Moment of Violence

by George Harmon Coxe

  He broke off as his glance moved beyond Dave and fastened there. His brows lifted slightly and then he started to get to his feet. By the time Dave had glanced round, the man with the dinner jacket was there and with him was Joan Allison.

  “The lady wanted to talk to you, Frank,” the man said, “so I thought I’d bring her over.”

  “I’m Joan Allison, Mr. Morgan,” Joan said. “John’s niece. I don’t know if you remember me but—”

  “Sure,” Morgan said, “you were down here with your father for a while. You were a little girl then but”—he grinned approvingly—”not any more.”

  It took that long for Dave to overcome his surprise. He watched Morgan move a chair and ask her to sit down, and he was aware that she looked very lovely in her darkred dress. Her skin was smooth and pink where the sun had worked on it and the dark-blue eyes inspected him calmly and at some length as she sat down. He heard Morgan ask her what she wanted to drink and heard her say she would have a Scotch and soda please.

  Still looking right at him, she said: “I thought you were having dinner with Gloria.”

  “It didn’t work out.”

  “Oh?” she said indifferently. “Too bad.”

  “Did you come up here alone?”

  “Certainly. Just like the man said. I wanted to talk to Mr. Morgan.”

  “About what?”

  “About people.”

  “It looks like you both had the same idea,” Morgan said. “We were just talking about Mike Ludlow,” he added to Joan. He hunched forward, arms on the table and his hands cradling his glass. Without being asked he started to talk about Ludlow and what he said was another confirmation for Ludlow’s failures in business, his penchant for chasing women, his recent state of insolvency. “He gave his wife a rough time,” he added. “She’s quite a girl, Gloria.”

  “I talked with her this evening,” Dave said. “She said she might marry Alan Crawford one of these days. Do you know him?”

  “Sure,” Morgan said. “He’s generally in here two or three times a week.”

  “Who is he? What does he do?”

  “Not much of anything. He’s from the States but he doesn’t talk too much about it. He’s been down here a couple of years. Supposed to have made some money in the stock market and got tired of the rat race up there so he came down here to relax.” He hunched forward still more. “I’ve got a friend in the bank who gave me a couple of clues but this is only rumor, you know what I mean?” He grinned. “Don’t quote me because I don’t know a thing. But the way I get it, a check comes in from a Florida bank once a month for Crawford’s account. Five hundred a month. That’s nearly eight hundred our money and a guy can live damn well down here on that. He likes the water and about a year ago he bought a ketch from some guy in Grenada. The Sea Gipsy. Nice boat. Sturdy. Maybe forty-two, forty-five feet.”

  “He didn’t do this on five hundred dollars a month,” Dave said.

  “This was an extra deal. So he fixed it up below so he could accommodate four nicely, not counting the crew. He charters it now and then to people who want to go out for a couple of days. Sometimes he takes a fishing party out for a week end. It’s pretty good down along the Grenadines and outside the Bocas between Trinidad and Venezuela. He plays quite a lot of golf—”

  “According to Major Fleming he had a fight with Mike a couple of nights ago,” Dave said.

  “Yeah.” Morgan hunched one shoulder and grinned again. “I was here. Mike flattened him.”

  “Have you any idea what it was about?”

  “You mean you want another rumor?”

  “Please,” Joan said.

  “Well, you two know all about the option,” Morgan said. “If Mike could raise fifty thousand he stood to make a hundred and fifty thousand on Monday. I heard that he and Crawford were going into the thing together. Mike had the option and Crawford was supposed to get the dough up. The hundred and fifty profit was supposed to be split between them. I didn’t hear the argument the other night but I talked to someone who did and the way I get it Ludlow told Crawford he was closing him out. He was going to raise the money himself and take all of the profit. I don’t know how true it is but I do know there was a fight.”

  Dave thought it over. The story made a certain amount of sense and he saw no point now in mentioning the money that Ludlow was supposed to have had last night. In considering this, his mind moved on to wonder about Dunning and he said:

  “I heard Mike might have been having an affair with Alice Dunning.”

