CHAPTER 16
It was raining again as Rand parked his car about a hundred yards up thestreet from Karen Lawrence's antique-shop. The windows were dark, butKaren was waiting inside the door for him. He entered quickly, mindful ofthe All-Seeing Eye across the street, and followed her to a back room,where Mrs. Jarrett and Dorothy Gresham were. All three women regarded himintently, as though trying to decide whether he was friend or enemy.There was a long silence before Mrs. Jarrett spoke, and when she did, herwords were almost the same as Karen's when she had spoken over the phone.
"Colonel Rand," she began, obviously struggling with herself, "you musttell me the truth. Did you have anything to do with my son's beingarrested?"
Rand shook his head. "Absolutely nothing, Mrs. Jarrett," he told her,unbuckling the belt of his raincoat and taking it off. "I have neverseriously suspected your son of the Rivers murder, I had no idea thatMcKenna was contemplating arresting him, and if I had, I would haveadvised him against it. Besides causing annoyance to innocent people,McKenna's made a serious tactical error. He was misled by appearances,and he was afraid I'd break this case before he did, which I intend todo." He turned to Karen Lawrence. "I talked to McKenna after you calledme; he as much as admitted making that arrest to get in ahead of me."
"I told you," Dorothy Gresham flashed at the others. "I knew Jeffwouldn't stoop to anything as contemptible as pretending to be Pierre'sfriend and then getting him arrested!"
Rand permitted himself a wry inward smile. He hoped she would not have anopportunity to observe his stooping capabilities before he had finishedhis various operations at Rosemont.
"I certainly hoped not." Mrs. Jarrett relaxed, smiling faintly at Rand."Pierre likes you, Colonel. I hated the thought that you might havebetrayed him. Are you working on the Rivers case, too?"
Rand nodded again, turning to Dot Gresham. "Your father retained me tomake an investigation," he said. "After that trouble he had with Riversabout that spurious North & Cheney, he wanted the murderer caught beforesomebody got around to accusing him."
"You mean there's a chance Dad might be suspected?" Dot was scared.
Rand nodded. The girl was beginning to look suspiciously at Karen andMrs. Jarrett. Getting ready to toss Pierre to the wolves if her fatherwere in danger, Rand suspected. He hastened to reassure her.
"Rivers was still alive when your father reached home, last evening," hetold her. "That's been established."
She breathed her obvious relief. If Gresham had left home after Rand'sdeparture with Philip Cabot, she didn't know it.
Karen, on the other hand, was growing more and more worried.
"Look, Colonel," she began. "They didn't just pull Pierre's name out of ahat. They must have had something to suspect him about."
"Yes. You shouldn't have lied to McKenna. He checked up on your story;the woman across the street told him about seeing Pierre leave here alittle before eleven and come back about half an hour later."
"I was afraid of that," Karen said. "I forgot all about that old hag.There's nothing that can go on around here that she doesn't know about;Pierre calls her Mrs. G2."
"And then," Rand continued, "McKenna claims that a car like Pierre's wasseen parked in Rivers's drive about the time Pierre was away from here."
Mrs. Jarrett moaned softly; her face, already haggard, became positivelyghastly. Karen gasped in fright.
"They only identified it as to model and make; they didn't get thelicense number ... Where did Pierre go, while he was away from here?"
"He went out for cigarettes," Karen said. "When we came here fromGreshams', we made some coffee, and then sat and talked for a while, andthen we found out that we were both out of cigarettes and there weren'tany here. So Pierre said he'd go out and get some. He was gone about halfan hour; when he came back, he had a carton, and some hot porksandwiches. He'd gotten them at the same place as the cigarettes--ArtIgoe's lunch-stand."
"Could Igoe verify that?"
"It wouldn't help if he did. Igoe's place isn't a five-minute drive fromRivers's, farther down the road."
"Has Pierre a lawyer?" Rand asked.
"No. Not yet. We were just talking about that."
"Dad would defend him," Dot suggested. "Of course, he's not a criminallawyer--"
"Carter Tipton, in New Belfast," Rand told them. "He's my lawyer; he'sgotten me out of more jams than you could shake a stick at. Where's thetelephone? I'll call him now."
"You think he'd defend Pierre?"
"Unless I'm badly mistaken, Pierre isn't going to need any trialdefense," Rand told them. "He will need somebody to look after hisinterests, and we'll try to get him out on a writ as soon as possible."
He looked at his watch. It was ten minutes to nine. It was hard to saywhere Carter Tipton would be at the moment; his manservant would probablyknow. Karen showed him the phone and he started to put through aperson-to-person call.
