Even the impudent image of Luke Dodd crept into my mind. Dodd was the only person who had been retained of the former Lynecrest staff. Could there have been a reason for that, quite aside from his capabilities? It might be wise to have a little chat with him.
Thoughts were hammering one against the other in my brain. After we had finished dinner we listened to some radio programs in the library. Neither of us made an attempt at conversation. Early in the evening, John mumbled something about attending to his correspondence and retired to his rooms. I was just as glad to be alone. I wanted to put my thoughts in order and yet I was not able to concentrate. The events of the day had worn my nerves to an edge.
I remained in the library for an hour or so after John had gone and then went to my own rooms. I did fingernails and fussed with my hair and had to laugh at the blankness of my mind. I turned off the lights and went to bed. I was going to leave the dressing-room light on, for spiritual comfort, then decided that it was simply too childish. I lay back against the pillow and closed my eyes just as the telephone rang. It startled me and I let it ring a minute before answering.
It was Jeffrey calling. When I asked him where he was, he answered, “King City.”
“Did you get any birds?”
“Any what?”
“Birds. Quail.”
“Oh, sure. I didn’t hear you very well. We had a pretty good shoot. I’m staying over tonight and we’re going out again in the morning. Where are you, in your rooms?”
“Yes. I was just going to sleep.”
“Oh. Sorry I disturbed you.”
“That’s all right. By the way, Sam Brandt called this afternoon. He’s in Los Angeles. He’ll probably be coming up here for a week end. Do you mind?”
“Of course not. Look, Carol; you said something about John wanting to talk over some business with me.”
“I don’t know much about it. He thinks you’re staying away tonight so you won’t have to talk with him.”
“Well, I don’t like to argue with him. He generally proves I’m in the wrong. That isn’t good for anyone’s peace of mind. But did he tell you anything about it?”
I said, “It’s something about buying a string of packing sheds. He said it would cost about a half million.”
Jeffrey whistled into the phone. “That ain’t hay.”
“He seemed to think so, too. It’s evidently quite a gamble. He seemed reluctant to accept sole responsibility. Listen, Jeff; it’s really none of my business, I know, but why don’t you take more of an interest in the estate affairs?”
Jeffrey chuckled. “You don’t know me, darling. I’d lose the works faster than John could make it. He’s clever in business and I hate it. Let’s not disturb sleeping dogs. But I’ll talk with him about it. Everything else O.K.?”
“Yes,” I lied.
“Good, I’ll see you tomorrow. And sorry I disturbed you.”
“Good-by.”
He rang off and the phone went instantly dead. I put it back in its enameled cradle and pulled the covers up to my chin and stared into the dark. Then cold perspiration was suddenly upon my forehead and I sat upright.
Normally, I hang up a phone before the other person, but on that occasion I had still had it to my ear when Jeffrey hung up. A call from King City would have been long-distance. After Jeffrey rang off there should have been a long buzz before the phone went dead. I remembered, also, that at the beginning of the conversation there had been no buzzing sound, which always accompanied an outside call, even a local one. Furthermore, one of the servants would have had to answer the master phone before switching the call to my room.
I turned on the lamp by the side of the bed and leaned on an elbow to examine the system of button switches connected to the telephone. I lifted the phone and pressed the button for the kitchen. Laura answered my call. I asked if she had any knowledge of an outside call and she said, “Yes, ma’am.”
I started to relax and said, “Oh. I was just wondering.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, Ann has been on the phone for at least half an hour talking with some boy friend. I’ll tell her you wish to make an outside call.”
“No. Wait. It isn’t that. Could anyone else have called from the outside while that phone was in use?”
“Oh, no, Mrs. Hamlyne. Mr. John has another wire to a business phone in his apartment, but the rest of the house is on one outside line. No one could have called during the last half hour. I’ll tell her — ”
“Wait. You don’t understand. Let her talk. This is just something I’m curious about.”
“Yes?”
“That other phone in Mr. John’s rooms — could that be used to call the other system of the house?”
“Oh, yes, but not if the other system is already in use. It would be like just another outside call.”
“But the house system, the one we’re talking on now, that can be used to call from one room to another even while the outside line is in use?”
“Yes. The way it operates — ”
I interrupted, “Thanks, but I know how the house system operates. I was just curious about outside calls. Thank you, Miss Laura.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I waited for her to hang up and it was the way it had been before; the line went dead instantly. I put the phone down, convinced. Jeffrey’s call had been made from inside the house.
I looked up at the dark ceiling over my head. Jeffrey had returned to the house. He was in his rooms, then, in the apartment over mine. He had gone to play golf in the morning, but he may have returned to the house while I was out riding. He could have been in his rooms all day. But why the peculiar deception?
A cold shudder swept through me. There was another and more evil thought hammering in my brain. Perhaps it had not been Jeffrey calling at all. John was at home and in his rooms. I knew that. He could have made the call on the house system. I told myself over and over that the idea was incredible, but the feeling that it was true was powerful and definite.
