One Hour to Kill

by George Harmon Coxe

  He sighed again, his gaze remote. “Well, children are all right with Shirley; me too. But what the hell, the fonder you are of someone the more likely you are to quarrel once in a while. Otherwise you wouldn’t bother. You ought to know. And it was that way with us. A silly damn business and unfortunately we both got stiff-necked at the same time. Pride, injured feelings, fancied wrongs. Anyway, Shirley took herself off to Tobago for a week, and your wife was available. She could be fun when she put her mind to it and eased up on the grog. So one night when we’d both taken on quite a load I made the mistake of telling her I might make a bet for her sometime when I had something good going in England.” His laugh was short and mirthless. “Well, that was one hell of a mistake because she never let me forget it. She kept reminding me. When I began to ease off with her, and Shirley and I got things straightened out, Fay made it a point of embarrassing me every chance she got. If I was out somewhere with a party and she saw me she’d march right up to the table and speak her piece. She didn’t seem to care what people thought of her. She was out to make trouble for me and she did it by making remarks suggesting I might be a welcher. You wouldn’t believe some of the things she said.” He stopped suddenly and his eyes changed focus. “Or maybe you would. After all, you were married to her.”

  Wallace nodded, understanding the situation now and waiting for Benedict to continue.

  “So when I decided to take a flyer on this horse I told Fay. I got her solemn promise. I told her I was betting to win, that no horse that goes off five to two was a sure thing.” He shrugged. “Well, the horse came in. I paid off.”

  “Did you telephone her at the gift shop yesterday afternoon?”

  “No. She called me. She was even fussy about how she got her winnings. I had to get her hundred-dollar bills. We had a few drinks here by way of celebration and before I got the money in her hot and greedy little hand I made her swear again that this was the end of the matter.”

  “After that you drove her home.”

  “That’s right.”

  It was a story Wallace found he could believe, knowing Fay. But this did not mean that he had heard all of the truth. He wanted to give Benedict the benefit of the doubt but he could not eliminate him completely from his list of suspects. Now, pushing back his chair, he said:

  “I imagine the police will be asking about those hundred-dollar bills.”

  “The police?” The bushy brows climbed and Benedict’s surprise was either genuine or a good imitation thereof. “What the hell have the police got to do with it?”

  “They found the bills in Fay’s wallet this morning.” Wallace took a small determined breath and, with no preliminaries, broke the news in clipped, blunt phrases. There was no interruption and by the time he finished Benedict’s mouth was slack. His eyes reflected his growing surprise and bewilderment and there was a suggestion of pallor beneath the tan. When, finally, he assimilated the facts that Wallace had given him, his bitterness showed in the corner of his narrowing gaze and his voice was contemptuous.

  “What a proper bastard you are, Wallace,” he said. “Coming in here and sucking about to get my confidence and then—”

  “What difference does it make?” Wallace asked flatly. “I told them Fay spoke to you at the Tavern last night. They’re going to find out that you were friendly with her at one time, if they don’t already know it. They’ll probably ask a lot of questions and now that you’ve already rehearsed your story it ought to make it easier for you.”

  Benedict’s face was flushed now, his belligerence apparent. He seemed about to answer when something caught his attention behind Wallace. “Yes, Emil,” he said irritably. “What is it?”

  “Excuse me, sir,” Emil said, moving into Wallace’s fine of vision. “It’s for Mr. Wallace. There’s a Mr. Joslyn here to see you.”

  Wallace, thankful for the interruption, stood up, his angular face grave, his blue eyes steady. He gave a small curt but formal nod and turned away before Benedict could think of anything more to say.

  14

  Sidney Joslyn was sitting at one of the tables on the gallery that overlooked the street when Dave Wallace stepped out of the air-conditioned coolness into the midday heat. A seersucker jacket had been draped over the back of his chair and Joslyn had planted his elbows on the table as he stared diagonally toward Marine Square.

  “I hope you wont mind sitting out here,” he said when he saw Wallace. “I don’t like air-conditioning. I make a point of avoiding it whenever I can.”

  Wallace said he didn’t mind a bit and took off his own jacket. He had brought a white-coated waiter with him and now he said:

  “How about a beer, Sidney? Or would something stronger be in order?”

  “A beer would be fine, thanks. Any kind.”

  Wallace gave the order and told the waiter to bring a menu when he came. He sat down opposite the older man, who seemed reluctant to look him in the eye. After a moment Joslyn removed the metal-rimmed spectacles and started to polish them with his handkerchief. He took his time and did a thorough job and not until he had them back on his nose did he speak.

  “Do you think the police believed your story, David?”

  “It’s hard to know what they believe,” Wallace said. “They ask a lot of questions but they don’t put out much in the way of information. I don’t think they wanted to believe the part about Fay’s body being in the bedroom all night without my knowing it. Luckily for me, I had some corroboration on that one.”

  “How?”

  “I thought I told you last night that Shirley Goddard stopped by and took a peek in that bedroom the same way I did*

  “Yes, I believe you did.”