* * * * *
It was eleven o'clock before he backed his car into the Fleming garage,and the rain had turned to a wet, sticky snow. All the Fleming cars werein, but Rand left the garage doors open. He also left his hat and coat inthe car.
After locating and talking to Tipton and arranging for him to meet DaveRitter at the Rosemont Inn, he had gone to the State Police substation,where he had talked at length with Mick McKenna. He had been compelled totell the State Police sergeant a number of things he had intended keepingto himself. When he was through, McKenna went so far as to admit that hehad been a trifle hasty in arresting Pierre Jarrett. Rand suspected thathe was mentally kicking himself with hobnailed boots for his prematureact. He also submitted, for McKenna's approval, the scheme he hadoutlined to Dave Ritter, and obtained a promise of cooperation.
When he entered the Fleming library, en route to the gunroom, he foundthe entire family assembled there; with them was Humphrey Goode. As hecame in, they broke off what had evidently been an acrimonious disputeand gave him their undivided attention. Geraldine, relaxed in a chair,was smoking; for once, she didn't have a glass in her hand. Gladysoccupied another chair; she was smoking, too. Nelda had been pacing backand forth like a caged tiger; at Rand's entrance, she turned to face him,and Rand wondered whether she thought he was Clyde Beatty or a side ofbeef. Goode and Dunmore sat together on the sofa, forming what lookedlike a bilateral offensive and defensive alliance, and Varcek, lookingmore than ever like Rudolf Hess, stood with folded arms in one corner.
"Now, see here, Rand," Dunmore began, as soon as the detective was insidethe room, "we want to know just exactly for whom you're working, aroundhere. And I demand to know where you've been since you left here thisevening."
"And I," Goode piped up, "must protest most strongly against yourinvolvement in this local murder case. I am informed that, while in theemploy of this family, you accepted a retainer from another party toinvestigate the death of Arnold Rivers."
"That's correct," Rand informed him. Then he turned to Gladys. "Just forthe record, Mrs. Fleming, do you recall any stipulation to the effectthat the business of handling this pistol-collection should have theexclusive attention of my agency? I certainly don't recall anything ofthe sort."
"No, of course not," she replied. "As long as the collection is sold tothe best advantage, I haven't any interest in any other business of youragency, and have no right to have." She turned to the others. "I thoughtI made that clear to all of you."
"You didn't answer my question!" Dunmore yelled at him.
"I don't intend to. You aren't my client, and I'm not answerable to you."
"Well, you carry my authorization," Goode supported him. "I think I havea right to know what's being done."
"As far as the collection's concerned, yes. As for the Rivers murder, ormy armored-car service, or any other business of the Tri-State Agency,no."
"Well, you made use of my authorization to get that revolver fromKirchner--" Goode began.
"Aah!" Rand cried. "So that concerns the Rivers murder, does it? Well!Whe
n did you find that out, now? When Kirchner called you, you had noobjection to his giving me that revolver. What changed your mind foryou? Didn't you know that Rivers was dead, then?" Rand watched Goodetrying to assimilate that. "Or didn't you think I knew?"
Goode cleared his throat noisily, twisting his mouth. The others werelooking back and forth from him to Rand, in obvious bewilderment; theyrealized that Rand had pulled some kind of a rabbit out of a hat, butthey couldn't understand how he'd done it.
"What I mean is that since then you have allowed yourself to becomeinvolved in this murder case. You have let it be publicly known that youare a private detective, working for the Fleming family," Goode orated."How long, then, will it be before it will be said, by all sorts ofirresponsible persons, that you are also investigating the death of LaneFleming?"
"Well?" Rand asked patiently. "Are you afraid people will start callingthat a murder, too?"
Gladys was looking at him apprehensively, as though she were watching himjuggle four live hand grenades.
"Is anybody saying that now?" Varcek asked sharply.
"Not that I know of," Rand lied. "But if Goode keeps on denying it, theywill."
"You know perfectly well," Goode exploded, "that I am alluding to theseunfounded and mischievous rumors of suicide, which are doing the PremixCompany so much harm. My God, Mr. Rand, can't you realize--"
"Oh, come off it, Goode," Varcek broke in amusedly. "We all--Colonel Randincluded--know that you started those rumors yourself. Very clever--tostart a rumor by denying it. But scarcely original. Doctor Goebbels wasdoing it almost twenty years ago."
"My God, is that true?" Nelda demanded. "You mean, he's been going aroundstarting all these stories about Father committing suicide?" She turnedon Goode like an enraged panther. "Why, you lying old son of a bitch!"she screamed at him.
"Of course. He wants to start a selling run on Premix," Varcek explainedto her. "He's buying every share he can get his hands on. We all are." Heturned to Rand. "I'd advise you to buy some, if you can find any, ColonelRand. In a month or so, it's going to be a really good thing."