  “I heard it too. Alice used to go down to Trinidad twice a month and Mike was living there at the time. If you know Mike you’d have to figure the possibility. Also they’ve been seen together around here occasionally.”

  “What about her husband?”

  “Have you met him?” Morgan watched Dave nod. “Well, he’s just about what you’d think. A frosty, stiff-necked character; you’d think it hurt him to smile. A retired cotton broker with money—and a pretty wife. If he was jealous of her how could you blame him?”

  “What do you know about a lawyer named Roger Eustis?”

  “He’s a Bajan. Went to school in Canada. A barrister but he never worked much at it because he married a dame with dough. When she’s here he toes the line or else. She travels quite a bit—she’s in England now—and when she’s away I think Roger plays around a bit. But not here.”

  He looked down at his glass and seemed a little surprised to find that he had not touched his drink. Now, in one continuous movement, he drank it all at once and beckoned to a waiter. “Take an order, John,” he said. He lighted a cigarette while Dave ordered rum and Joan refused. He glanced out across the floor at the dancers and seemed to be listening for a moment to the orchestra. When his glance came back he resumed his story.

  “Mrs. Eustis is one of the principal owners of O’Malley’s Department Store down on Broad Street. They’ve got a branch in British Guiana. Roger is the attorney—that’s about all he does—and he goes down there for two or three days every month or six weeks. There’s a very attractive dame down in Georgetown,” he added. “Blonde. Nicely put together. Works in an airline office. A widow. Well—some say she’s Roger’s girl when he’s in town, you know what I mean?”

  Dave nodded as his fragmentary knowledge began to assume a more definite pattern. “What would happen if Mrs. Eustis found out about it?”

  “I’d lay odds she’d give him the bounce,” Morgan said. “And that would be tough on Roger because I don’t think he’s got a dime of his own.”

  “Could Mike have known about the widow?”

  “He could have. He’s been in B.G. plenty of times.” He frowned, one brow twisting. “Why? Do you think Mike was dabbling in a bit of blackmail?”

  “Mr. Eustis brought ten thousand dollars up to the bungalow last night,” Joan said. “He told Major Fleming it was a loan and that he was going to get it back on Monday. I don’t think the major was convinced.”

  As she finished, Morgan started to put his hand on Dave’s arm. Again his gaze was fixed somewhere beyond and he gave a little jerk of his head. When Dave turned, he saw Richard Dunning in the far corner of the bar. He was talking to some man on the other side of him and it was a moment before Dave could see the other’s face and realized that this was Eric Sankar.

  “Isn’t that Mr. Dunning?” Joan asked.

  “It sure is,” Morgan said. “He doesn’t very often come in here alone either.”

  “Do you know the fellow he’s talking to?” Dave said.

  “I’ve seen him around now and then but I don’t know his name. From Trinidad, isn’t he? A lawyer or something like that?”

  As he spoke Dunning moved off the stool. He stood a moment talking to Sankar and then he turned and disappeared through the doorway. Sankar remained where he was, intent upon his drink, and Dave answered Morgan’s question. He said that Sankar was a solicitor who apparently specialized in private investigations. Not wanting to reveal all he kn
ew, he said that he thought Sankar was working for someone on the island and that Richard Dunning could have hired him.

  “To do what?” Morgan asked. “Watch his wife?”

  Dave said probably and he was still talking when Alan Crawford appeared. His broad face and black hair were unmistakable and this time he had forsaken the sport shirt and wore a proper jacket. The affable man in the dinner coat came up to him as he stood there and they shook hands. They stepped to the bar while Crawford ordered a drink, and when the proprietor went to greet a new arrival Crawford went over and sat down on the stool Richard Dunning had recently vacated.

  “Maybe he was working for Crawford, too,” Morgan said.

  Dave said maybe but his mind was busy now and when this new thought came to him he decided to act on it. He caught the waiter’s eye and asked for his check. To Morgan he said: “Is there any way I can go out through the patio and get back into the parking lot?”

