Authors: Charlotte MacLeod
“The—ah—lady was, if I’m not mistaken, a driving force behind the conspiracy,” said Peter. “Mr. Sopwith, would you mind telling us whether, on leaving here Saturday morning after the interview in which Professor Binks instructed you to sell certain stocks and invest the proceeds in a—er—different company, you were accosted by Miss Buddley and told to circumvent your client’s orders by any possible means?”
“Um—ah—I’d rather not say.”
“Thank you. Did you drive Miss Buddley farther down the road from where you picked her up, tie her to a tree, and leave her there alone?”
“She forced me to!”
“I’m sure she did. Was her object in doing so to get herself regarded as a victim instead of a co-conspirator of the villains involved in murder committed the night before?”
“I—ah—couldn’t say.”
“Did you recognize her then as the same young woman whom you’d previously met in Boston, calling herself Toots?”
“I didn’t have my glasses with me.”
“You told us back at Clavaton this afternoon that after having met Miss Buddley, whom you then knew only as Toots, you were next approached by a Mr. Emory. You took him to be an associate of Mr. Dewey here, did you not?”
“I had every reason to think so.”
“Are you aware that the man who called himself Emory was also passing himself off here at the station as Emory Emmerick, a site engineer for the Meadowsweet Construction Company?”
“No!”
“You didn’t, from media reports, identify him as the man who was murdered Friday night?”
“How could I, if he was using a different name?”
Peter didn’t pursue that question, Sopwith looked ready to start crying again. “Getting back to Miss Buddley: when you met with Miss Binks and the rest of us here Saturday morning, you brought along Mr. Tangent, whom you introduced as the accountant for the Binks Trust. Is that his true position?”
“Absolutely. He’s been with the bank for many years.”
“Did he assist in the fake kidnapping of Miss Buddley?”
“No, Tangent was and is in no way involved. What happened”—Sopwith didn’t want to talk but apparently couldn’t help it—“was that Miss Buddley came out of the woods shortly after we’d left the station in my car, and flagged us down. She claimed to have an urgent errand in Whittington and asked for a lift. Since Tangent lives in Whittington, I acquiesced and took him home first.”
“Because you realized Miss Buddley wanted to get you alone for some purpose connected with your mutual enterprise?”
“Because she’d given me to understand that her objective was—ah—farther along my way.”
“But you knew what she was really after,” said the sergeant.
That was one too many for Sopwith. “I refuse to allow this interrogation to continue until I have taken legal advice. Debenham, you’re a lawyer, can’t you intervene for me against this unlawful intimidation?”
“I don’t quite see where you’re being intimidated, Mr. Sopwith. In any case, I couldn’t act for you because I already represent Miss Binks.”
“But I’m cooperating in her behalf! I’ve come forward with information.”
“As was your duty as a citizen, Mr. Sopwith. I’m sure Miss Binks won’t mind your using the office telephone to call your own lawyer.”
“Of course not,” said Winifred. “Please go ahead, Mr. Sopwith. The sooner the better, I should think.”
“Ah—er—thank you.” A most unhappy man, the trust officer slunk across to the chair that Sieglinde had by now vacated.
“And now,” Winifred went on briskly, “what about these other two? Won’t you tell us your real name, Mr. Fanshaw? Or should I say Miss Atakuku?”
“Shut up, Chuck,” snapped Viola. “Don’t tell them anything.”
Peter smiled. “So you are the ringleader, Miss Buddley. I’ve thought so ever since that first time you had yourself abducted, and was sure of it when Professor Binks and I encountered your sister this morning, planted as receptionist at Golden Apples to prevent any dangerous messages from getting through to the Compotes. Rather an hysterical type, isn’t she? I assume that’s why you had Fanshaw hypnotize her.”
He took out the gold piece and began swinging it back and forth on its chain, directly over their recumbent heads. “Look, Fanshaw, I’ve got your lucky piece. Watch it, Fanshaw. Watch it, Miss Buddley. Keep watching, Fanshaw, keep watching, Miss Buddley. Look at it swing. Back and forth, back and forth. You’re getting sleepy, Fanshaw. Go to sleep, Miss Buddley. Sleep, Fanshaw. Sleep. Sleep. Sleep.”
Great Scott! It was working. Both prisoners’ eyes were closed, they were breathing slowly and deeply. Was this a trick? Peter kept swinging and droning. No, it was really happening. Sieglinde and the president were watching in awe, so were Winifred and Debenham. So were the two Clavaton policemen; in fact one of them was beginning to look about the way Ottermole and Dorkin had looked Saturday morning. He’d better get on with the next step.
“Fanshaw, can you hear me?”
“I hear you.” The voice was drowsy, relaxed.
“What is your real name?”
“Chuck Smith.”
“Are you related to the Fred Smith who works at Golden Apples?”
“No. There are Smiths everywhere. I hate being Chuck Smith. I like being Francis Fanshaw. I like being George Dewey. I like—”
“Good, we get the picture.” Peter wasn’t about to spend all night listening to this chameleon work through his repertoire. “Tell us about Friday night, Fanshaw. What was your role in the plot?”
“I came from Clavaton to Hoddersville on the bus. Then I took a taxi to Balaclava Junction and walked to where Emory had left a rented car. The key was under the seat. It was late. I drove out into the country and spent the rest of the night in the car.
“And that’s all you did? You took no part in what happened on the owl count?”
“None.”
“But you knew it was going to happen?”
“No. When Viola hired me, she’d said something about kidnapping the heiress and holding her till she agreed to sell her Golden Apples shares, but I said nothing doing. I’m a con man, not a thug. So she said okay then, work out a swindle. So I did.”
“This was on behalf of Lackovites?”