I got out of bed and turned on the dressing-room light. Then I locked the hall door and went back to bed. It was hours before I could go to sleep. Two pictures were in my mind, amazingly clear and detailed — Jeffrey sitting upstairs in the dark, that weird, dead look in his face and his eyes burning with a light that was not quite sane; and John in his rooms with his hand still on the house phone, smilingly amused by the success of an astounding masquerade.
Chapter Ten
THE FOLLOWING MORNING found me exhausted from a virtually sleepless night. I had coffee in my rooms and looked out the windows at a cold, dense fog. The day fitted my mood perfectly.
Ann busied herself with my wardrobe, but her eyes were shining with suppressed excitement and I knew that she was anxious to talk. I pretended to be occupied at the writing desk, but dropped that pretense after a while and watched Ann. The moment I looked fully at her she began chattering like a magpie. I wondered if she gossiped with Vivien, too, and thought that that might be the “boy friend” she talked with so long. It was probably a correct assumption, as Vivien had placed her at Lynecrest and was more than commonly interested in the affairs of the Hamlynes.
I was paying little attention to what Ann had to say, but the word “gun” aroused me and I asked Ann, “What did you say about a gun?”
“The gun found in the gardens,” she replied.
“Gun? What gun? I’m sorry, Ann, but I wasn’t listening.”
She came from the dressing room to stand by the desk and said, “Oh, I forgot. You wouldn’t know, anyway. You haven’t been out of your rooms.”
“Well?”
She was quivering with eagerness, savoring to the full every word she anticipated saying. “Well, ma’am, one of the gardeners found a pistol under some bushes this morning. He gave it to Mr. Brannen and Mr. Brannen gave it to Mr. John at breakfast. You’d think Mr. Brannen had stolen it the way Mr. John acted. It was loaded, too. Mr. John said something about thieving servants — it was his gun and h
e’d been looking for it — and Brannen almost quit then and there.”
“Perhaps one of the servants of the former staff had taken it.”
“I don’t know. All I know is it’s mighty strange to find a loaded pistol in the garden. Brannen didn’t think it was dropped, either. It was too far under a bush, like it was placed there and then the person forgot where he had put it.”
I thought that perhaps John, himself, could have placed it there and was angry that it had been discovered. Or Jeffrey, perhaps? But he probably had a pistol. Or it could be that the gun did not belong to John, but he knew, or suspected, why it was in the garden and so claimed it as his.
I was just as curious about it as Ann, but she had already skipped on to other matters and was saying, “… and the airs he puts on, as if he amounts to something. Hmmmmmph!”
I blinked at her. She could not possibly be talking about John. I asked, “Who puts on airs?”
“That Luke Dodd. Him and his airs. I don’t like him and neither does anyone else. He bosses everybody, like he owns the place, and Mr. John won’t do anything about it. Just because he’s cleaning up on the races you’d think he was a millionaire, too. He sure acts like one. You know something, Mrs. Hamlyne?”
“No.”
“He bought a new Cadillac the other day. Imagine!” She stared at me, waiting for my expression of incredulous surprise, then hurried on: “And him nothing but a stable hand. Estate manager, my foot! Why, he puts on airs like he’s on the same plane with the Hamlynes. Imagine that!”
“Well,” I said, hiding a smile, “he must be doing well with the races. But that sort of luck never lasts long.”
She sighed. “I hope not.” She stepped back, suddenly embarrassed that she had said so much, and asked timidly, “What will you wear this afternoon? I’d say that chartreuse blouse and the green skirt and walking shoes.”
I had finished dressing and was about to leave the rooms when there was a knock at the door and John entered. He was dressed in riding clothes and his skin was pinkish from the cold fog. He sat on the edge of my desk, swinging a boot back and forth, and glanced at Ann. She excused herself and quietly disappeared, but reluctantly.
John looked out at the fog and said something about a nasty day, but that he had enjoyed a fast ride up to Spanish Bay and back. He examined some of my trinkets scattered around, then he turned to face me, a guilty expression on his face. “Why I’m really here,” he said, “is to apologize. I didn’t realize until this morning that I was pretty abrupt last night — about Jeff, I mean. You were worried and wanted to talk and I just cut it short. I’m sorry about that.”
“I did want to talk about it, John.”
“Of course. I’m sorry. But I had so much on my mind and that remark you made about something ugly in the air here — well, it upset me badly.”
Whether or not I would have brought up the matter otherwise I don’t know, but his apology was so artificial that it made me angry. I said, “There is something ugly.”
“Oh, now, Carol — ”
“I mean it.” I left my chair and stood before him to look into his eyes. I said, “Jeff telephoned last night. He said he was calling from King City.”
John looked thoughtful and raised a hand to pull at his lower lip. “That’s fairly good bird country.”
“John,” I stated, “he was not in King City.”
His eyes came back to mine with a frown. “But you just said — ”
“He told me he was in King City. He wasn’t. That call was made from inside this house.”
John’s hand dropped and his jaw went slack. “But,” he stammered, “but he left the house — he made a call earlier — ”
“I don’t care. That call was not from the outside. I know definitely that it was made from inside the house. Now, if you don’t think that’s a very queer matter — ”
John was not listening. His eyes narrowed and he brushed by me and hurried out the door. I could hear him, faintly, running down the hall toward the stairway. He was not gone long. He returned in perhaps five minutes. He seemed more composed than when he had left, but his hands were clenching and unclenching and a tiny muscle was working along one side of his jaw. His narrowed eyes were on fire with some deep emotion, but I realized, by the casual way in which he strolled into the room, that he was going to be exceedingly cautious in what he had to say.
