by Todd Downing
“Good afternoon!” David Distant greeted them in high good humour. “I am so sorry to be late. Have I missed anything?”
II
The Indian came into the room and extended a hand to Lincoln, who was standing so that he blocked the view of the wheelchair. “I am so glad to see you again, Doctor. I have been looking forward—”
The physician had released his hand after a brief pressure and stepped aside, with a nod in the direction of Torday.
“You’ve missed a murder. Someone poisoned the eggnog that we were about to drink. You’re fortunate you didn’t come earlier. Mr. Rennert here might think you guilty.”
Distant’s face did not lose at once the wide smile which gave it moonlike proportions. The smile stayed incongruously while the emotion which had stamped it there fled. His eyes were sharp, more than a little wary, as they traveled from one face to another and stopped on Rennert’s.
“Mr. Rennert would not make that mistake,” he said gravely.
“I shouldn’t say that he’s altogether infallible,” Dr. Lincoln threw back as he went through the doorway.
Distant’s eyes had not faltered in their scrutiny of Rennert’s.
“Do you want me to go or to stay here, Mr. Rennert?”
“I think it would be better if you left, Distant. I’ll see you at the hotel later.”
“Yes, we will hope that our next meeting will be more pleasant.” With a polite bow the Indian was gone.
Rennert turned to Bettis.
“Sorry to make you wait,” he said in a pleasant tone.
Deliberately Bettis dropped his cigarette to the rug and ground it out with his toe.
“This is much better,” he said with satisfaction, as his narrowed eyes took Rennert’s measure. “Just the two of us alone. I’ve got a gun too and I can draw it as quick as you can yours. This is the chance I’ve been wanting. To talk to you. I’m damned tired of having you prying into my affairs, you stuffed busybody. You’re not going to lay a hand on me. Understand? I’ll punch that smirk off your face—”
Rennert didn’t hit him on the chin, but directly below it.
Bettis grunted and went down. With him went a feather which had become dislodged from somewhere about his clothing. A tiny olive-grey and white feather crossed by a black band, it eddied about for an instant, then settled to the floor by Torday’s slippered feet.
Rennert knelt down to examine the man. He had not intended to put so much force into the blow.
“Not bad for an amateur! Not bad.” Peter Bounty came buoyantly into the room. “Maybe a fraction of an inch off, but good enough. I was really surprised. I had no idea you packed such a wallop.”
Rennert had risen. “I suppose I shouldn’t have done that, Peter.”
Bounty stood beside him, hands in his pockets, and gave a crooked sideways grin. “Shouldn’t have done it? I’d like to know why not! I saw it. The guy had it coming to him. He doesn’t know how lucky he is you didn’t give it to him with the muzzle of your gun. I told you I’d stand by you, didn’t I, whatever you did?”
“Yes, but—”
“But nothing. Forget about it. He’ll come to in a minute. Tell me what happened to Torday. I never moved so fast in my life. Came in the kitchen door.”
Bounty fished in his pocket, found a partially chewed match, and resumed mastication of it as Rennert talked. He looked as if he needed a shave, a cold shower and coffee. His tie had been knotted too hastily and one of his shoes was unlaced. He repressed a yawn as he listened to what Rennert had to say about a murderer and his motive.
“No proof,” he repeated Rennert’s words. “I suppose it’s about time we were getting some. I told the maid and the cook to stay in the kitchen. I’ll go talk to ’em while you interview Mrs. Torday. She’s probably in her boudoir. I wouldn’t be able to keep my mind on my business there.” He watched Bettis as the latter stirred and tried to sit up. “I’ve got a couple of the boys outside. I’ll have one of them take this down to gaol and lock it up. O.K.?”
“There’s not much proof against him.”
Bounty drew a pair of handcuffs from his pocket and lounged forward.
“Resisted an officer, didn’t he? That will hold him until I can have a little heart to heart talk with him. Maybe he’ll decide to be a good boy and tell me all about it, who knows?”
The narrow toe of his shoe prodded here and there, curiously, as if this were some strange and blubbery creature cast upon a seashore—and Rennert knew that if Bettis were at all wise he would hold nothing back from this soft-spoken sheriff of a border county….