  “Sure,” Morgan said with some surprise. “You’ll have to go through the hedge but I guess you can manage it all right. Why? What have you got in mind?”

  “I’m curious about those two,” Dave said. He glanced at the check the waiter presented and put some bills on it. “Do you know where Crawford lives?”

  “He rents a place called Clydesdale on St. Mary’s Gap. Take the shore road toward St. Lawrence and look for a police station on your left. It’s the next right. About two thirds of the way down. Which one of them are you interested in?”

  “I don’t know,” Dave said and realized that this was the truth. He was curious about both men. He was not ready to accept the hypothesis that Sankar had killed Ludlow but he was not so sure about Crawford. “I’m going to follow one or the other,” he said. “I’m not sure which.”

  Joan Allison stood up. “I’m going with you.”

  He started to protest and thought better of it when he realized it would probably do no good. This was a very determined young lady once her mind was made up, so he said: “All right, let’s go.” Then he was ushering her through the tables and out onto the lighted lawn in the rear.

  They went through the hedge without too much trouble and picked their way across the field, coming finally to the parking lot. Dave had left the Hillman some distance from the entrance on the left and as he climbed in, Joan laughed.

  “You’ve got the wrong car,” she said when he asked what the matter was. “This is mine.”

  He knew she was right when he took another look at the hood. This was a medium green and his was a medium gray but in the dark they were so similar that he might not have realized his mistake if she hadn’t told him. He knew then that he must have parked a little farther away and when he started to open the door she stopped him.

  “What difference does it make?” she asked. “We don’t want to take both cars anyway, do we? Now that you’re here, drive this. We can pick yours up later.”

  He said all right and offered cigarettes, but before they had finished them Eric Sankar appeared on the lighted step outside the entrance. He moved toward the opposite side of the parking lot, but before he reached it Crawford came out and walked toward them. He passed in front of them without knowing they were there and continued on for three or four cars.

  Across the way Sankar’s lights went on and they could hear the car start. The same thing happened to Crawford’s car and when he pulled out to follow Sankar, Dave turned the key to start the motor. Because he was unsure of himself he let the clutch out too quick and the motor stalled. He said: “Oh, fine,” and tried again. When the motor did not catch he tried the manual choke, and by the time he had the car rolling and the headlights on, the road ahead of them was empty.

  It was a bumpy, pock-marked, washed-out coral road and they bounced along it for two hundred yards before they reached the smoother highway beyond. He had a choice here of taking the turn up the hill or going straight and when he saw the taillight in the distance he chose this way. There were still some bicycles on the road and the headlights made him cautious, but he followed along as best he could, taking the turns as they came until he reached an intersection and a stop street. Here again he had a choice but since the left turn seemed to lead toward the sea he took it. As he went down the slope he could see the glint of moonlight on the distant water and the riding lights of the ships offshore. He knew, as he came to the coastal highway, that he was too far to the west, but he was not lost and he turned here and heard Joan say that this was the right way.

  When he came to the Seaside Hotel he did not recognize Sankar’s car among those parked but he pulled in anyway and said he would inquire at the desk. The clerk, with a glance at the rack behind him, said that Mr. Sankar must be out, and when Dave came back and gave Joan the news she said:

  “Maybe he went with Mr. Crawford.”

  They found the police station without difficulty and took the next right, a narrow curving road that skirted a small cove and then cut down parallel to the shoreline. Houses stood on both sides of the road, small ones on the left and larger ones enclosed by walls on the right and overlooking the sea.

  Shifting down so that he could move more slowly, he drove along the road looking for names on the walls or gateways of the houses on the right. They continued this way for nearly half a mile before Joan spotted the name they were looking for. It was printed on the gatepost close to the road and he pulled on past and stopped. He left her in the car while he walked back but as he stepped through the opening and faced the rear of the house he saw that the garage on his left was empty. A light burned dimly at the front of the veranda but the house itself was dark and after a moment he came back and climbed in beside Joan.