  “Well, the police stopped by the Brittany to talk to Shirley and she told them about it too.”

  “Why don't you tell me just what happened?” Joslyn said. “Start at the beginning and—”

  He broke off when the waiter reappeared with the beer and offered menus. He said he was not very hungry and that a sandwich would do. After a brief interval of indecision, he ordered a bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich on toast. Wallace ordered a cup of cold consommé and a ham and egg sandwich on white bread; then he told his story beginning from the moment he heard the maid drop the tray.

  He gave the details as he remembered them and recalled the basic questions and answers. He spoke of his conversation with Oliver and the information that had been given him. He told about going to the Carvers so he could use the telephone, and went on to tell how he had found Joe Anderson waiting when he returned to the bungalow.

  He spoke of the powerfully built Negro named Jeff who had sat behind the wheel of the car. He mentioned the heavy silver ring he had noticed on the mans left hand and explained again how he had felt such a ring on his mouth when he had been attacked the night before. He gave a detailed account of his conversation with Nick Rand and took time to make sure that Joslyn understood that the ten-thousand-dollar note that Herbert Carver held on Rand’s schooner might supply a possible motive.

  The arrival of the food postponed the rest of the story and not until Wallace had finished the sandwich and was sipping his iced tea did he turn reluctantly to a matter which had been bothering him ever since the previous night. When he realized he could postpone it no longer, he asked Joslyn if he could borrow a cigarette.

  “Certainly,” Joslyn said, “if you can stand one of these. They don’t taste like much but I have to pretend I like them.”

  He offered a white, flip-topped box. Wallace selected a cigarette and placed it in the center of the table. From his pocket he took the two-inch butt he had found in the ash tray the night before. Bewilderment grew in Joslyn’s bespectacled eyes as he watched Wallace put the two filtered tips side by side and his glance centered on them for a silent second or two. He reached out and turned the butt in his fingers, and now his eyes came up in an expression that was both puzzled and questioning.

  “Don’t tell me you’ve been converted to my brand, David,�
� he said.

  “It doesn’t happen to be mine,” Wallace said. “I found it in an ash tray at the bungalow before I went to bed last night.”

  “Oh?” Joslyn’s glance moved again to the two cigarettes and stayed there.

  “When I came out to see you and Ann last night,” Wallace continued, not liking what he was doing but knowing he had no choice, “it was pretty dark and I had to feel my way past your car. I just happened to put my hand on the radiator. It was still warm. That told me somebody had used the car not too long before that.”

  “I see,” Joslyn said and now his voice had a quiet, discouraged cadence. “And your point is, of course, that very few people smoke this brand of cigarettes.”

  “Something like that.”

  “I suppose I should be very grateful that it was you who found the cigarette instead of the police.”

  “What did you tell Ann? I mean, you had to have some excuse for leaving the cottage.”

  With the need for pretense past, Joslyn leaned back in his chair. He gestured emptily with one hand, a small smile of resignation on his face. “I thought I handled that rather well,” he said. “I was quite pleased with myself.” He picked up the untouched cigarette, wet the tip before he put it between his lips. He took time to light it and again his glance moved to the street below.

  “I don’t suppose you’ve ever heard of anything called the Trinidad and Tobago Coconut Research Company. The name is more or less self-explanatory and although the outfit is involved in many things it is putting most of its emphasis on the struggle against a disease that affects the coconut trees through their roots or the tops.”

  “Is that the thing they call Red Ring?”

  “Exactly. Copra is still a staple of the island and its rather hard to believe that the industry no longer produces enough to take care of the local needs . . . Well, the head of this organization is a Doctor Wickarsham. He’s a very pleasant, pipe-smoking Englishman, a nematologist actually, and we’ve been getting together for an evening of beer drinking and small talk every once in a while. I met him soon after we arrived on the island and last night when I told Ann I was going to call on him for a couple of hours there was no reason for her to believe I was lying. Instead of that I made the mistake of paying an unwarranted visit to your wife. If you ever need an example of the old adage that there is no fool like an old fool, just think of me, David. Have you any idea what I had in mind and why I went there?”

  “I can guess,” Wallace said. “You offered to advance me money to buy a divorce from Fay and I had too much pride to accept it. So you decided to try it your way.”

  “I was concerned only about Ann,” Joslyn said. “She’s in love with you and I happen to be just as fond of you in my way as she is in hers. I have no other relatives. The doctors give me not more than a couple of years and I have enough money put away to take care of all my needs, plus a little extra. Ann is going to get it all anyway and I thought that an advance at this time might not be a bad investment.”

  “I’m sorry,” Wallace said.

  “Ann has kept me informed of your progress, or rather the lack of it,” Joslyn continued as though there had been no interruption. “She thought she had almost convinced you that if your wife would not accept a fair offer it was time to hire someone who could get the necessary evidence and force the issue. In my foolish academic way I decided that before this happened it might be worthwhile to go direct to your wife and make her an offer. I even thought she might be more receptive to such an offer if it came from me rather than from you.”

