The Four of Hearts (14 page)

Automatically they craned at the yellow sheet. The meaning assigned to both the knave and seven of spades was: ‘An Enemy.'

‘Two enemies, then,' said Ellery. ‘Just as if someone had written: “Watch yourself. We're both after you.”'

‘Two – enemies?' said Bonnie damply. There was horror in her eyes as she glanced, as if against her will, at Ty's pale face. ‘Two!'

‘The second envelope arrived on Friday the fifteenth. And it contained two cards also – the ten of spades and the two of clubs. And what do they mean?'

‘ “Great Trouble,” ' muttered Ty. ‘That's the spade ten. And “In Two Days or Two Weeks” on the deuce of clubs.'

‘Two days,' cried Bonnie. ‘Friday the fifteenth – and mother was murdered on Sunday the seventeenth!'

‘And on Sunday the seventeenth, at the field,' continued Ellery, ‘I saw Clotilde deliver the third envelope. I picked it up after your mother, Bonnie, threw it away. It was this – the eight of spades, torn in half. If you'll refer to that note at the bottom of the sheet, you'll see that the meaning is intended to become reversed when a card is torn in half. Consequently the message becomes – only a few minutes before the plane is hijacked and the murder occurs – “Threatened Danger Will
NOT
Be Warded Off!”'

‘This,' said Butcher pallidly, ‘is the most childish nonsense I've ever heard of. It's completely incredible.'

‘Yet here it is.' Ellery shrugged. ‘And just now Bonnie gave me the last message – the nine of clubs enclosed, meaning: “Last Warning”. That seems the most incredible nonsense of all, Butch, since this “warning” was
sent to Blythe two days after her death.
'

The Boy Wonder looked angry. ‘It was bad enough before, but this … Damn it, how can you credit such stuff? But if we must … it does look as if whoever mailed this last letter didn't know Blythe was dead, doesn't it? And since all the letters were obviously the work of the same person, I can't see the relevance of any of it.'

MEANING OF THE CARDS

(The Meaning Becomes Reversed When a Card Appears Torn in Half)

‘It's ridic'lous,' jeered Lew. ‘Plain nut stuff.' Nevertheless he asked: ‘Say, where'd you find this sheet?'

‘In Jack Royle's dressing-room.' Ellery took the cover off the portable typewriter. ‘And what's more, if you'll examine this sample of typewriting I just made on this machine and compare it with the typing on the yellow sheet, you'll find that the small h's and r's, for instance, have identically broken serifs. Identically broken,' he repeated with a sudden thought ful note; and he seized a paperweight sun-glass on Butcher's desk and examined the keys in question. Freshly filed! But he put the glass down and merely said: ‘There's no doubt about it. This code-sheet was typed on Jack Royle's typewriter. It
was
your dad's, Ty?'

Ty said: ‘Yes. Yes, of course,' and turned away.

‘Jack?' repeated Butch in a dazed voice.

Lew snarled: ‘Aw, go on. What would Jack want to play games for?' but the snarl was somehow unconvincing. He glanced uneasily at Bonnie.

Bonnie said huskily: ‘On Jack Royle's typewriter … You're sure of that?'

‘Absolutely. Those broken keys are as good as fingerprints.'

‘Ty Royle, did you hear that?' asked Bonnie of his back, her eyes flashing. ‘Did you?'

‘What do you want?' muttered Ty, without turning.

‘What do I want?' screamed Bonnie. ‘I want you to turn around and look me in the face! Your father typed that sheet – your father sent those notes with the cards in them to mother –
your father killed my mother!
'

He turned then, defensively, his face sullen. ‘You're hysterical or you'd know that's a stupid, silly accusation.'

‘Is it?' cried Bonnie. ‘I
knew
there was something funny about his repentance, about proposing marriage to mother after so many years of hating her. Now I know he was lying all the time, playing a game – yes, Lew, but a horrible one! – covering himself up against the time when he expected to – to murder her. The engagement, the wedding, it was all a trap! He hired somebody to pretend to kidnap them and then poisoned my mother with his own foul hands!'

‘And himself, too, I suppose?' said Ty savagely.

‘Yes, because when he realized what an awful thing he'd done he had the first decent impulse of his life and put an end to it!'

‘I'm not going to fight with you, Bonnie,' said Ty in a low voice.

‘Enemies …
two
enemies! Well, why not? You
and
your father! The neat little love scene yesterday … oh, you think you're clever, too. You
know
he killed my mother and you're trying to cover him up. For all I know you may have helped him plan it – you murderer!'

