There was a firm, quiet knock, and the caller stood in the doorway. He had an untidy, bushy black beard, and his suit was rumpled as though it had been slept in. By way of contrast, his hair was impeccably combed with oil or pomade, and glistened like the feathers of a blackbird. He was holding a derby in his white hands.
“I hope that my visit is not inopportune,” he said. Susan started at the sound of that low, smooth voice. There was something familiar about it …
“No, no,” Mr. Shaw said. “Come in, Mr., uh, Swingle. Have a seat.”
Mr. Swingle laid his derby on the floor with care, then sat down, crossed his legs, and looked at Susan—and smiled. It was a curious smile, combining admiration with an undertone of irony. Susan squirmed a little, but could not stop staring at this unsettling stranger.
“Your daughter, sir?” Mr. Swingle enquired, turning to Mr. Shaw.
“That’s right — my daughter Susan. My name is Shaw.”
“Ah, yes, I was informed of that fact by your excellent landlady. Well, Mr. Shaw, I congratulate you: your daughter, sir, is an artist of the first rank. You yourself have a professional ability that is practically unbeatable. Practically — but not quite … Will you join me in a cigar, sir?”
“No, thanks, I don’t —”
“I hope it will not incommode you if I indulge in one myself?”
“No, go ahead. I don’t catch your meaning, Mr. Swingle. Will you explain?”
But Mr. Swingle, having lit his cigar, turned again toward Susan with that admiring and ironic smile. And as she noticed the way he held his cigar, lightly, fastidiously, between his fingertips, her eyes began to widen and her mouth dropped open.
“Ah, ah, ah!” he said, holding up his other hand and forestalling her gasp. “Such sharp eyes! Such lightning recognition! You are quite correct, my dear — we have met before.”
And with an even wider smile than ever, he tore off his beard.
“Mr. Sweeney!” she moaned.
“Exactly! Or should I say, more or less? We know how convenient it is to have numerous names, don’t we? Algeron Sweeney will do — or Arbuthnot Swingle, or even Abernathy Swinnerton, if you prefer.” Wrinkling his nose, he dropped the beard beside his hat. “Pah! What a tiresome apparatus! However, I did not wish to be recognized by the Walkers or by our good landlady. But I was sure that your keen eyes would not be deceived for long, my dear!”
“Will you kindly tell us what all this is about, Mr. Swingle — Sweeney — whatever?” Mr. Shaw said.
“With pleasure, sir. Your plan to exclude me from the kill was audacious and beautifully executed. It almost succeeded, but not quite. So I am here to congratulate you on a good try, and to inform you that it has failed. I am also here to demand my share of the spoils yet to come.”
“Kill?” Mr. Shaw said. “Spoils? I don’t—”
“Oh, come, come, my dear Shaw! I see that your acting abilities are almost equal to the young lady’s. That air of innocent bafflement is marvelously well done! But why waste it on me? I believe we understand each other.”
“The understanding seems to be more on your side than mine,” Mr. Shaw said.
Mr. Sweeney blew a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling. “You need some time to think, don’t you? Well, think away! — I’ll give you all the time you need. Meanwhile, I will be as plain as I can. Through some coincidence we have settled upon the same mark, you and I. I do not intend to retire from the field. You do not intend to retire from the field. Therefore, we must share the mark between us.”
“Mark?”
“Please don’t be tiresome, Shaw! I refer, of course, to our mutual victim, Isabelle Walker.”
“Ah-h-h!” Mr. Shaw said. His eyes narrowed. “Victim? Good lord, man, you don’t think that I—”
“No, I don’t think,” Mr. Sweeney said, waving his hand. “I know. And now that I know, I am not going to be put off the way I was last time. I confess that I was absolutely taken in by that little masquerade you arranged for me. It must have given you a good deal of amusement to see me fleeing from here under the conviction that Isabelle had already been picked clean and that I was in mortal danger of smallpox. Well, I don’t begrudge you your little laugh. We know how to be philosophical in this game, don’t we? And anyway, I had another little operation in town to fall back on.”
“What do you mean by that?” Mr. Shaw asked.
