The Finishing Stroke (14 page)

‘Suppose,' Mr. Gardiner persisted, ‘you discovered he was dishonest.'

‘Fudge,' Mrs. Brown said. ‘What would John have to be dishonest about? Certainly not material things, and if it's anything else I'm sure
I'm
not wise enough to set myself up as his judge.'

Judge not
, Mr. Gardiner thought unhappily. Then he remembered the Devil's gift for crooking Scripture, and he drew himself straighter.

‘I wasn't born yesterday,' Mrs. Brown was saying, ‘and, dear soul that you are, neither were you. Nothing would surprise me about a man. But John is young, handsome, charming and talented and he's going to be
very
rich, and whatever you're talking about, Mr. Gardiner, I'd much rather not hear it. If anything should happen to call this marriage off, I think I'd
die.
'

‘And would you fear no evil, Olivette?' Mr. Gardiner asked; and he excused himself and went looking for Arthur Craig, who had been his only real hope from the first.

‘Are you sure, Mr. Gardiner, are you sure you didn't misunderstand?' Craig kept repeating.

‘I did not misunderstand, Mr. Craig.'

‘But that isn't like John. I mean – he's talked about his father a good deal, and the publishing house, but as for getting it back, I never heard him express …'

‘I can only tell you what I overheard.'

‘Blackmailing Dan Freeman.' He pulled at his beard. ‘I can't believe it, Mr. Gardiner. I can't!'

Mr. Gardiner rose. ‘I understand. Indeed I do. And I'm truly sorry. But I felt it my duty …'

‘No, no, please sit down.' Craig's big fingers clutched the minister's arm. ‘A boy you brought up – thought you knew inside out – whose integrity you'd have sworn by … how do you approach him with a thing like this, Mr. Gardiner? What does one say?'

‘
Out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh
,' Mr. Gardiner quoted gently. ‘Say what you feel. The boy loves and respects you. He'll listen. He must.'

‘Will he? Do I know him at all? At times during the past few days …' Craig got up suddenly and addressed the fire. ‘I've been trying to maintain an equilibrium of sorts, Mr. Gardiner, in the midst of … I don't know what. Something terrible.' He swung about, and Mr. Gardiner's heart contracted in compassion. ‘What is happening in my house?' the bearded man cried. ‘What can I do? How do I cope with it?'

Mr. Gardiner touched the rigid shoulder of his host. ‘On the last night of His earthly life, Mr. Craig, Jesus “went out into the Mount of Olives,” as Mark tells us, unto “a place which was named Gethsemane,” and there He underwent His agony of mortal fear and sorrow.
Gethsemane
is an Aramaic word meaning “oil press”, and there, while Jesus's heart – like the olives that gave the place its name – was being pressed and tormented, He still found it possible to say, “Not what I will, but what Thou wilt.”‘

The old clergyman smiled. ‘I know it will sound old-fashioned, Mr. Craig, but have faith and you will see the way.'

But as he left Arthur Craig, Mr. Gardiner's smile expired. He had been preaching faith for half a century, he thought, with sadly small result. True faith worked miracles, he knew, but it was so rare, so rare. And this was a problem in which time might be of the essence.

Mr. Gardiner sighed. It was sometimes necessary to render unto Caesar the things which were Caesar's. He sought out Ellery and told him all about John's ultimatum to Mr. Freeman.

Ellery listened tensely. ‘Thank you, Mr. Gardiner. I'm glad you came to me with this. It begins to add up, add up. One fragment of it, anyway.'

‘Add up to what, Mr. Queen?' The clergyman was puzzled by the joy, almost the predacity, of the young man's expression.

‘I can't be positive yet. I'd rather not say any more now.'

Mr. Gardiner retreated to his room, utterly bewildered.

Mrs. Janssen served an early dinner. ‘Monday's one of Mr. Craig's favourite nights for the radio,' she confided, ‘what with Roxy and all – and, to tell the truth, I like to listen meself.' She had an old crystal set in her bedroom which she was forever taking apart and putting together again.

