“But the fellow took it damned well. I’ll say that for him. He was a rotter, but he had guts. And he had his revenge on old Vantage the night of the masquerade ball. Vantage had got together a score of used decks and sorted out the diamond knaves. He’d sewn them into a kind of necklace, and his idea was to pop that over Massey’s costume as soon as he appeared, so that everyone would think it was a part of his getup and ask him about it. But hanged if the plucky rascal didn’t show up at the masquerade costumed as the knave of diamonds himself. And I’m damned if I didn’t admire him for it.”
Jackson spoke up as the Colonel paused with a reminiscent grin. “I take it that this Lawrence Massey is our Richard Vinton?”
“It is, sir.”
“You are certain—it isn’t just a resemblance?”
“Lieutenant, I will swear in any court you choose that Massey and Vinton are the same man.”
“Did Humphrey Garnett know that?”
“That I can’t tell you. He knew the Massey story, of course; he must have heard me tell it a dozen times. But I’ve no idea if he had identified Vinton.”
“You didn’t know, then, that he was about to marry into the Garnett family?”
“I never saw him from that time till today. I did know that little Kay was engaged—finding a suitable gift was a severe task for an elderly bachelor—but the name Richard Vinton naturally meant nothing to me.”
Lieutenant Jackson rose with an officially definite air. “I think that will be all for the moment, Colonel Rand. Needless to say, we’ll have more to talk about later.” He glanced down at his notes and added, “By the way, when did you say you arrived in Los Angeles?”
“By the plane which reached Burbank airport about an hour ago.” Rand smiled at the thought that his harmless movements would now be subjected to an official check.
“Thank you, Colonel. Now that this is over, I suppose you’ll naturally want to see the family. You can ask the man at the door; he’ll show you where they all are. And thank you, sir, very much indeed for your information; I feel strongly that this interview may prove to be the most important part of my case.”
Colonel Rand left the study in a badly worried frame of mind. Had he said too much? The past isn’t irrevocable; a young man with such spirit might well have changed for the better in five years. And if little Kay loved him …
He shrugged, went “harrumph,” and started off to look for the family.
III
The Knave of Diamonds Is Taken Prisoner
Number two had indicated the door in pantomime.
Colonel Rand, still pondering the rightness of his action, was about to enter when a shrill voice from within made him pause.
“I tell you I’m afraid,” the voice was crying. “I know you all think I’m not good for anything. He thought so too. And he was right, even if he didn’t know about—But that doesn’t make me any the less afraid to die.”
Rand recognized the voice, charged as it was with terror. Poor futile old Willowe. The in-law hanger-on. But he was generally so quiet and unobtrusive. What could have brought him to this wild display of fear? Gently the Colonel opened the door.
The attention of the people in the room was so firmly fixed on Arthur Willowe that Rand’s entrance went unnoticed. The vague little man sat in a large bright armchair which would ordinarily have effaced him completely. Now the stark terror of his face and voice made him for the moment the most vivid object in the room.
“It was all right when he was alive,” Willowe chattered on. “I knew he couldn’t do anything then because of all of you. Besides, I thought he was through with me. He wanted something else, I thought. But now he’s dead and I was wrong and there’s nothing to stop him. We’ll all be dead together—Humphrey and Alicia and I. We’ll have love and hate and death all for ourselves.”
Kay Garnett leaned over him quietly. She had been crying, and her voice was still shaken. “Please, Uncle Arthur. Don’t excite yourself so. It’s time for your nap. You’d better rest.”
“No! No! I don’t want to rest. I might sleep, don’t you see, and that would make it ever so much easier for him.”
“Come now, old man.” It was that plucky rotter, Massey or Vinton or whatever he called himself. “Don’t take on so. We’ve all got to carry on, you know.” He had indeed changed; there was a new strength and sincerity in Vinton which Rand had never observed in Massey.
The other young man in the room (a stranger to Rand—it must be the laboratory assistant, Harding, whom the Lieutenant had mentioned) thumbed a heavy book and tried to keep his eyes from the painful scene. Poor Willowe babbled on.