“Another widow,” Mr. Sweeney sighed. “Elderly, plain, grateful for a little attention — you know the sort of thing. Such a routine job that I could scarcely suppress my yawns as I relieved her of everything. A paltry fifteen hundred. So tedious … But, one must live, mustn’t one?”
“You took — everything?”
“My dear Shaw, what a curious question! Of course I did. After all, she has her house, and a large supply of leisure. She can take in boarders, or do laundry, or something.”
“Oh. Yes, I see …” Mr. Shaw clasped his hands together until the knuckles turned white. “Well, ah, what brought you back here?”
“Why, I saw the two of you at the railroad station, just after the conclusion of my business with the widow, It seemed strange that the ‘servant girl,’ whom I had last seen in tears” — Mr. Sweeney smiled at Susan — “should now be so happily hobnobbing with a gentleman. I thought it warranted further investigation. So I boarded the train, walked rapidly through the cars to the last one, disembarked, and took shelter behind a convenient coal bin. From there I watched the servant girl and gentleman being conveyed out of town by a citizen with a surrey. When the citizen returned, I treated him to some beer — a great deal of beer — and learned some interesting facts: that the servant girl and gentleman were father and daughter, or at any rate passed themselves off as such; that they were boarding at Hollisters’, right next door to the Walkers; and that the Walkers, far from having succumbed to smallpox, were in excellent health!
“Well, all this seemed to be worth looking into! I took a little stroll into the country, and sat down in the shade to observe the passing scene. And what an interesting scene it was! Here is the former servant girl, now a young lady, mixing on the closest terms with the Walker children. And, a little later, here she comes with her father, walking out to take the air and to commune with Nature. How absorbing Nature is to them! They listen to the songs of birds; they observe the flight of butterflies; they study the — oh, let us say ‘minerals’, under a certain blackberry bush—”
“Oh!” Susan gasped.
“Oh!” Mr. Sweeney echoed with a brilliant smile. “The study of Nature is so rewarding, isn’t it?”
“Oh!” Susan ground out through clenched teeth. “You—!”
“Susan!” Mr. Shaw said, quietly but with such intensity that she turned toward him at once. He was trying to tell her something with his eyes. “Susan, my dear, Mr. Sweeney is right — we must know how to be philosophical in this game. Sit down, please, and be philosophical.”
She subsided, wondering what he was up to.
“Well, Sweeney,” Mr. Shaw continued. “We’ve had our little laugh, and now you’re having yours. You are a dangerous man, I see.”
“Permit me to return the compliment, sir. As soon as you had left, and I had discovered the gold, I did nothing but sing your praises for five minutes. ‘What a smooth operation!’ I said. ‘What a pair of artists!’ But a question began to nag me as I observed you further. A professional usually departs quickly after making such a kill—but here you were, showing every intention of remaining in the vicinity! What could be the reason for that? The answer staggered me, sir, and my admiration for your audacity soared beyond bounds. You could only be lingering here because there was even more to be gotten out of Isabelle Walker.”
“Mmm,” Mr. Shaw said. “You know, it’s fascinating to watch your powerful line of reasoning unfold.”
“You flatter me, sir. Well, enough of compliments. Shall we get down to business? I have a proposition to make.”
Mr. Shaw raised his eyebr
ows.
“I propose to help you, if you wish, in finishing off Isabelle. Or, if you prefer, I will stand aside while you do it yourself.”
“Very generous of you, Sweeney. You, ah, have a price, of course?”
“Of course. I expect half of what is to come.”
“Oh, you do. And what about my gold?”
Mr. Sweeney smiled and shook his head. “I keep that, of course. If money is to be carelessly strewn about the countryside, then it must belong to him who finds it.”
“I see. Now, let me get this straight — I’m having some trouble swallowing this. You propose to steal, and keep, all the money we have gotten so far; and you also propose to rob us of half of whatever else we can get. Is that it?”
“Your terms are crude, but their sense is correct.”
Mr. Shaw’s smile was incredulous. “Talk — about — audacity!” he said. “Sweeney, you flaming idiot, what on earth makes you think I’d ever consider a fool proposition like that?”