So 7.30 found them ensconced in the living room, listening dutifully to ‘Roxy and His Gang' on WJZ. At 8.30 Craig switched over to WEAF for the ‘A & P Gypsies'. ‘I hope you don't mind, Marius. I know the music is conventional, but I like it.'

‘What's wrong with conventionality, Uncle Arthur?' Ellen demanded. ‘They play standard works familiar to everybody, and they play them beautifully. I don't see why people have to apologize for liking what a lot of other people like, just because a handful of nose-looker-downers sneer.' And her scornful glance sped arrow like to Ellery.

‘Who, me, coach?' Ellery murmured.

‘After that,' Marius chimed in, ‘who could be so vain as to refuse to listen to this
schmaltz
?'

It was not a good night. There was a snappy undertone to everything. Marius seemed to have regained his bad form, John was abstracted, Valentina querulous, Payn abrupt, Dr. Dark sulky, Mrs. Brown shrill, Mr. Gardiner troubled, Craig despondent, Ellen touchy, Rusty restless, and Freeman a disembodied spirit floating in some bitter ether on another plane.

The evening dragged by. At eleven o'clock someone turned on the news. In the middle of it Freeman rose and said, ‘Trouble, nothing but trouble. Would you excuse me? I believe I'll go to bed.' He went out with a tired step.

They were sluggishly discussing the news – U S Coast Guard liquor patrols had killed three smugglers and captured three boats carrying illicit cargoes worth half a million dollars; in India, Mahatma Gandhi was calling for ‘civil disobedience' to British rule – when the publisher reappeared and said stridently, ‘I just found this in my room.'

He was holding up a small Christmas package in green and red metallic paper, with gilt ribbon and a Santa Claus tag.

Ellery took it from Freeman quietly. ‘Addressed to you, John, of course. Shall I do the honours?'

John laughed with great bitterness. Mr. Gardiner, listening closely, could hear little in that laugh of the nastiness and mockery he had heard come out of the same mouth that very morning. A strange boy, he thought, so many-sided …

The pale publisher did not look at John at all. He seated himself outside the immediate circle of the party and watched blinking.

Arthur Craig was chewing on a wisp of his beard and eyeing his ward furtively, as if he were seeing John truly for the first time. Then he caught hold of himself and sat up straight, watching Ellery open the package.

Inside, on the red tissue-wrapped object, lay the white typewritten card. Ellery plucked it from the box and read it aloud in a perfectly flat voice:

It was a wicked-looking little whip of some tough leather, heavily plaited at the handle, with a relatively long lash. A whip for Lilliputians.

‘It's a reproduction in miniature of some authentic whip,' Rusty said, examining it, ‘but I don't know of what. It may represent a bull-whip, although it's not of the South African
sjambok
type. It might be of South American origin.'

‘A bull-whip,' Dan Z. Freeman said clearly, ‘or a man-whip?'

Rusty looked baffled. ‘What, Mr. Freeman?'

‘I was just thinking,' the publisher said. ‘My birthday is March the third – and that, if I'm to judge by your little zodiacal gift to me the other morning, comes under the sign of Pisces. You're our astrologer, Mrs. Brown – refresh my recollection. What is the common interpretation of Pisces?'

Rusty's mother looked suspicious. ‘A symbol of bondage.'

‘Slavery,' Freeman nodded, and he smiled. ‘I never took any stock in constellational influences until today.' And he looked directly at John Sebastian. But John was worrying his thumb and staring at the floor.

‘Another one?'

They turned with relief. It was Sergeant Devoe, from the hall.

In silence, Ellery took the little whip from Rusty and handed it to the trooper along with the white card. The sergeant took them, scratched his chin, and turned away. A moment later they heard him telephoning. When he hung up, he reappeared and thrust the whip and the card back at Ellery.

‘Lieutenant says you hang on to 'em, Mr. Queen.'

‘No, I think this gift is one John might like to keep.' Ellery paused. ‘John?'

John took the whip with a start. He turned it over and over.