Ty made two fists and then opened them. He rubbed the back of one hand for a moment as if it itched, or pained, him. Then without a word he walked out of the office.

Bonnie flew, weeping, into Butcher's arms.

But later, when she got home and Clotilde let her in, and she crept up to her room and without undressing lay down on her bed, Bonnie wondered at herself in a dark corner of her aching head. Was it really true? Could it really be? Had he been acting yesterday when he said he loved her? Suspicions were horrible. She could have sworn … And yet there it was. The facts were all against him. Who could have told Paula Paris about their reconciliation? Only Ty. And after she had begged him not to! And then, finding that sheet … You couldn't wipe out years and years of hatred just by uttering three one-syllable words.

Oh, Ty, you monster!

Bonnie remained in her room, shut in against the world, sleepless, sick, and empty. The night passed, and it was a long night peopled with so many shadows that at three o'clock in the morning, railing at her nerves and yet twitchy with morbid thoughts, she got up and switched on all the lights. She did not close her eyes the whole night.

At eight she admitted Clotilde, who was frantic.

‘Oh, Bonnie, you shall make yourself ill! See, I have brought
p'tit déjeuner. Galettes et marmelade
–.'

‘No, thanks, 'Tilde,' said Bonnie wearily. ‘More letters?'

She dipped into the heap of envelopes on the tray. ‘Dear Bonnie Stuart: My heart goes out to you in your grief, and I want to tell you how much I feel for you …' Words. Why couldn't people let her alone? And yet that was ungrateful. They
were
dears, and they had loved Blythe so …

Her heart stopped.

There was an envelope – it looked so horribly familiar … She tore an end off with shaking fingers. But no, it couldn't be. This one was addressed in typewriting, sloppily. But the envelope, the Hollywood postmark …

A blue playing-card dropped out. The seven of spades.

Nothing more.

Clotilde stared at her open-mouthed. ‘
Mais chérie, il semble que tu
–'

Bonnie breathed: ‘Go away, 'Tilde.'

The seven of spades.
Again
… ‘An Enemy' …

Bonnie dropped the card and envelope as if they were foul, slimy things. And for the first time in her life, as she crouched in her tumbled bed with Clotilde gaping at her, she felt weak with pure fright.

An enemy. Ty … Ty was her only enemy.

Before Ellery left the Magna lot he went on impulse, still toting Jack Royle's typewriter, to the studio street where the stars' stone bungalows were and quietly let himself into Blythe Stuart's dressing-room.

And there, as he had half-expected, he found a carbon copy on a yellow paper of the ‘Meanings of the Cards'. In a drawer, hidden away.

So Blythe
had
known what the cards meant! Ellery had been positive her too casual dismissal of the letters had covered a frightened knowledge.

He slipped out and made for the nearest public telephone.

‘Paula? Ellery Queen.'

‘How nice! And so soon, too.' Her voice was happy.

‘I suppose,' said Ellery abruptly, ‘it's useless for me to ask where you learned about Ty and Bonnie.'

‘Quite useless, Sir Snoop.'

‘I imagine it was that Clotilde – it couldn't have been anyone else. There's loyal service for you!'

‘You won't pump me, my dear Mr. Queen,' she said; but from something defensive in her tone Ellery knew he had guessed the truth.

‘Or why you didn't tell me this morning when I saw you. However, this is all beside the point. Paula, would you say Jack Royle killed Blythe Stuart – that his change of heart, the engagement, the wedding, were all part of a careful, murderous scheme to take his revenge on her?'

‘That,' said Paula crisply, ‘is the silliest theory of the crime I've heard yet. Why, Jack couldn't possibly … Is it yours?'

‘Bonnie Stuart's.'

‘Oh.' She sighed. ‘The poor child gave me Hail Columbia over the phone a few moments ago. I suppose running that yarn
was
a rotten trick, so soon after the funeral. But that's the trouble with newspaper work. You can't be nice, and efficient, too.'

‘Look, Paula. Will you do me one enormous favour? Print that retraction of the reconciliation story Bonnie demanded. Right away.'

‘Why?' Her voice was instantly curious.

‘Because I ask you to.'

‘Ouch! You are possessive, aren't you?'

‘Forget personalities or your job. This is – vital. Do you know the derivation of that word? Paula, you must. Swing back into the old line – their furious feud from childhood, how they detest each other, how the death of their parents has driven them farther apart. Feed them raw meat. Keep them fighting.'

Paula said slowly: ‘Just why do you want to keep those poor mixed-up kids apart?'