“My dear Shaw, let’s not be obtuse, shall we? You don’t have any choice. I’ve caught you red-handed, as they say in those lurid boys’ novels. Isabelle may not know yet that her money had disappeared, or she may believe that you are ‘investing’ it for her; but in either case I can cause her to begin asking tiresome questions. It would be amusing to denounce you to the police, also. And while you are trying to calm their suspicions on one hand, and Isabelle’s on the other, and failing, and finding yourself under arraignment on a very serious charge — I will be quietly traveling to distant parts with well lined pockets … Now, surely, forgetting what you have lost, and sharing a mere half of what is to come, must be more attractive to you than that.”
Oh, the absurd, dreadful scoundrel, with his total misunderstanding of the situation and his silly, empty threats! Susan could no longer contain herself. She broke out in angry, disbelieving laughter.
“Susan!” Mr. Shaw snapped; and then, sending her that cryptic message with his eyes again, “Philosophy, my dear. Philosophy!” His shoulders slumped. He raised his hand to his mouth. “Well, Sweeney,” he mumbled. “I — ah … I guess I — I need some time to think.”
“Of course,” Mr. Sweeney said smoothly. “I understand. Think as much as you need to.”
There was a long silence. Susan wondered what her father was up to. He looked so beaten, sitting there with a glazed look in his eyes and his chin in his hands; as if all of Mr. Sweeney’s assumptions were true! And yet Mr. Sweeney was wrong about everything, and in such an awful, hateful way. Oh, how she detested him! Look at him sitting there, so calm and easy, blowing his smoke at the ceiling with a little smile! She clenched her fists and bit the inside of her lip.
At last Mr. Shaw sighed and said, “Well, Sweeney, you seem to be holding a loaded pistol at my head … I guess I have to say yes to your proposal.”
“I thought you would take a rational view,” Mr. Sweeney purred. “Now, do you need my assistance or not? Where does your operation stand at present?”
Mr. Shaw leaned back in his chair and studied the cracks in the ceiling plaster. “Well-l,” he said at last, pursing his lips, “I think we’d better go ahead by ourselves, if you don’t mind. Less complicated that way. You see, the fact is that we’re on the verge of success. Your reasoning was correct, Sweeney. There is more where that gold came from — much more. And our hands are almost on it.”
“Ah!” Mr. Sweeney breathed. “Cash? Investments? Property?”
“Uh, jewelry,” Mr. Shaw said. He spoke slowly and carefully. “Mrs. Walker’s late husband was extravagant, and used to — to shower her with jewelry on every occasion. Which, as you know, she never wears. She puts on a very, ah, modest appearance.”
“Yes, she does, doesn’t she?” Mr. Sweeney said, nodding. “I must say it made it difficult for me to assess how much she was good for. I never suspected jewelry.”
“I wouldn’t have, either, if it hadn’t been for Susan. You see, we, ah, specialize in widows with children. You can get a lot of valuable information from children — if you’re a child yourself. That’s where Susan comes in. As you know, she’s gained the complete confidence of Robert and Victoria. They put on little plays for their own amusement. They dress up in Mama’s and Papa’s old clothes, you know, and Susie suggests putting on jewels to make it more realistic. They can’t resist that. It’s so naughty — they have to, ah, borrow the key to Mama’s jewel case without her knowing about it. But safe, too, because nothing gets lost it’s all put away when the theatricals are over. And meanwhile, during the course of the play, Susan appraises the stuff — she’s been to school for that—and when she gets the opportunity she makes a wax impression of the key.”
“Ah!” Mr. Sweeney said. “What an artist! How much will it come to?”
Mr. Shaw assumed a reluctant expression.
“Oh, come, Shaw, don’t drag your feet with me. I’m going to find out sooner or later, you know.”
“Well, ah, we’re pretty confident that it will be between, oh, forty and fifty thousand.”
“Ah!” Mr. Sweeney breathed. His eyes were glittering, “I’ll want to appraise them myself, of course, when we —” and he made a clutching gesture. “How soon do you think —?”