‘Yes,' Dan Z. Freeman said from the background, ‘yes, it looks quite natural.'

‘Natural?' For the first time the young poet looked at his publisher. ‘What do you mean, Mr. Freeman?'

‘Now don't tell me you're in the throes of another amnesia attack,' Freeman said.

‘I don't know what you're talking about.' John's eyes flashed. ‘I'm going to bed.'

‘John,' Rusty began.

But he kissed her hastily and ran out.

Only then did Ellery realize that he had not examined the back of the card. He turned it over quickly. But the other side was blank.

9 Seventh Night:
Tuesday, December 31, 1929

In Which Two Triangles Become a Quadrangle, the Misses Brown and Warren Go Back to the Cave, and a New Year Is Ushered in Unhappily

The last day of the year came in fair and fresh, with south west winds.

‘I feel like getting on a horse,' Ellen announced at breakfast. ‘Anyone for a ride?'

‘I'm your man,' Ellery said.

‘Are you?' But Ellen looked pleased.

‘I want to ride, too,' Rusty said. ‘John?'

‘Sure, sure,' John said. ‘What do we do, ride double? There are only two horses.'

‘Double would be
fun
,' Rusty said.

‘Not for me it wouldn't,' Ellen said coldly. ‘Suppose we break it down into two shifts, Rusty. We'll meet you and John back at the stable in an hour, and you can take the horses from us.'

Felton had the Morgan gelding and the pinto mare ready for them, and they rode out into the woods in a dignified silence. It took Ellery some time to thaw Ellen, but he was contrite for having neglected her, and he kept at it with a single-mindedness he usually reserved for his intellectual pursuits. Finally he earned a smile, and after that the woods trail, the gold-speckled snow, the smoothly working horses were a joy.

They rode back out of the woods at a walk, to spare their mounts for Rusty and John. Ellen's cheeks were pink, her eyes danced, her slender jodhpured leg bumping his was soft and dangerous; and Ellery realized suddenly that not once in the past hour had he thought of a dead old man or mysterious gifts or cryptic messages. So he spoke a great deal of nonsense rapidly, hardly aware of what he was saying, and Ellen listened with mounting colour; and so it came about that they rode into the stable and almost trampled Valentina Warren and John Sebastian before they realized what they had blundered into.

‘Val, for God's sake,' John was saying. She had him backed against a stall. ‘We've got company.'

‘I don't care!' Valentina said with passion, not bothering to turn around. ‘I never thought you were so shallow as to fall for a dimple and some coarse red hair.'

‘Hi, Sis, Ellery,' John said feebly. ‘Look, Val, Rusty will be here any minute –'

‘I tell you I don't
care
!'

They sat their horses like idiots, immobilized.

‘John, I'm human. I've played my part like a trouper – the best friend – the good joe – “I hope you'll both be very happy” – like hell I do! Darling, I have to say it before it's too late. I love you, John, love you, love you, love you! Are you blind as well as stupid? I loved you long before you met Rusty. We used to have the swellest times together –'

‘I know, Val, I know. Don't think I've forgotten. Have a nice ride, you two? How's the woods trail?'

‘F-fine,' Ellen said. She looked as if she were trying to get off her horse and remain in the saddle at the same time.

‘John, never mind
them
–'

‘Can't we talk this over some other time?' John asked, trying to duck under Valentina's well-planted arms.

‘When? After you're hitched to that poor man's Clara Bow?' Val stifled a sob. ‘Oh, Johnny, Johnny …'

‘Val, let go. Let go of me! In front of Ellen and Ellery. Val, are you out of your ever-loving mind?
Val
… !' John's exclamation ended in a strangled mumble. Fascinated, Ellen and Ellery watched the blonde girl wrestle him helpless and kiss his mouth wildly. He managed to wrench his lips away long enough to say, ‘Oh, ye gods and little fishes,' and laugh in sheer exasperation. ‘Hello, Rusty.'

Guiltily, Ellen and Ellery twisted in their saddles. There, behind them, on foot in the snow, stood Rusty. She slapped Ellery's horse on the rump and strode into the stable.