Then the dark girl (that, Rand supposed, would be the mysterious Miss Sallice) crossed softly to the old man’s chair. “Please,” she said gently. Her voice was rich and husky and sweet. “Please. Alicia wouldn’t like you this way.”
Arthur Willowe paused. “No. Of course. I’m sorry.” He sounded like a little boy who had been scolded. Then he looked up in bewilderment. “Why do you talk about Alicia? What do you know about her? And what do we know about you? Who are you anyway?”
Before the girl could answer, Kay had seen Colonel Rand. Swiftly she darted across the room and threw herself into his arms. “Uncle Teddy! Oh, how good! How good!”
She cried a little and kissed him and laughed because the waxed mustaches tickled her and cried again. The old soldier held her close and was very happy.
Little Kay, bless her, had grown up just as he had hoped. She was fresh and lovely and clear and alive. She was her mother Alicia with a simple easiness added which had not been quite proper for young ladies when he and Alicia were—well, friends. It hadn’t got further than that when she met Humphrey Garnett.
He stroked Kay’s bright red hair and kissed the top of her head clumsily. She looked up, half smiled, and tossed her head as though to shake away the tears. Awkwardly the Colonel pulled the neat white handkerchief out of his breast pocket and wiped her blue-green eyes. Then, with automatic recollection of the past, he held the cloth to her nose.
She laughed nervously. “I’m a big girl now, Uncle Teddy. I worry about powdering my nose, not blowing it.” Rand frowned; this forced gaiety was sadder than tears. “But I don’t even worry about powder now,” she went on. “I’m so glad you came. I need you.”
She turned to face the room. “You’d better join the family group. We’re waiting to hear what that nice young Lieutenant makes up his mind to do about …” (her voice quavered a little) “… about all this. He’s been asking us questions all morning till we’re reeling—we haven’t even had time to think. It doesn’t seem halfway real yet. It can’t be true. It just can’t.” She broke off and took up the role of hostess. “You know Uncle Arthur, of course.”
“Right. How are you, Willowe.” The Colonel seized the weak hand sturdily. Pity Alicia’s brother should have turned out so much what the young men would call a washout. Still he was in his way a likable sort of chap. Damned odd, that fit of hysteria just now. …
“This is Miss Sallice—Colonel Rand. Camilla was a protégée of Father’s.” Was Rand imagining things, or did Kay’s voice take on a trace of something harsh—almost of an unkindness quite foreign to her nature? He bowed formally to the young lady. Decidedly attractive, he observed, though the contrast to Kay made her seem somewhat full-blown and artificial. A subtle trace of exotic scent heightened the effect. He found himself looking at her again, more closely. Yes, for all the deft make-up, hers was a face of tragedy.
“And this is Will Harding, Father’s lab assistant.” The quiet young man set aside his weighty volume and rose politely. It was a good handshake—firm, without exaggeration. Rand decided, at a guess, that the man himself was like that.
“And this is Richard Vinton, my fiancé. You’ve certainly heard me talk about Uncle Teddy, Richard.” The Englishman gave no sign of recognition, and Rand followed his lead. He even took the fellow’s hand, with a warmth assumed for little Kay’s sake.
> The introductions were over, and there seemed to be nothing more to say. Obviously no one wanted to mention the one all-important topic, and no one could think of anything else worth mentioning in its place. Despite Kay’s almost hysterical effort, this was no time for small talk.
Rand, seated uncomfortably in a corner, suddenly recalled that the Lieutenant had kept his telegram, and decided to busy himself seeing if he knew it from memory. One phrase worried him. WATCH HECTOR CAREFULLY. He looked about the silent room. Arthur Willowe, Will Harding, Richard Vinton—which of them …? He wanted to blurt it out abruptly; it must be important.
The silence grew heavy. Willowe had picked up a deck of cards and was noiselessly dealing them onto the small table near him. Harding had returned to his ponderous book. Vinton was holding his fiancée’s hand in surreptitious comfort. The Sallice girl was humming something indistinguishable and minor under her breath. The sun streamed into the room with oblivious cheerfulness.