“Well … the situation over there is delicate. Mrs. Walker’s cousin is visiting, and I’m sorry to say that she regards me with suspicion. I’m sure I don’t know why!” Mr. Sweeney smiled his appreciation of this joke. “So we have to work a little faster than usually convenient. Susan rejoins her friends this morning, and she’ll see to it that there are more amateur theatricals. If she can, she will make an impression of the key. We have a tentative plan to go on from there, but it will depend on what happens this morning, of course. Tell you what. Where are you staying? I could come and give you a progress report, say about twelve-thirty.”
“Now, Shaw, you know I have no intention of divulging the whereabouts of my present lodgings. Let’s meet in the Hollisters’ stable. Twelve-thirty will be suitable. Have you anything else to say to me?”
Mr. Shaw shook his head.
“Very well.” Mr. Sweeney picked up his beard, looked at it with an expression of distaste, and re-attached it to his chin. “This is the last time I intend to burden my face with this — excrescence. Hollisters’ stable at twelve-thirty, then. No, no, do not see me down the stairs. I prefer you to remain here. If you have any idea of following me, dismiss it; the minute I suspect myself of being spied upon, I will denounce you to the police. Good morning, sir; good morning, Miss Shaw. Remember!”
He paused in the doorway, pointed his fingertip at the side of his head, pistol-fashion, gave them a dazzling smile, and was gone.
15. In the Dragon’s Lair
… so furious he scared me. After he got it out of his system he told me why he had put on that act with Mr. Sweeney and what he had in mind. The first thing was to get hold of Bobbie. We couldn’t waste any time, so I had to sneak into the Walkers’ house …
When they heard his footsteps on the veranda, Mr. Shaw jumped up and strode to the front window. His face was white, and as he watched Mr. Sweeney’s retreating figure his jaw muscles twitched. He watched in silence for a moment, then turned, and with a roar fell on his bed and pounded it with his fists until the springs jangled and clouds of dust eddied throughout the room.
“Oh, the weasel!” he shouted. “The dirty cur! The slimy low-down cockroach!”
Gradually he subsided, and sat panting on the floor. “Oh, good night!” he groaned. “I think I could tear that skunk to little pieces and stamp on them! Calling her Isabelle! Isabelle! I don’t know how I kept from grabbing his throat each time he said that. Oh, the rat!”
“That was an incredible act you put on with him, Daddy.”
“Hunh! I could hardly believe I was doing it myself. Maybe some of your talent is rubbing off on me!”
“But what was it for?”
“To gain time. Say, we shouldn’t be here. He’s probably going t
o be spying on us again soon. I guess he hides in the trees across the road, but I don’t know. Come on!”
He seized her arm and hurried her downstairs, through the kitchen and back shed, and out to the stable. Chickens fled before them, clucking. They sat down on a sack of oats.
“We have to get hold of Bobbie,” Mr. Shaw muttered, biting his lip.
“Daddy, what are you up to with that fantastic story about putting on plays with Mrs. Walker’s jewels?”
“I told you, I need time to think. That dirty swine has our fortune. If I didn’t play along with him he’d vanish with it. It’s just lucky for us that he has this greasy little fantasy about what we’re up to. It means that as long as I tell him what he wants to hear, he’ll keep coming back. Listen, we need Bobbie. Do you think you can penetrate the dragon’s lair and get hold of him and bring him here?”
“I can try. Why do we —?”
“Oh, I’ll explain later. It’s just an idea I’m beginning to have … Now don’t let yourself be seen from the road, chick, and tell Bobbie the same. The less Sweeney knows about our movements, the better. Got it?”
“Yes.”
“Good luck, then. And listen — there’s got to be a way out of this. I’m going to be thinking hard about it while you’re gone. Bring ’im back alive!”
He hugged and kissed her, and she slipped out of the stable.
The thing to do, since she must not be seen from the road, was to approach the Walkers’ house from the rear. Robert and Victoria had done it yesterday by following the hedge back. She walked behind the stable, wincing with each step. She was still in stocking feet.
Behind the stable was a weedy pasture. A huge grey-and-white barred hen looked at her with a malevolent eye, and sidled off, clucking. There the hedge rounded away toward the Walkers’ side. She followed it, sucking air in through her teeth each time she stepped on a stick or stone. And here, finally, was a gate in the hedge, and on the other side was the back of the Walkers’ stable.
All in Good Time Page 11