‘Well,' Rusty said. Her voice might have come from a crevasse at the South Pole. ‘What are you doing, Val, the grappling scene from
Sink or Swim?
'

Ellen said from stiff lips, ‘Why, Rusty, that's just what Val
was
doing. Illustrating a scene –'

‘Oh, shut up,' Valentina said sulkily. ‘All right, Rusty. So now you know.'

‘Now I know what, Val?' Rusty's ice-encrusted voice said. ‘That you're a snake-in-the-grass, a man-embezzler, a two-legged, two-faced bitch?'

‘This damn
stirrup
,' Ellen said fiercely.

John cleared his throat. ‘Look, Rusty –'

‘You keep out of this, John Sebastian!' Rusty shrieked. ‘You've probably encouraged her! It's a good thing I found out in time!'

‘Oh, boy,' John said wearily. ‘Look, baby, believe it or not, I was waiting for a street car when I got boarded and bussed. I've got witnesses to prove it. Wasn't I attacked, Sis? Ellery? For God's sake, speak up!'

‘Yes,' Ellen said. ‘Yes, Rusty.'

‘Yes, indeed,' Ellery said. ‘That's how it was, Rusty.'

‘In front of an
audience
,' Rusty said. ‘How low can you get?'

‘Bitch am I?' Valentina was muttering. ‘
Bitch
?' she repeated, the word apparently exciting her. ‘Who stole who from whom, I'd like to know, you red-headed buccaneer!'

‘Want to fight?' said Rusty in tinkling tones. And to their horror – and John's – the two girls sprang at each other with outstretched claws, and immediately the stable became noisy with scuffling boots unladylike panting, little teeth-locked cries, and the prancing of alarmed saddle horses.

‘Down!' Ellen shrieked, fighting her mount.

‘More complications!' Ellery roared, fighting his.

So they had to fight for life and limb through the whole incredible thing – John's forcible intervention, the hysterical battle-chatter of the two enraged females, and finally the cessation of hostilities. Then Rusty ran, weeping and heedless of the rearing horses, and Valentina ran, also weeping and heedless, and John ran after them with one loud, explicit word of Elizabethan origin.

‘As if,' Ellery finished his thought a long time afterward, when they were creeping out of the stable, ‘as if there weren't too many already.'

So Ellen began to weep, too, and Ellery found himself with his hands – literally – too full for further thought of Rusty-John, Rusty-Marius, John-Valentina and, for all he knew, Valentina-Marius.

As her uncle's hostess, Ellen had planned a traditional New Year's Eve party, ‘dress-up', with champagne, balloons, noise-makers, comical hats, festoons of crepe paper, and quarts of confetti.

Ellen called it off.

‘We can't go through anything as gay and
normal
as that, Uncle Arthur,' she said fiercely. ‘Not with the way this horrible party has turned out. It would be a farce.'

‘Worse,' Ellery said. ‘It would fall flatter than one of Texas Guinan's suckers at six o'clock tomorrow morning.'

‘I agree, I agree,' Craig said heavily. Ellen had insisted on telling him about their unedifying experience in the stable. He had listened with the dazed resignation of one who can no longer be surprised at anything. ‘Whatever you say, dear. Good Lord, what's going to happen next?'

‘Why won't that – that
policeman
let us all go?' Ellen cried.

That had been another unpleasantness of the year's last day. Lieutenant Luria had made an unheralded appearance just before lunch, for no other purpose apparently than to re-emphasize their house detention. The lieutenant had worn a harried look, from which Ellery gathered that there were still no developments in the hunt for the dead man's identity. Luria had had a tense conversation with Payn, who was becoming increasingly restive, and a hysterical scene with Val Warren, for whom the party had suddenly developed an abysmal tedium. In the end, with Luria's grim departure, all things remained as they had been, only worse. As if in revolt at authority, Valentina appeared for dinner in full battle array. Her evening gown was of apple-green chiffon in the long lines of high fashion, with tier after tier of ruffles; and over it she wore a matching coat of transparent velvet, which she promptly insisted on John's taking from her. He did so sullenly. She wore a 16-button white glacé glove on her left hand and carried the other and a French evening bag of green faille silk embroidered with coral and pearl beads. Her iridescent green evening pumps had three-inch ‘needle' heels, and she towered over Rusty like a queen in a fairy tale.

