he thought Jim Hough had winked. But he was wrong. Hough had a twitching of his eye muscles that made him wink.

  “Welcome to our city, Mr. Cain,” he said in a fluty voice. “Are you by chance one of Aubrey Sparks’ unknown relatives?”

  Cain looked important, leaned over. “No, not that. I’m a Ferris wheel salesman. Know any prospects? We pay well for tips which lead to sales. We make the highest wheel in the world.”

  Hough tried to decide whether he was being joshed. Cain looked very serious. Hough said, “I’ll show you to your room.”

  Cain had just finished his meal when he was called to the phone. “This is Wondrous, Mr. Cain. Can you come up and see me?”

  “Sure.”

  “That’s fine. I’ll be expecting you.”

  Cain walked up the hill to the biggest house in town. When he stepped on the top step, the porch light flashed on and the front door opened. He passed through the doorway, expecting to find Wondrous awaiting. No one was in sight. There was a lighted room at his right and the door was open. He walked over.

  Wondrous wasn’t in the room, but his body was. Cain saw the corpse lying at the foot of the divan. Wondrous lay on his back, white shirt-front crimson. He had obviously fought for his life. His white collar was torn half off. There was a gash on his right forearm.

  Cain knelt. The body was still warm. A knife through the heart had produced death. The man’s long, black hair was awry. The glazed eyes had fixed in a look of stunned surprise.

  Cain pushed the hair back from the forehead, whistled lowly. Penciled in red on the forehead was a name: Bernice.

  Cain rose and let his eyes roam about the room. A table had been overturned, the rug was scuffed up. A floor lamp had been knocked down.

  “Wonder where Jarvis can be,” Cain muttered. He left the room and began knocking on doors. He got no response downstairs, went upstairs.

  At a back room he kept pounding till he won the sleepy query, “Who is it and whatta you want?”

  Cain pushed the door open, found the switch, snapped on the light. A stout-shouldered man, with towseled head, sleepy-looking eyes, sat up in bed, his lean-chinned face a picture of surprise.

  “Who are you?” the man growled.

  “Where is Wondrous?” Cain asked, studying the man’s face. “Isn’t this a bit early to go to bed?” He picked up Jarvis’s clothing, examined it piece by piece. As far as he could see there were no blood stains.

  “Say, what’s the big idea?” demanded Jarvis, watching in astonishment. “Who the hell are you? What do you want with Wondrous? He’s downstairs. Anyway, he was when I went to bed.”

  “Wondrous was stabbed to death in the reception room,” Cain said casually, watching Jarvis’s face keenly. “As for me, I’m a detective.”

  Jarvis’s mouth fell open. “Dead? It can’t be. I don’t believe it.” He jumped out of bed, threw on shirt and pants, encased his feet in slippers.

  Cain led the way.

  Jarvis’s face turned to chalk when he gazed at the body. Cain left him there on guard, then went out to the hall phone and called Bill Smuts: “Better get up here at once, Smuts. Wondrous has been killed. This is Ned Cain, detective.”

  He returned to the stunned Jarvis. “Look, Jarvis, you better start talking. I find Wondrous stabbed to death, his body still warm. Then I find you in bed at this chicken-roosting hour. Don’t tell me you slept peacefully through this. Look at that name on his forehead. Who is Bernice?”

  Jarvis had already looked. “Mister, I tell you I didn’t know he was dead till you woke me. I’m a heavy sleeper. Didn’t see or hear a thing till you pounded on my door. I didn’t kill him. Why should I? He was the best friend I ever had.”

  Then Bill Smuts strode in the front door. He gazed at the corpse a few moments. “Who found him?” he grunted. Before Cain could reply, Smuts saw the name on the forehead.

  “I’m a bugle-blowing bullfrog!” he gasped. “Look at that. Bernice, huh? Reckon that tells me plenty.”

  “What, for instance?” Cain asked.

  Smuts loo
ked darkly at Jarvis. “Wondrous took up with a girl here named Bernice Lamb, a pretty roadhouse singer who takes her men as she finds ’em. He ditched her when he threw out his line for Jane Andrews. This Lamb is a lion, if you get what I mean, I know two men she slashed with a knife. She got liquored up, came up here, and stabbed Wondrous to death. Just for the hell of it, she wrote her name on his forehead.”

  Cain seemed awed by the quick solution. “Wanted folks to know she did it,” he said dumbly. He gestured around the room. “Look, there was a struggle in here. Chairs and table knocked over. Floor lamp smashed. And Jarvis went to bed with the chickens. Claims he heard no evil, saw no evil, and did no evil.”