  “I guess I muffed it,” he said.

  “Well, at least we gave it a try.”

  They drove back along the coast road and they were nearly to the center of Bridgetown before he remembered the car he had left at the Club Morgan. He spoke of it now. He said he’d had a tough enough time finding the club in the first place and if it was all right with her he’d drive her home and they could pick his car up in the morning sometime.

  Because he still had to concentrate on his driving, he was not conscious of the silence that had fallen between them until several minutes had passed. He was aware that she had withdrawn to her corner of the seat and when he finally glanced at her he saw she was watching him, her eyes darkly shining in the shadows. He had an idea then that something was bothering her and when the silence persisted he broke it.

  “What are you thinking about?”

  “About something that’s been worrying me since before dinner, and I don’t mean Gloria Ludlow. I’ve been trying to work up nerve enough to ask you a question and I guess this is as good a time as any.… I had a gun in the upper right-hand drawer of the bureau in my room last night. Did you take it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well—” She sat up and her breath came out in a long slow sigh that sounded more exasperated than relieved. “For heaven’s sake why didn’t you tell me? I’ve been worried sick about it. I couldn’t imagine what had happened to it until I thought of you and then—”

  “It had been fired recently,” Dave said, deciding he might as well bring into the open the subject that he had so long tried to avoid. “When I heard you coming this morning I stuck it into my pocket.”

  “Oh,” she said, her voice oddly quiet. “It had been fired and a bullet of the same caliber had killed Mike so you’ve been thinking—”

  “Yes,” Dave said. “I’ve been thinking plenty.”

  “Well, thanks. Thanks a lot for all that unwavering faith.”

  “Your uncle knew you took that Mauser,” he said, refusing to be baited. “It scared him. That’s one reason he insisted that I come down here. He was afraid if you tried to bluff Mike with that gun it might go off and hurt someone. I don’t know what—”

  His voice had risen as he argued. His words had taken on more vehemence than he had intended, and the sudden touch of her hand on his arm both
silenced and surprised him. When she spoke her tone was no longer caustic.

  “I’m sorry, David,” she said simply. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. I don’t blame you for being upset because you were right about the gun. It had been fired, but not on purpose. I never should have taken it in the first place but I was so furious with Mike for what he’d done to Uncle John I didn’t stop to think that I’d probably never dare use it even to threaten him. It was just a silly, childish thought and—”

  She stopped to take a breath. “I got it out last night but even as I looked at it I knew the whole idea was mad. I didn’t even know how the gun worked; that’s how it happened to go off. I can show you the hole in the wall—I moved a table in front of it—and that scared me even more. I had to give myself a fight talk to make myself even go to see Mike. I had to admit I probably couldn’t do any good but I’d come all that way and I had to try.… Where is it now?”

  He told her as he pulled into the Carib Club drive. He said he would try to clean it in the morning but maybe the smart thing to do would be to get rid of it. He told her she could think it over.

  It was at her insistence that he took the car home with him after he had walked Joan to her bungalow. She said she wasn’t going to need it that night and why didn’t he take it? He said all right and then, reluctant to let it go at that, he stood looking at her while the old desire to touch her began to grow in him. There was a silent moment as they faced each other when he might have taken her in his arms, but the opportunity slipped away and then she was opening the door and thanking him for bringing her home.

  “Maybe we could have a swim before breakfast,” he said hopefully.

  “Maybe.”

  “How about nine o’clock?”

  “All right.”

  He said he would meet her on the beach and she said that would be fine and then she was inside and he was walking back to the car.

  The bungalow was dark and when he had parked the Hillman he groped his way along the rear hall until he found the light switch. He did not bother going into the living room but turned at once into the back bedroom and the minute the light went on he knew it had been searched. The suitcase had been moved. Some of the drawers were open and as he glanced down, a new concern growing swiftly in him, he saw the drawer at the bottom of the wardrobe had not been properly closed. It took only a moment then to paw through the soiled linen and discover that the Mauser was no longer there.