Bounty stooped and snapped the cuffs on Bettis’s wrists.
Rennert found himself confronted by the same broad expanse of blue serge. Thin and glossy. Dustier than the night before. Still streaked by red …
“Hold that position, Peter!” Rennert called sharply as he went nearer. He lifted the tails of the coat, scrutinized their edges, then gave his attention to the taut cloth of the seat of the trousers.
“It only goes to prove,” Bounty talked away to himself, his hands on his knees, “that you never can tell about a man. Really, I was dumbfounded—”
“Turn round, Peter.”
Bounty straightened and turned, shaking his head sadly.
“Just imagine such a predicament! The most embarrassing moment of my life—”
“Where have you sat in red paint lately, Peter?”
“Red paint?” An uncertain blue was dominant in Bounty’s eyes now. “I didn’t know I had.”
“Those are the same trousers you wore yesterday?”
“Yes, I didn’t take time to change this morning. I have another pair,” he hastened to impress on Rennert.
“That paint wasn’t there when I visited your office yesterday afternoon. It was when you were in the Public Library last night. Think back now and tell me where you got it.”
“I sit in so many places. You’re not trying to kid me, Hugh?”
“I was never more serious in my life.”
“How would the International Bridge do?”
“Exactly what I hoped you’d say. Tell me about it.”
“It was while I was watching that Customs fellow search Juan Canard’s car. I leaned against the railing. There was a placard of some sort there. Where a Mexican had set up a tamale stand, I think. I knocked it off, I remember, and it fell in the river—”
“In the river!” Rennert clicked his tongue. “That’s unfortunate for you, Peter. Because it means you’re going to have to remain on your feet until you get those trousers off. You may pass down in the history of Texas as the only sheriff who ever carried evidence against a murderer on the seat of his pants.”
19
Sun on Capricorn
I
Mrs. Torday received Rennert in an upstairs sitting-room, a large and airy place which was a blend of green and ivory. She was dryeyed, her manner was controlled, but he knew that she was in imperative need of some vent for her pent-up emotions. He analysed her as a simple woman of great physical stamina, whose weeping would be hysterical if short lived, whose demonstrations of anger or of affection would be gusts. Rennert sat none too easily in his chair.
“I can tell you nothing about the preparation of that eggnog,” she stated in reply to his question. “Dr. Torday asked Mrs. Mootz, our cook, to have it ready to serve promptly at twelve. She made it in the kitchen, I judge, as she always does. She has been with us for years, since soon after we came to the Valley. It would be ridiculous to suspect her of being a party to any conspiracy against Dr. Torday. Anita Rodriguez, the maid, is a simple little soul who has worked here for six months or so. My same remark applies to her.”
“Who else has access to the house, Mrs. Torday?”
“There’s a nurse who cared for Dr. Torday. She is away for the holidays, however. Three men act as gardeners and chauffeurs—guards, as well. They scarcely ever come into the house. Dr. Torday treated them all well, paid them good wages. They wil
l all lose by his death.” She was silent for a moment, pressing her palms together, before she looked straight at Rennert and said: “There’s no need to tell you that up until yesterday Jarl Angerman came here every day.”
“I know.”
Before he could continue she rose with a swift and involuntary shudder of despair, and walked to a wide window which overlooked the lawn on the south. She flung back the curtains and let the sun pour over her.
Rennert waited a moment. “Will you talk to me quite frankly, Mrs. Torday? About Jarl Angerman?”
“Yes, but I can’t while we’re sitting so sedately. As if we were waiting for tea to be served. Come and stand with me here, Mr. Rennert—in the sun. It will make things easier to explain.” When he stood beside her she took his arm and kneaded it with her fingers. “I want to assure myself that you are a man of flesh and blood. Not just an officer of the law who is getting his job done as soon as possible. Because I trust you, Mr. Rennert. And I need your help.”
“I know you do.” Rennert was uncomfortable. “Can’t you think of me as a friend?”
“Yes. Tell me. You meant what you said about Jarl having an alibi for last night—while I was on the bridge?”
“I did.”