  “He’s a liar,” snapped Smuts. “I’ll take him in, then go and arrest Bernice Lamb. I’ll have a confession out of her by daylight. And this cuckoo will talk too.” He glowered darkly at Jarvis.

  Smuts stepped to the hall phone, dialed a number. “That you, Doc? Wondrous has been killed. Bernice Lamb done it. Better get up here. And say, tell Beech Burgess to come after the body.”

  “I think I’ll look over the house,” Cain said meekly.

  “Go ahead,” snorted Smuts. “I’ve searched the cockeyed place a dozen times since Aubrey Sparks disappeared here.” He pulled out a plug of tobacco, bit at it savagely, glared at Jarvis.

  “That’s something I want to talk to you about, Jarvis. Don’t want no more of your lies, either.”

  * * * *

  Cain snapped on lights as he went, and looking into every room, closet, and cubbyhole he could find. When he had finished upstairs, he went into the attic. An old trunk, covered with a dusty carpet, caught his eye. It was filled with odds and ends, pictures, old letters, mostly old business correspondence.

  In the bottom, wrapped in a silk handkerchief, he found a small packet of letters. Opening the top one, he beamed his flashlight and read it. He thrust the letters into his pocket, went down to the basement.

  A huge furnace was in the middle. With concrete floor and walls, the place looked like scores of other basements. Finding nothing of interest he went back upstairs, said his good-bye to the chief of police, and returned to town. After a few inquiries, he went six blocks to a frame cottage where Jane Andrews lived with her stepmother.

  Jane was at home. He wondered whether she had heard.

  “Wasn’t that terrible about Wondrous?” she said in shocked tones as she led him into the parlor.

  Cain countered with a query of his own, “What were you doing in Wondrous’s house early in the evening?”

  She looked as if she had been caught stealing sugar. “Why, how did you know I was there?”

  He handed her a silver compact. “Even if I hadn’t recognized it, your initials are on it. Found it on the divan.”

  “Yes, I did call on him,” she admitted, biting her lip vexedly. “I told him I had hired a detective to unravel the mystery. I asked him to co-operate with you. He promised he would. But he insisted he was as much in the dark as ever about Uncle Aubrey. I believed him.”

  Cain asked a few more questions, which led nowhere, then said good-night. Instead of returning to the inn, though, he went to the jail.

  Bill Smuts looked up at him sourly from the front desk.

  “Can’t locate the Lamb girl,” he growled. “Which ain’t unusual. Sheriff’s crew is hunting her. That liar, Jarvis, won’t unbutton his lips. Won’t say nothing. You found out anything?”

  Cain rolled his tongue in his cheek. “Where can I find a nice bouquet of red roses?”

  Smuts looked disgusted. “Plenty on the courthouse yard. What in tarnation you want with roses?”

  “You’ll see.”

  * * * *

  Cain left, picked the roses, carried them to the telephone office. He rapped on the door till an angry-faced spinster opened up. He thrust the flowers into her hands.

  “Ah, Miss Daker, they belong in your hands,” he said, bowing politely. “I’ve heard so many nice things about you. I know it’s after hours, but I know you won’t mind putting through a long distance call for me.”

  An hour later he left the office with a satisfied look and an invitation to dinner next day from Miss Daker. He accepted. He went to the inn, tried to elude Hough, but was unsuccessful.

  “Why, Mister Cain, I thought you’d be out helping run down that Lamb girl,” Hough said curiously, following Cain up the stairs. “Say, why do you reckon she wrote her name on Wondrous’s forehead? Was it in blood like everybody says?”

  Cain halted, fixed Hough with a mysterious look. “Look, this is off the record. She had a list of six names, with a skull and crossbones at the top. Wondrous was number one. His name was crossed out. Your name was sixth on the list. What have you done to her that she has marked you for death? But you’ll be safe, at least until she rubs out the next four men.” He left Hough standing like a statue, pulling nervously at his ear.

  * * * *

  Cain rose about nine next morning and went down to find bacon, eggs, toast, and coffee waiting for the guests. He ate at a table by himself, studying the local newspaper, until Hough nervously joined him.

  “They just caught Bernice Lamb,” Hough said. “Found her out at Roy’s place. She was high as a Georgia pine. Couldn’t tell where she’d been or what she’d done. They got her in jail.”

  “Interesting,” Cain said.