Rusty was furious. She, too, had ignored Ellen's change of agenda; she, too, swept downstairs in full panoply. She had put on an evening ensemble of flat crepe with a jacket, furred in white lynx at the elbows, falling halfway to her knees. The dress was majestic with pennons and had a long irregular hemline full of drama. The only trouble was, by some fiendish coincidence, Rusty's outfit was also apple green.

They sat opposite each other throughout dinner glaring. Ellen, who was wearing a simple Poiret dress in red and yellow wool of Paisley design, was thoroughly miserable.

The postprandial recess proved even grimmer. For one thing, Lieutenant Luria had given Sergeant Devoe the evening off for whatever New Year's Eve celebration a trooper sergeant indulged in, and his substitute – a blue-skinned, beetle-eyed, flat-nosed hardcase – catfooted in on them every ten to fifteen minutes as if he expected to surprise them in the act of manufacturing a bomb. Mrs. Brown
eeked
every time she laid eyes on him.

The older men maintained a desperate conversation – about Hemingway's
A Farewell to Arms
, Julia Peterkin's Pulitzer Prize novel,
Scarlet Sister Mary
, Chic Sale's
The Specialist;
about Primo de Rivera's difficulties in Spain; about Professor Babson's market reports and Professor Leon Theremin's theremin; about the Senate committee's investigation of the sugar lobby and the rumours of sensational revelations; about the modernist movement in art, led by Picasso, Modigliani, Archipenko, Utrillo, Soutine – Soutine, who took a landscape ‘and threw it upon the canvas as if it were a dishrag, but one which suddenly caught fire!' as Dan Freeman quoted; about the recently developed ethyl gasoline being advertised; about Pan-American's overseas flights to the West Indies, Sir James Jeans's contention in
The Universe Around Us
that ‘God is a mathematician; the universe was not created for human beings,' the growing power of the Dutchman, the new I B M calculators, the exploits of Bobby Jones and Helen Wills, King George V's illness. But each subject sputtered out for lack of inspiration, and another was introduced only to thwart the deadly little silences that spaced them.

Once Ellery said, ‘I wonder who's going to find it tonight,' but no one answered.

At midnight, mechanically, they drank a toast to the new year, exchanged the traditional pecks and handshakes – Rusty and Valentina touched cheeks in icy truce – and with deep gratitude sat down to listen to WJZ's newly instituted original programme, ‘Pursuing Time Across the Continent,' in which for five minutes before and after each hour, the announcer said, listeners would hear the new year ushered in musically in New York, Chicago, Denver and San Francisco successively. Even this alluring prospect was marred, however. In refilling her glass, Valentina upset it over her gown.

‘Oh,
shaving
soap,' Valentina said slurpily. ‘I may as well hit the hay,' and she swept regally out of the room.

She was back two minutes later, looking over her shoulder wild-eyed.

‘On
my
bed tonight!'

And Valentina sat down on the floor with the seventh Christmas box in her lap and quietly had hysterics. When no one paid any attention, she stopped.

The card bore four lines of typing:

The red tissue in the box was damp; some of the colour came off on Ellery's fingers. Under the paper was a little toy fish-bowl – scarcely larger than a plum – with an incredibly tiny tropical fish, of some sort, of a golden translucency, swimming vigorously about in a thimbleful of water. Although the bowl had been tightly wedged in the box with wads of tissue, most of the water had slopped out.

‘Not too far out of scale with the house,' Ellery said. ‘This is a consistent maniac, at any rate.'

‘I thought the damn house was finished,' John said, as if it mattered to him. Mercifully, no one was looking at him.

‘Marks on the back of this card, too,' Ellery muttered.