‘Because,' said Ellery, ‘they're in love.'

‘How logical you are! Or are you a misogamist with a mission in the world? Keep them apart
because
they're in love! Why?'

‘Because,' replied Ellery grimly, ‘it happens to be very, very dangerous for them to
be
in love.'

‘Oh.' Then Paula said with a catch in her voice: ‘Aren't we all?' and hung up.

PART THREE

CHAPTER 12

INTERNATIONAL
MAILERS, INC.

Ellery, Sam Vix, and Lew Bascom were having breakfast Friday morning in the Magna commissary when Alan Clark strolled in, sat down beside them on a stool, and said to the aged waitress behind the counter: ‘Coffee, beautiful.'

‘Oh, Alan.'

‘Here I am. What's on your mind?'

‘I've been wondering,' said Ellery. ‘Just what is my status now in the studio?'

‘Status?' The agent stared. ‘What d'ye mean? You're on the payroll, aren't you?'

‘His conscience is havin' an attack of the shakes,' grinned Lew. ‘I never saw such a guy for virtue. Like the little studio steno I was out with last night. I says to her –'

‘I know,' protested Ellery, ‘but I was hired to work on the Royle-Stuart picture, and there is no Royle-Stuart picture any more.'

‘Isn't that too bad?' said Clark, shaking his head over the coffee. ‘My heart bleeds for you.'

‘But what am I supposed to do, Alan? After all, I'm drawing fifteen hundred a week!'

The three men shook their heads in unison. ‘He's drawing fifteen hundred a week,' said Sam Vix pityingly. ‘Now that's what I call a stinking shame.'

‘Look, Queen,' sighed the agent. ‘Was it your fault Jack Royle and Blythe Stuart got themselves purged?'

‘I don't see what that has to do with it.'

‘Say, whose side are you on, anyway – labour or capital?' demanded Lew. ‘We writers got some rights!'

‘Your contract wasn't drawn up, if I may say so,' said Clark modestly, ‘by a cluck. You've got little Alan in there batting for you all the time, remember that. You contracted to work on a Royle-Stuart picture, and there's nothing in that immortal document about murders.'

‘That's just the point; the picture will never be made. It's been withdrawn from schedule. Butch announced its withdrawal only this morning.'

‘What of it? Your contract calls for an eight-week guarantee. So, picture or no picture, you stay here till you collect eight weeks' salary. Or, to put it crudely, till you've wrapped your bankbook around twelve thousand bucks.'

‘It's criminal,' muttered Ellery.

‘Nah, it's life,' said Clark, rising. ‘Now forget it. Being ashamed to draw a salary! Who ever heard of such a thing?'

‘But how can I take it? I can't just sit around here –'

‘He can't just sit around here,' exploded Lew. ‘Listen, drizzle-puss, I'm sittin' around here for a lot less than fifteen hundred bucks a week!'

‘Me, too,' sighed the publicity man.

‘Work it out in detecting,' suggested Clark. ‘You're a detective, aren't you?'

‘I could use some o' that dough,' Lew grumbled into his raw egg-and-tomato juice. ‘Say, Queen, how's about letting me have a couple o' C's till next Friday?'

‘This is where I came in,' said the agent hurriedly. ‘Got to bawl out a producer; he's knifing one of my best clients in the back.'

‘Just till next Friday,' said Lew as Clark went away.

‘If you let this pirate put the bee on you,' growled Sam Vix, ‘you're a bigger sap than you pretend to be. Next Friday! What's the matter with this Friday? You get paid today, you fat bastard.'

‘Who asked you to butt in?' said Lew hotly. ‘You know I'm savin' up for my old age. I'm gonna start a chicken farm.'

‘You mean the kind that clucks “Daddy”?' jeered Vix. ‘You save for your old age! You're not going to have an old age. Unless your stomach's lined with chromium.'

‘Anyway, I saw him first!'

‘That,' said the publicity man with a grin, ‘was one tough break – for him. Well, so long. I work for my lousy pittance.'

‘By the way, Sam,' said Ellery absently. ‘I've been meaning to ask you. Where were you last Sunday?'

‘Me?' The one-eyed man looked astonished. ‘Over at Reed Island, making arrangements for the wedding reception.'

‘I know, but when I phoned the Island after the plane was snatched Sunday, I was told you weren't there.'

Vix scowled down at him. ‘What the hell you doing – taking Clark's advice seriously?'

‘No offence,' smiled Ellery. ‘I thought I'd ask you before Glücke got around to it.'