“But people will tell you that I lied to protect Jarl. They will say that he shot Darwin by mistake for Dr. Torday. That I let him kill my own brother and said nothing. That he and I poisoned my husband because he stood between us. But it’s not true, Mr. Rennert! I swear it. By that crucifix.”
His eyes followed hers to a cross of carved dark wood which was the sole adornment of an ivory wall. “I believe you, Mrs. Torday,” he said.
Her hand was a vice, surprisingly strong, upon his arm.
“Thank you. Because so much of what people say is true. Jarl and I do love each other. We always have. And we were too stupid—both of us—to know it until it was too late. Darwin’s and my father was a university professor. We weren’t rich at all, but that didn’t matter in such a community. It was my father’s position, his academic standing that counted. One autumn a farm boy came to live with us. A million years ago that was. He stayed in the basement, made the fires, tended the yard. His name was Jarl Angerman. A big, earnest, good-natured fellow. He was Darwin’s age, they were in the same classes. They studied together, and I would help them sometimes. Jarl hadn’t had a good start in school. He would get discouraged. I always tried to cheer him up.” Her laugh was almost natural. “I suppose it would sound trite, Mr. Rennert to say that we were like brother and sister. But it’s true.”
“True things are usually trite.”
“And the rest of it is the same. I was studying voice and had ambitions for a career. But we didn’t have money enough for foreign study and I felt frustrated. I found out later I couldn’t sing at all, but I didn’t know it then. I met Paul Torday. A fashionable practitioner who had traveled and who was just old enough to be distinguished. I liked him. Because, Mr. Rennert”—her voice sank—“he was attractive before his accident. That changed him into another man. We were married and I was thrilled to think he was my husband. It wasn’t until I told Jarl goodbye that I realized the mistake I’d made. It shocked me, but I went away and told myself that I wasn’t going to let it affect my life. Jarl went back to the farm, then drifted off. But I kept hearing of him through Darwin. That’s how I knew he was working on that Mexican ranch. But there’s no need to go into that, is there?”
“There is, Mrs. Torday. You can help me by talking of that visit.”
“I will then, of course. Paul had been wanting to establish a health resort somewhere in the south. We came to San Antonio with Dr. and Mrs. Lincoln, then on down to the Valley. Darwin was with us. He had written to Jarl asking him to meet us here. Jarl wouldn’t do it. Darwin didn’t know why, but I did. I felt I had to see Jarl. We might never be so close to each other again. Paul and Dr. Lincoln were talking about Mr. Jester’s excursion. When I found that it included the hacienda where Jarl worked, I urged them to go. Poor Jarl. He was embarrassed, miserable and happy all at the same time while we were there. Paul didn’t care for outdoor life, so I spent hours with Jarl. Riding with him. Reminiscing and hearing him talk about his work. He loved Mexico and the people with whom he was associated. And then—the wreck.”
“There are some questions, Mrs. Torday, which I am very anxious to ask. One concerns the flogging of a peon a few hours before your departure. Is it true that—”
“Of course it’s true!” she exclaimed impatiently. “But it wasn’t the brutal thing that Paul always made it out. Jarl told me about it that morning while we were riding. One of the workers was notorious for mistreating animals. Jarl was in a constant state of indignation about it. He had tried to get the owner of the place to discharge the man, but never could. Finally, Jarl took it on himself to stop it. He told the fellow that the next time he heard of his abuse of an animal he was going to give him the same punishment. That morning he found him beating a horse. Jarl asked someone who saw it how many times he had struck the animal. He dragged the man into a shed then, and carried out his promise. He didn’t hurt him, though, only frightened him thoroughly. The broken whip was the one the man had used, not Jarl. Paul knew the truth about the affair, but he always discoloured it. He knew, too, the truth about Jarl and me. And he took a delight in tormenting Jarl, who would endure anything so long as he could be near me. I had been responsible for Jarl coming here—a year ago—when Paul wanted someone to manage his affairs and act as bodyguard. I got Darwin to suggest Jarl. But it was a horrible mistake.”
“When you realized that you decided to purchase the Campos hacienda for Angerman?”