  He held up his hand to forestall an interruption and said: “From things you said, I thought I had a pretty good idea of what your wife was like. You told me about her background and how she had been brought up with a weakling for a father and a mother who had instilled in her a basic contempt, not only for her father, but for all men. You felt that after your first few months of marriage she had something of the same feeling for you.”

  “I know she did,” Wallace said.

  “Since she came to Trinidad and moved in on you, you quarreled a great deal.”

  “Constantly.”

  “So I thought that perhaps an objective offer might be more acceptable to her. I mean, with no personal element involved and no animosity, either on her part or mine, she might accept ten or fifteen thousand dollars in cash rather than have you fight her.”

  “But if you told her about Ann—”

  “I didn't. I can't tell you how shocked I was when you came to the cottage last night and told us about that private detective—whatever his name is.”

  He grunted softly and produced a bitter sound. “Oh, I had it all worked out in my head. I had the psychology all figured out. I was to be a friend of yours and an old friend of your father's. I was greatly concerned over your unhappiness. I intended to point out what you both knew—that the marriage was not only a mistake but had no possible future. Because of our long-standing friendship, plus the fact that I could spare the money, I was ready to pay any reasonable sum for a quick and amicable divorce.” He uttered another throaty, disparaging sound. “I was quite hopeful actually. I really was.”

  “Did you have a date with her?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you telephone her at the gift shop?” Wallace asked as his mind moved on.

  “How did you know? . . . Yesterday afternoon,” Joslyn said, not waiting for an answer.

  “What time was the date?”

  “Nine-thirty. I may have been a few minutes late. I must have just missed you, David.”

  “So that’s why she wanted me out of the house? What did you tell her over the telephone when you called the gift shop?”

  “I told her my name. I said she didn't know me but that the matter was urgent and might be to her profit.”

  “So what happened after you got there?”

  “I knew almost immediately that I had been a complete and utter fool,” Joslyn said disgustedly as he stubbed out his cigarette. “It was a shattering experience, believe me. She was most unpleasant in her manner. She must have had a great deal to drink.”

  “She did.”

  “I had hardly started on my well-rehearsed story before she stopped me. She wanted to know who I was trying to kid. But what really shocked me was the fact that she not only knew who I was, she also knew about you and Ann.”

  “She was in a bad mood when I left,” Wallace said.

  “Ugly is the word that comes to my mind,” Joslyn said. He sighed heavily and a far-off look began to work on his dark eye$. “And, strangely enough, I got the impression that this ugliness was not really directed at me personally. What I mean to say is that the mood was already there when I arrived.”

  “How long did you stay?”

  “Not long, David. Instead of me telling her how things were, she told me. I had a chance to smoke part of that cigarette you found, and that was all. She walked me over to the door. She said a divorce was all right with her if the price was right but she didn't want to discuss it then. She seemed to want to get rid of me in a hurry and, frankly, I was rather glad to get away. I’m sorry I made such a botch of things. Did—did you have some thought that I might have killed her?”

  “You could have,” Wallace said. “She had a faculty of provoking violence when she was in that mood. I know you weren't the one who slugged me from behind; you're not that powerful.”

  “I should have told you about the call when you came to the bungalow last night. Perhaps I'm running out of moral courage but I like to think the reason I didn't tell the truth is that I didn't want Ann to know what I'd done and how badly it turned out. I can tell you now, for what it’s worth, that I didn't kill your wife. I hope you can believe that.”

  “If I thought you had I'd have left that cigarette butt for the police to find.” Wallace hesitated, seeing the frail shoulders sag and the expression of relief on the thin sensitive face. He was thinking hard as the silence built between them, going over the things Jo
slyn had said and looking for something that might help. “You got the idea she wanted to get rid of you,” he said finally, “but you don't know why?”

  “No. Unless—” A frown began to pucker the older man’s brows and he tried again: “There was one other thing, now that I think of it.”

  “What was that?”

  “I'm afraid it’s not very helpful but I did wonder about it at the time.”

  Wallace waited hopefully, not wanting to break the other’s train of thought. After perhaps ten seconds Joslyn continued:

  “I got into my car and started the engine and then I happened to glance back at the bungalow. I could look through the open side window and the angle was such that I saw your wife at the telephone. I'm not sure what prompted me to get out of the car but I guess I was curious too about why she seemed so intent on getting rid of me. I'm afraid I eavesdropped. When I moved a little closer I could hear her talking . . . I’m afraid I only got the end of the conversation” he said apologetically.

  “You don’t know whom she was talking with?”

  “No. I just caught the last sentence before she hung up. All she said was: ‘You’d better be here in ten minutes or I’ll blow this whole thing sky high.’ ”

  Wallace went over the words one by one but the effort to give some meaning to them brought forth no more than a faint feeling of frustration.

  “So you got in your car and drove off. You weren’t even curious about that telephone call?”

  “As a matter of fact, I was,” Joslyn said mildly. “When I got to the end of the lane and turned onto the highway I parked and waited there. By that time I was thoroughly upset by what I had done and I guess I wondered what it was that seemed so important to her.”