‘Take a tip from me and lay off that kind of chatter. It isn't healthy.' And Vix stalked off, the black patch over his eye quivering with indignation.

‘What's the matter with
him
?' murmured Ellery, offering his coffee-cup to the waitress to be replenished.

Lew chuckled. ‘Some guys are born hatin' spinach and other guys work up a terrific peeve if you split an infinitive. Sam's weakness is he don't think it's funny to be suspected of murder. And he thinks it's twice as not funny in the case of a double feature.'

‘Can't a man ask an innocent question?'

‘Yeah,' said Lew drily. ‘Pretty soon you'll be askin' me an innocent question, too. Like: “Was that really you standin' beside me when this masked guy hijacked Ty's plane?”'

‘Well, you can't always believe your eyes,' said Ellery with a grin.

‘Sure not. It mighta been my twin brother.'

‘Have you a twin brother?' asked Ellery, startled.

‘You know why I like you?' sighed Lew. ‘Because you're such a pushover for a gag. Of course I ain't got no twin brother!'

‘I might have known that the Author of us all wouldn't repeat a mistake of
that
magnitude,' said Ellery sadly. ‘Oh, Ty! Come over here and join us in some breakfast.'

Ty Royle strode over, freshly shaven but looking as if he had spent a hectic night. ‘Had mine, thanks. Queen, I'd like to talk to you.'

‘Yes?'

Ty squatted on the stool Sam Vix had vacated, put his elbow on the counter, and ran his fingers through his hair.

‘All right, all right,' grumbled Lew, getting up. ‘I know a stage wait when I hear one.'

‘Don't go, Lew,' said Ty wearily. ‘You may be able to help, too.'

Ellery and Lew exchanged glances. ‘Sure, kid,' said Lew, seating himself. ‘What's on your mind?'

‘Bonnie.'

‘Oh,' said Ellery.

‘What's she pulled on you now?' asked Lew sympathetically.

‘It's that business of yesterday afternoon.' Ty fiddled with Vix's coffee-cup. ‘Her saying that dad was behind the – well, the whole thing. I've been up all night thinking it over. I was sore as a boil at first. But I found out something about myself last night.'

‘Yes?' said Ellery with a frown.

‘Something's happened to me since Wednesday. I don't feel the way I used to about her. In fact, I feel … just the opposite.' He banged the cup. ‘Oh, what the hell's the use of fighting myself any longer? I'm in love with her!'

‘You feelin' good?' growled Lew

‘It's no use, Lew. I'm hooked for fair this time.'

‘With all the fluffs you've played!'

Ty smiled wryly. ‘That's almost exactly what I said to dad when I found out he'd decided he loved Blythe.'

‘Yes,' murmured Ellery, ‘history has fascinating ways of repeating itself.' He sent Lew a warning look, and Lew nodded.

‘Listen, kid, it's your imagination and this climate,' said Lew in a fatherly tone. ‘Jack's death sort of knocked you out of kilter, and you know what the warm sun does to young animals. Listen to your Uncle Looey. This love stuff don't get you anything but trouble. Take me, for instance. You don't see me going woozy-eyed over any one dame, do you? Hell, if I had your pan I'd make Casanova look like Cousin Hiram heavin' his first pass at the college widow!'

Ty shook his head. ‘No go, Lew. I don't want any woman but Bonnie. That stuff's out for good.'

‘Well,' shrugged Lew, ‘it's your funeral. Don't say I didn't warn you.'

‘Look, Lew.' Ty seemed embarrassed. ‘You're about as close to Bonnie as … I mean, I was thinking you might try to talk to her.'

Ellery shook his head violently over Ty's shoulder.

‘Who, me?' said Lew in a shocked voice. ‘What d'ye wanta make me, accessory to a crime? I wouldn't have it on my conscience. I'm no John Alden. Do your own courtin'.'

‘How about you, Queen? Bonnie's convinced that dad – well, you heard her yesterday. Somebody's got to show her how wrong she is. She obviously won't listen to me.'

‘Why don't you let matters ride for a while?' said Ellery lightly. ‘Give her time to cool off. She'll probably realize by herself, in time, that it's all a mistake.'

‘Sure, what's the rush? Give the kid a chance to get her bearings. Besides,' said Lew, ‘there's Butch.'

Ty was silent. Then he said: ‘Butch … Maybe you're right. It
is
less than a week.'

The cashier at the commissary desk called out: ‘Mr. Queen, there's a call for you on this phone.'

Ellery excused himself and went to the desk.

‘Hello – Mr. Queen? This is Bonnie Stuart.'