He nodded at me. “Yes, he was here.”
“He isn’t up there now?”
“No. But he was here. He returned, for some reason or other, and evidently called you from upstairs.” He dropped onto the foot of the chaise longue and leaned back on his elbows. “Just what did he call about?”
I thought it over carefully and then gave him the conversation verbatim. “There really wasn’t much to it.”
“I see. He just wanted to know what I was up to that was so important. As soon as you told him he was no longer interested.”
“But John,” I cried, “he wouldn’t come back here to make a call like that. That’s absolutely fantastic. Let’s at least make an attempt toward some reason in this.”
“No, he wouldn’t return for that reason. I don’t know why he came back. I’m as puzzled as you. His bed was mussed and unmade. I ran into the third-floor maid and she said that she had made the bed yesterday, but hadn’t time to get in his rooms today. So he was there last night, for a while, anyway.”
He was being altogether too nonchalant about it and I fairly screamed at him, “But why?”
He shrugged. “I tell you, I don’t know. Maybe he came back to have a talk with me and then decided to call you, instead, and find out what it was all about. As soon as he knew it was only business, which certainly does not interest him, then he decided to leave again. I’m only guessing, but I would say that’s it.”
I sighed and shook my head. John was making childishly silly statements and knew it. I had had enough. I hoped to throw him off balance by asking, “John, why do you go riding late at night?”
He blinked at the sudden change of subject and was momentarily caught off guard. “Why — well, I — I like it. I enjoy riding at night. I’m all alone, there’s nothing to distract me, and I can think clearly.”
I decided to take the plunge and inhaled a deep breath of air. I said, “I don’t think that’s the reason. I think you’re a worried man and even a badly frightened one.”
“I?” he gasped.
“Yes. You’re scared to death and I think I know why.”
“Oh, nonsense. You have the damnedest knack of taking little things and blowing them up — ”
“Not little things. Big things. You’re ambitious. You’re deeply involved in finance and politics and you’re afraid Jeff is going to ruin it all. And why? Because Jeff is acting queerly and could be losing his mind and you know it and you’re afraid of how it may affect you and you’re trying to stall off facing it while you make plans.”
His teeth clicked together and his face hardened. He turned on an elbow to look away from me and toward the windows. There was no expression in his face, neither of confirmation or of denial. He was simply giving himself time to phrase a proper answer.
I did not want him to regain his poise and continued in a flood of words, “You may even be afraid of some sort of violence. To be truthful about it, I am. I haven’t told you, but I surprised him in your rooms one night, sitting in the dark. It was ghastly. At that moment, at least at that moment, he was not sane. Then he came into my rooms later. He frightened me out of my wits. His actions and his speech were wild and insane. So I’m talking about little things.”
John had not moved. He was still looking away from me, without expression, his face as immobile as a statue. He was shocked by my words, but he was no longer off balance. His mind was racing far ahead of mine.
I said wearily, “I loved Jeff and I still love the man I married, but — ”
“But,” he supplied, “you don’t like his character.”
“It i
sn’t the same.”
He turned back and faced me. His face was a smooth mask, but his eyes were very much alive. When he started talking his voice was flat and monotonous, without any sort of expression.
“Of course,” he said, “I always knew that you would stumble onto something. That’s one of the reasons I persuaded Jeff to stall for time, flatly refusing to allow him to bring you out here. I thought it was just a temporary thing and that given time it would all blow over. Then, when you did arrive, I realized that you were an understanding person and not as I had pictured you and so I felt you would know how to keep your own counsel. I’ve been banking on that.”
“But neither of you feels the necessity of confiding in me.”
“That isn’t the point. I’m not going to confide in you now, either. Maybe that’s a harsh thing to say, but there’s no alternative for me at the moment. You must realize that there is a great deal at stake in the proper handling of this estate. The goal I have in mind demands delicate handling. Otherwise, if this matter were brought into the open too soon it could ruin everything. I’m caught in a trap and so is Jeff and we have to be patient. I hope you will be, too.”
The ugliness was growing behind the smooth mask of his face. I said, “In other words, you know as well as I that your brother is losing his mind but it suits your purposes better to wait until there is no doubt about it whatever before making a move.”
The mask split and the shadow of a smile played about his lips. “How would that better suit my purpose — assuming, of course, that you know what you’re saying?”
“Well, if you tried to do anything about Jeff at the moment, he might or might not be adjudged incapable of handling his own affairs. You could lose that precious power of attorney, the estate could be divided, I would have to be considered, and you would be out on a limb. Isn’t that so?”
The odd smile tugged at his lips as he got to his feet. He studied me closely, his eyes sweeping me up and down, and then he walked to the door. He lit a cigarette and puffed at it, his back turned to me. He placed a hand on the doorknob, then twisted his head to look at me over his shoulder. He was so angry that there was almost murder in his eyes.
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