  Hough eyed him anxiously. “When you talk to her, you tell her I ain’t got nothing agin’ her. Had to put her out of my place once. You tell her the law made me do it.”

  “Perhaps,” Cain suggested gravely, “you better send her a friendly note.”

  Hough looked scared. “Nope, they might think I was in cahoots with her. You just tell her, but don’t let nobody hear you.”

  “I’ll do my best, Mr. Hough.”

  * * * *

  After breakfast, Cain went to see Smuts. That lean individual was sourer than ever.

  “I hear you’ve found Bernice Lamb,” Cain said.

  “Can’t get head nor tail about anything from her,” Smuts growled. “Says she don’t remember nothing since yesterday afternoon. Jarvis keeps his mouth shut like a trap door. Couldn’t nobody have kilt Wondrous without him knowing something. Can’t nobody tell me he don’t know how Aubrey Sparks disappeared.”

  Cain looked impressed, and Smuts talked on, “Course I know how the trick was done. The trunk had a secret opening. When Wondrous raised that smoke cloud, Jarvis opened the trunk, raised up a trap door in the floor, helped Sparks get down and through it. Aubrey, he was supposed to come outa the basement, hurry around, and walk in the front door. But he never showed up.”

  He nudged Cain with his thumb. “Say, I bet that Lamb girl was in that. Bet she was waiting down there and stabbed Aubrey to death. Then she got scared Wondrous was going to squeal, and kilt him.”

  Cain gave him an admiring look.

  Smuts went on, “Yeah, and you know what else? When Jarvis went out, he helped drag the body off and hide it. We didn’t search the yard. No telling where the body is now.”

  Cain snapped his fingers. “Then you better keep Jarvis and the girl separated. He might kill her to shut her mouth, or vice versa.”

  Cain walked out to the snug little cottage Miss Daker resided in. She served the meal on the screened, back porch, fragrant with honeysuckle vines. She fluttered about in a freshly laundered, red-dotted frock, new permanent, and white pumps.

  Cain skillfully guided the conversation around to the surprising fact of Aubrey Sparks consenting to act as Wondrous’s stooge in the disappearing act.

  “I can’t account for it, Miss Daker. A dignified man like Sparks would hardly volunteer for such a thing. He must have had a previous invitation from Wondrous— perhaps a phone call.”

  She looked about cautiously. “He did get such an invitation. A phone call from Jarvis.” She puckered her lips thoughtfully. “Not that I make a habit of listening in. I just happened to leave the wire open. Jarvis told him to say nothing about it; th
at Wondrous had asked him to make the request. Mr. Sparks promised to follow instructions.”

  * * * *

  Cain put in the afternoon talking to various persons. When he went to the inn, he felt like a runner stranded on third with the winning run.

  Hough was waiting with a question: “Did Bill Smuts find Aubrey Sparks’ body in Wondrous’s yard?”

  Cain looked bored. “I don’t know. Did he?”

  “He had been poking all over the yard,” Hough said, looking wise. “Smuts says the Lamb girl killed Aubrey. What do you think?”

  “How would I know?” Cain said indifferently. “Look, what do you know about Whit Stacey? The fellow who used to own the Wondrous house.”

  Hough looked puzzled. “Nobody knew much about Whit. Came here from down state and bought the place. Spent a barrel of dough fixing it up. He liked to put on the dog with automobiles, fox hounds, and hundred-dollar suits. Everybody said he made the liquor he sold, but I never heard of the law discovering where he made it. He finally got caught with a load and was sent up for a year. Sold his place to the bank.”

  Cain didn’t look interested. “I’m going to bed early, Hough. Don’t let anyone bother me.”

  * * * *

  He did go to bed, but rose at two in the morning, dressed in old clothing, and slipped out the back way. Through side streets he made his way to the Wondrous house. He entered the basement through a window. Using a small flashlight, he gave the place a thorough going over. The answer was in this basement, he felt. But it eluded him.

  Removing his shoes, he went silently upstairs, made his way stealthily to the attic. Another hour’s search and he was still stymied. He slipped back into the basement, went over it again. He finally gave it up, went back to the inn and bed.

  * * * *

  Around noon, he rose and went down to breakfast. He wore a puzzled frown. A man came in and delivered a package of meat to Hough. When he had gone, Hough winked at Cain.

  “I used to walk ten blocks to Sam’s store to buy meat from him,” Hough said, grinning. “But now he brings it to me. That’s the way to handle people; make ’em come to you.”