Rand realized that his cigar had gone out, neglected; and his palate could never endure relighting a dead one. With a gesture of exasperation, he hurled the offending cigar at a large brass ash stand a few feet from him. His aim was too good. There was a crashing clatter, and stand and ashes were scattered over the floor.
Everyone started. It was as though someone had belched in the middle of the Armistice Day silence. Rand swore. Everything that happened to him was turning this tragedy into farce. Then he saw that this was his opportunity. They were all offguard—nerves on edge. He rose and bellowed, “All right then. Out with it. Who is Hector?”
And nothing happened. Nothing at all. There was no sign of any reaction but sheer bewilderment. If anyone there had suspicious knowledge, he was a genius at covering it up.
Kay stared at him as though he had suddenly gone mad. “Uncle Teddy!” she cried reproachfully.
Before he could explain himself, the door opened. The official forces came in—the Lieutenant and Numbers One and Two. Jackson strode sharp across the room to Vinton—a dramatic movement somewhat hampered by his tripping over the ash stand. But he recovered himself nimbly and said, “I’m afraid we’ll have to take you along with us, Vinton.”
Kay let out a little cry. She pressed a pale hand to her mouth and stood trembling. Arthur Willowe looked up from his solitaire long enough to say, “It’s no use,” and went on playing.
Rand advanced to the Lieutenant. After all, hang it, the fellow was Kay’s fiancé. “Look here, sir,” he said. “Merely because I told you what I did—”
“May I ask, Colonel, what that was?” Vinton inquired.
“It isn’t only that, Colonel Rand,” Jackson interposed. “You see, there were only his fingerprints on the glass. And there’s even more to it than that.”
Vinton shrugged. “I appreciate your position, Lieutenant,” he said with easy confidence. “Under the apparent circumstances, I suppose I’d make the same arrest myself. There’s very little use in my assuring you that you’re wrong. But you are, of course, and you’ll find that out if you continue your investigation. Meanwhile, I might as well go along with you.”
Rand looked at the man with open admiration. It was the same fine bravado which he had displayed at the masquerade party—when, Rand reminded himself, he had been guilty beyond any possible doubt. But there was good in the fellow—courage, at least, which can mean a great deal. He found himself hoping sincerely that the chap was innocent this time.
IV
Fergus Is Summoned
Some hours later, after an excellent lunch, efficiently prepared by the cook who came in by the day, had been swallowed untasted by a silent assemblage, Colonel Rand sat on the sun porch with Kay. He found comfort in the bright verdure of the hills which rolled before them. “From whence cometh help …” he murmured.
“He can’t be guilty,” Kay was insisting. “No matter if they find his fingerprints on everything in the room. I knew all that about the liner and the jack of diamonds. He told me two days ago; and I didn’t care. It isn’t what Richard used to be that matters. He’s doing well as an actor now, and he’s honest and clean. Of course I don’t know what Father might have thought, but anyway he didn’t know and so that proves he couldn’t have meant Richard with that card, doesn’t it?”
Rand essayed a comforting smile and patted her cold hand. “Of course, Kay. Of course.”
“Kay!” It was Camilla Sallice, standing in the doorway. “There’s a man here who wants to see you. He says Richard sent him.”
Kay straightened up, with a conscious effort at recovering herself. “Oh. Thanks, Camilla. Please ask him to come out here. It’s bright and clear; I feel better than in the house.”
In a moment a small, sleek man came onto the porch. He was dressed with quiet smartness and carried with him an air of deft efficiency. “Miss Garnett?” he asked.
“Yes.” Kay hesitated.
“My name is Farrington—Max Farrington. You’ve probably heard Mr. Vinton speak of me. I’m his lawyer.”
“Oh. Naturally. I should have thought to get in touch with you, but with Father … It all happened so suddenly. I’ve been wondering if I could do anything for Richard, and I just can’t think straight.”