‘Oh,' said Ellery. ‘Yes?' He glanced at Ty, who was listening glumly as Lew waved his arms in earnest exhortation.

‘I've something to show you,' said Bonnie strangely. ‘It … came this morning.'

‘Oh, I see.' Then Ellery said in a loud tone: ‘How about lunch?'

‘But can't you come over now?'

‘Sorry, I've something important to do. Shall we say the Derby on Vine at one o'clock?'

‘I'll be there,' said Bonnie curtly, and hung up.

Ellery strolled back to the counter. Ty interrupted Lew in the middle of a sentence. ‘Just the same, there's one thing we ought to do right away.'

‘What's that?' asked Ellery.

‘I've been thinking about those anonymous letters. I think Inspector Glücke ought to be told about them.'

‘That nut stuff,' scoffed Lew. ‘No one but a screw-loose would mail cards to a dame when she was dead.'

Ellery lit a cigarette. ‘Coincidence! I've been giving the matter considerable thought, too. And I believe I've worked out a practical theory.'

‘You're a better man than I am, then,' said Ty gloomily.

‘You see, there are really only two plausible inferences to be drawn from the strange fact Lew's just mentioned – I mean, this business of mailing a letter to a dead woman. Oh, of course there's always the possibility that the sender didn't know Blythe was dead, but you'll agree we can dismiss that as a huge improbability; Sam Vix and the gentlemen of the press associations have taken care of that.'

‘Maybe this palooka can't read,' said Lew.

‘Is he deaf, too? Illiteracy is scarcely the answer in these days of news broadcasting via the radio. Besides, the envelopes were addressed by someone who could write. No, no, that can't be the answer.'

‘Don't you know a gag when you hear one?' said Lew disgustedly.

‘The two inferences seem to me to be all-inclusive. The first is the normal, obvious inference you've already voiced, Lew: that is, that the sender is a crank; that the envelopes, the cards, the whole childish business indicate the workings of a deranged mentality. It's conceivable that such a mentality would see nothing unreasonable about continuing to send the cards even after the object of his interest has died.'

‘Well, that's my guess,' said Lew.

‘And yet I get the feeling,' said Ty thoughtfully, ‘that while the sender of those cards may be slightly off he isn't just a nut.'

‘A feeling,' murmured Ellery, ‘I share. And if he
is
sane, the alternate inference arises.'

‘What's that?' demanded Lew.

Ellery rose and picked up his check. ‘I was going to devote the morning,' he said with a smile, ‘to a line of investigation which would prove or disprove it. Would you care to join me, gentlemen?'

While Lew and Ty waited, mystified, Ellery borrowed the Los Angeles Classified Directory at the commissary desk and spent ten minutes poring over it.

‘No luck,' he said, frowning. ‘I'll try Information.' He closeted himself in one of the telephone booths, emerging a few minutes later looking pleased.

‘Simpler than I expected. We've got one shot in the dark – thank heaven there aren't dozens.'

‘Dozens of what?' asked Ty, puzzled.

‘Shots in the dark,' said Lew. ‘See how simple it is?'

Ellery directed Ty to drive his sports roadster down Melrose to Vine, and up Vine to Sunset, and west on Sunset to Wilcox. On Wilcox, between Selma Avenue and Hollywood Boulevard, Ellery jumped out and hurried up the steps of the new post-office, vanishing within.

Ty and Lew looked at each other.

‘You got me,' said Lew ‘Maybe it's a new kind of treasure hunt.'

Ellery was gone fifteen minutes. ‘The postmaster,' he announced cheerfully, ‘says nix. I didn't have much hope.'

‘Then your idea is out?' asked Ty.

‘Not at all. Visiting the Hollywood postmaster was a precaution. Drive around to Hollywood Boulevard, Ty. I think our destination's just past Vine Street – between Vine and Argyle Avenue.'

Miraculously, they found a parking space near Hollywood's busiest intersection.

‘Now what?' said Lew.

‘Now we'll see. It's this building. Come on.'

Ellery preceded them into the office building across the street from the bank and theatre. He consulted the directory in the lobby, nodded, and made for the elevator, Ty and Lew meekly following.

‘Third,' said Ellery.

They got out at the third floor. Ellery looked cautiously about, then drew a leather case out of his pocket. He took a glittering object from the case and returned the case to his pocket.

‘The idea is,' he said, ‘that I'm somebody in the L. A. police department and that you two are somebody's assistants. It we don't put up an imposing front, we'll never get the information I'm after.'