"I know about the merger. I am buying," Rand told him. "But are you sureof what Goode's been doing?"
"Of course," Gladys put in contemptuously. "I always wondered about thissuicide talk; I couldn't see why Humphrey was so perturbed about it.Anything that lowered the market price of Premix, at this time, would beto his advantage." She looked at Goode as though he had six legs and ahard shell. "You know, Humphrey, I can't say I exactly thank you forthis."
"Did you know about it?" Nelda demanded of her husband. "You did! My God,Fred, you are a filthy specimen!"
"Oh, you know; anything to turn a dishonest dollar," Geraldine piped up."Like the late Arnold Rivers's ten-thousand offer. Say! I wonder if thatmightn't be what Rivers died of? Raising the price and leaving Fred outin the cold!"
Dunmore simply stared at her, making a noise like a chicken choking ona piece of string.
"Well, all this isn't my pidgin," Rand said to Gladys. "I only work here,_Deo gratias_, and I still have some work to do."
With that, he walked past Goode and Dunmore and ascended the spiralstairway to the gunroom. Even at the desk, in the far corner of the room,he could hear them going at it, hammer-and-tongs, in the library.Sometimes it would be Nelda's strident shrieks that would dominate thebedlam below; sometimes it would be Fred Dunmore, roaring like a bull.Now and then, Humphrey Goode would rumble something, and, once in awhile, he could hear Gladys's trained and modulated voice. Usually, anyremark she made would be followed by outraged shouts from Goode andDunmore, like the crash of falling masonry after the whip-crack of atank-gun.
At first Rand eavesdropped shamelessly, but there was nothing of morethan comic interest; it was just a routine parade and guard-mount of theolder and more dependable family skeletons, with special emphasis onHumphrey Goode's business and professional ethics. When he was satisfiedthat he would hear nothing having any bearing on the death of LaneFleming, Rand went back to his work.
After a while, the tumult gradually died out. Rand was still typing whenGladys came up the spiral and perched on the corner of the desk, pickingup a long brass-barreled English flintlock and hefting it.
"You know, I sometimes wonder why we don't all come up here, break outthe ammunition, pick our weapons, and settle things," she said. "It neverwas like this when Lane was around. Oh, Nelda and Geraldine would baretheir teeth at each other, once in a while, but now this place has turnedinto a miniature Iwo Jima. I don't know how much longer I'm going to beable to take it. I'm developing combat fatigue."
"It's snowing," Rand mentioned. "Let's throw them out into the storm."
"I can't. I have to give Nelda and Geraldine a home, as long asthey live," she replied. "Terms of the will. Oh, well, Geraldine'lldrink herself to death in a few years, and Nelda will elope with aprize-fighter, sometime."
"Why don't you have the house haunted? The Tri-State Agency has anexcellent house-haunting department. Anything you want; poltergeists;apparitions; cold, clammy hands in the dark; footsteps in the attic;clanking chains and eldritch screams; banshees. Any three for the priceof two."
"It wouldn't work. Geraldine is so used to polka-dotted dinosaurs andLittle Green Men from Mars that she wouldn't mind an ordinary ghost, andNelda'd probably try to drag it into bed with her." She laid down thepistol and slid off the desk. "Well, pleasant dreams; I'll see you in themorning."
After she had left the gunroom, Rand looked at his watch. It was avery precise instrument; a Swiss military watch, with a sweep secondhand, and two timing dials. It had formerly been the property of an_Obergruppenfuehrer_ of the S.S., and Rand had appropriated it toreplace his own, broken while choking the _Obergruppenfuehrer_ to deathin an alley in Palermo. He zeroed the timing dials and pressed thestart-button. Then he stood for a time over the old cobbler's bench,mentally reconstructing what had been done after Lane Fleming hadbeen shot, after which he hurried down the spiral and along the rear hallto the garage, where he snatched his hat and coat from the car. He threwthe coat over his shoulders like a cloak, and went on outside. He madehis way across the lawn to the orchard, through the orchard to the lawnof Humphrey Goode's house, and across this to Goode's side door. He stoodthere for a few seconds, imagining himself opening the door and goinginside. Then he stopped the timing hands and returned to the Fleminghouse, locking the garage doors behind him. In the garage, he looked atthe watch.
It had taken exactly six minutes and twenty-two seconds. He knew that hecould move more rapidly than the dumpy lawyer, but to balance that, hehad been moving over more or less unfamiliar ground. He left his hat andtrench coat in the car and went upstairs.
Undressing, he went into the bathroom in his dressing-gown, spent abouttwenty minutes shaving and taking a shower, and then returned to his ownroom.
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