“I understand, Miss Garnett. Mr. Vinton phoned me from the station. I talked a bit with him there, and he asked me to see you. If I could speak with you privately—”
Rand half rose, but Kay’s hand restrained him. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Colonel Rand, Mr. Farrington. Colonel Rand was my father’s closest friend. I think I’d like to have him here while we talk.”
Rand beamed. It was good to feel that the dear girl wanted him. Expansively he extended his cigar case to the lawyer.
“Sorry. I never smoke. Waste of valuable energy. But I’ll be glad to have you with us, Colonel. You military men see straight to the core of things—no falderal—good men to have on a jury. Now you know the situation?”
Rand nodded. He had not as yet made up his mind about this suavely alert individual, and he wasn’t going to commit himself verbally until he was sure.
“Very well.” Farrington seated himself, with cautious regard for the crease of his trousers. “The police seem certain that they have the right man. We, I take it, are all equally certain that they have not. Now if the case comes to trial, I’ll have my client make a straight plea of not guilty. That’s inevitable; I shan’t compromise his reputation with any fake business of ‘not guilty by reason of insanity’ or such tommyrot. And I’ll probably get an acquittal. But in the meantime the newspapers will have done their work. A featured actor, well on his way to stardom, arrested for the murder of his fiancée’s father—it’s too good a story to neglect. They’re bound to play it up for all it’s worth. And so we—well, we want more than simply an acquittal.”
“You mean, sir, that you—that is to say, that we want to prove beyond any doubt, not only that Richard Vinton is innocent, but that someone else is guilty?”
“Exactly. There you are, Colonel. What did I say about you military men? The direct approach every time. We want to prove that someone else is guilty. Now the police seem to be perfectly satisfied that their case is finished. They won’t investigate much further. And work like that isn’t in a lawyer’s line; I’ll defend him if he comes to trial, but I’d much rather that never happened. What we need, Miss Garnettt, is a detective; and the man I always send such work to is laid up in the hospital at the moment as the result of a labor riot. Lawlessness,” the lawyer muttered. “That’s what it is. Merely because these men discovered that Larry was making reports of their activities to the company manager—as though he wasn’t doing his job just the same as they were doing theirs …”
Rand grunted. Conservative though he was, the use of spies in civilian industry had never seemed decent to him. He began to be a trifle dubious of this Esquire-garbed article.
“But what do you want us to do?” Kay asked.
Farrington cut off his resentment against labor. “What Mr.
Vinton suggested was that you and I—and you too, of course, Colonel—might confer and select some private inquiry agent who’d take on the case. I know most of them by reputation and can give you advice. Some, naturally, would never do; they are tied up too closely with the police department and would be prejudiced against breaking down an official case. Others—”
“Fergus!” Kay exclaimed.
“I beg your pardon, Miss Garnett?”
“Fergus O’Breen.”
“And who is that?”
“You say you want somebody who’s unprejudiced and fresh and not tied up with the police? Well, why not Fergus?”
“Excuse me, but is this Fergus a detective?”
“Of course. He’s got a license and an office and everything. He’s a crazy Irishman and young, but as smart as they make them. I went to school with his sister,” she added, as though that explained everything.
“I don’t know …” Farrington began.
Colonel Rand interrupted him. “There’s something to Miss Garnett’s idea, Farrington. A young man starting out on his career might be far more valuable in breaking down preconceived notions than would an older and more experienced person. We can at least interview the fellow and see what he promises.”
“Of course, it’s as Miss Garnett wishes. For myself and my client, I could prefer—”
“Then it’s all settled.” Kay rose. “I’ll go call Fergus now. Come along, Uncle Teddy. You can listen in on the extension and see what he sounds like.”
Colonel Rand felt embarrassingly like an eavesdropper as he stood with the extension to his ear. He had no notion then of how familiar the role of eavesdropper would become before he learned the truth of Humphrey Garnett’s death.
He heard Kay dial the number and then a shrill voice which announced, “O’Breen Detective Agency.”
The Case of the Crumpled Knave Page 4