“Yes, I knew how he loved it and would have gone back if it hadn’t been for me. I had enough money to buy it. I had Darwin attend to the transaction, so that my name wouldn’t appear. I was going to persuade Jarl that he would be happier owning his own property in Mexico than serving my husband. And I was going to tell him that I would be happier, knowing that he was waiting for me there. Mr. Rennert, he knows nothing about what has been happening, does he? He’s in that Mexican gaol. Can’t you get him out this afternoon?”
“I doubt it, Mrs. Torday. But he will be released in the morning. And I plan to see him at once. I was going to ask him a question, but you can answer it as well. Did you leave the Pullman the night before your husband’s accident?”
She nodded.
“You met Angerman?”
She turned her head to look at him. “Yes, I met Jarl. We walked part of the way up to the house, then back. That is all.”
“Were you aware that someone left that Pullman after you?”
“Yes, I remember. We heard someone walking behind us. We stepped out of the road until he passed. It was Mr. Bettis. Not the one who has the hotel now, but his brother. He had a flashlight, so I recognized him.”
“Did you see him return?”
“Yes, he was walking much faster—almost running.”
“He had had time to go to the house?”
“Oh, yes, plenty of time. We wondered what he had been doing. Jarl asked me if we had any thieves in our party.”
Rennert disengaged her arm. “There were people in that party, Mrs. Torday, who were a great deal more dangerous than thieves.”
II
Rennert found Peter Bounty standing in a white-tiled kitchen, consuming bacon and eggs while he conversed amicably with Mrs. Mootz.
Mrs. Mootz, large-framed, silver-haired, had a moist, kindly face and grey eyes which were alight with approval of Peter Bounty, of Peter Bounty’s friendliness, of Peter Bounty’s appetite and the justice which he was doing to her cooking.
Rennert heard her say: “I know you’re joking, Mr. Bounty. Maybe if I brought you a rocking-chair you’d like that?”
Bounty grinned.
“Come in, Hugh,” he called out, “and meet Mrs. Mootz. The best cook in Brownsville. Maybe she’ll fix you a bite if you sit down. I’ve been trying to convince her th
at I always eat standing up. This is Mr. Rennert, Mrs. Mootz. Deputy and friend of mine.”
Mrs. Mootz beamed.
“Indeed, I will fix you anything you want, Mr. Rennert, It’s an honour to do anything for Mr. Bounty or his friends. I said when he was running for office that what we needed was a sheriff who wasn’t stuck-up and who’d treat everybody alike. I remember he stopped one of his speeches to give my little grandson a piece of candy. Just as nice as could be. Sit right down here, Mr. Rennert.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Mootz. I won’t eat anything.” Rennert perched on a stool and glanced inquiringly at Bounty.
The latter poured thick cream into his coffee, added two tea-spoonfuls of sugar and began to stir it.
“Mrs. Mootz,” he suggested, “I think Mr. Rennert would like to hear about the eggnog. Tell him just what you told me, won’t you?”
“Well, it was this way,” she responded with alacrity. “Dr. Torday told me to have that eggnog ready at twelve sharp. I began fixing it about eleven-thirty. I made it just like I always do, and I know there was nothing wrong with it. And besides, like I swore up and down to Mr. Bounty, I tasted it more than once. And after the last time I tasted it, I only added one jigger of rum. Because Dr. Torday liked it strong. There it is.”
She pointed dramatically to a bottle on the sink. It was of West Indian Negrita rum, and almost full.
“I’d used up the other bottle,” she went on, “so I had to open that one. The seal hadn’t been broken, of that I’m sure. That bottle was one of half a dozen that Dr. Lincoln gave Dr. Torday for Christmas. It’s been right on a shelf ever since. Now nobody came in this kitchen while I was working. At twelve o’clock, Anita—that’s the maid—came in and wheeled out the wagon with the eggnog and the cups. She left the door open, and I know she took it straight along the hall to the study. Mr. Bounty talked to her, and she said there wasn’t anybody there and that she didn’t put anything at all in it. Mr. Bounty understood right away what the trouble was. It was some of this bad rum that comes from Jamaica and those places.” (Here, unseen by her, Bounty managed to wink at Rennert.) “It’s made under such unsanitary conditions. I hope it’ll be a lesson to people to be careful what they buy from foreign countries. Let me give you some more coffee, Mr. Bounty.”