“Yes. It was a beautiful swindle, it would have been the crowning achievement of my career. But Viola went and spoiled it by getting physical. I should have known.”
“Then when you came here on Saturday morning, you really didn’t know Emmerick had been killed?”
“She didn’t have to get physical. You could have knocked me over with a feather.”
“Sorry. You say Viola hired you. Then she bossed the affair?”
“She had the connections.”
“How much was she paying you?”
“It’s vulgar to talk about money. She said two hundred thousand, but she may not have meant it. I don’t trust her any more.”
“Who was that so-called lawyer who showed up at the police station?”
“Viola’s brother Herman. He used to specialize in mail fraud, but he developed an allergy to stamp glue, so now she uses him for odd jobs.”
“Why did you come looking for Emmerick Saturday morning?”
“It was part of the plan. Sopwith was meeting with the heiress. I’d been working on him, I had him right in my pocket. Emmerick had this place bugged, I meant to listen in and make sure Sopwith got her to dump Golden Apples and buy more Lackovites.”
“You’d have been disappointed.”
“I know. Viola phoned me.”
“Where?”
“On the tugboat. I went there after I got away from those half-wit cops. She said my plan was a washout. She’d have Keech kidnap the heiress and bring her to me.”
“Who’s Keech?”
“Her boyfriend. You met him on the boat. She likes them big and stupid.”
“Was he involved in Emmerick’s murder?”
“Yes. He told me on the boat, before you came. He worked the owl. It was just a bunch of white feathers on a long fishline he’d strung through the trees. He was hiding in the bushes, waiting for you all to come along. Emmerick was dressed the way the heiress usually does, in slacks and a sissyish sweater. He was supposed to lead her into the net and knock her out when the fireworks went off and everybody panicked. Viola would haul her up. They’d rigged a slide of black plastic, Keech would hold it steady while she slid down with the heiress. They were going to ride off with her on a tandem bicycle. Emory would drop down and pretend he was her with a sprained ankle or something, to give them more time for the getaway. But he got netted by mistake.”
“And Viola was in the tree alone. So it was she who stabbed him.”
“She had to shut him up before he squawked. Anyway, Viola always gets physical when somebody fouls up.”
“I see,” said Peter. “Viola, can you hear me?”
“I hear you.”
“Did you stab Emmerick in the neck?”
“Yes. It was fun.”
“What did you do then?”
“Let him fall to distract you. Slid down the plastic, and pulled it away from the tree. Rode off with Keech on his bike:”
“Did Fanshaw help you and Keech kidnap Miss Binks on Sunday?”
“No. He stayed on the boat.”
“Was it you or Keech who slugged Knapweed Calthrop?”
“I did. With a stick of firewood. He was a spy.”
“For whom?”
“Golden Apples. My sister Elvira told me. The Compotes were scared Binks would—hey, wait a minute! What the hell’s going on here? Chuck, wake up. He’s got your gold piece.”
“Huh? My God!” Incredibly, Fanshaw turned to the two Clavaton policemen. “Arrest this man! He’s stolen my gold piece. And my suit.”
“Not according to the law, he hasn’t,” said the one taking notes. “I’d say he’s only borrowed it. Wouldn’t you, Officer Musgrave?”
“Oh, no question, Officer Yerkes. Now everybody, it’s getting on toward suppertime and you folks have had a rough day, so why don’t we just arrest Miss Buddley and Mr. Smith and get them out of your hair? You want to read them their rights, Officer Yerkes?”
“Sure, then you can make the collar. Let’s see, she’s murder one, assault with intent, kidnapping, and conspiracy. He’s kidnapping, conspiracy, escape while under arrest, and interfering with police officers in the performance of their duty by means of hypnotism. Is that okay with you folks?”
“Sounds good to me,” said Peter. “How about you, Winifred?”
“I’d say that should do nicely. President, what do you think?”
“Urgh.”
“And I agree with Thorkjeld,” said Sieglinde.
Sopwith was not asked for an opinion and did not volunteer one. Mr. Debenham raised a technical question.
“Forgive the legal quibble, but since we’re within the boundaries of Lumpkinton, shouldn’t we get the local police to perform the arrest?”
“Ah, those guys won’t care,” said Officer Musgrave. “We’ve got kind of a mutual pinch agreement in Balaclava County, since all prisoners have to be taken to Clavaton County courthouse for arraignment anyway. You want to give Mr. Smith back his suit, Professor Shandy, or shall we take him in his landlady outfit?”
“I’ll be glad to change if you’ll bring my clothes out of your car. However, I’d suggest you take Smith and Miss Buddley just as they are, ropes and all. I’d further suggest that you not let Smith get his hands on this gold piece.”
“No fear, we’ll impound it as evidence. Got an envelope you can spare, Professor Binks? Okay then, here goes with the charges.”
It was beautifully done, as everyone agreed. Since the prisoners had their feet tied, Dr. Svenson carried Smith while the two officers wrestled the squirming and yelling Viola into the police car. Smith wasn’t making any protest. Peter had a hunch he was planning to try copping a plea like Sopwith, who’d already been collected by his own lawyer and taken away to face the district attorney and be either jugged or shriven, as the case might be. The thug known as Keech had already confessed to his share in the unlawful abduction and retention of Winifred Binks, they’d learned, implicating Viola and Chuck Smith up to the eyeballs and giving an eyewitness account of Viola’s near-lethal attack on Kenneth Compote, as they now knew Knapweed Calthrop to be.
“That must be what the Compotes were looking so nervous about this morning,” said Winifred. She was in no hurry to get rid of her friends; therefore, much as they wanted to get home, Shandy and the Svensons had lingered with Debenham for a miniature celebration. “I suppose we can’t blame them for trying to get a line on what I was likely to do about Golden Apples. Poor dear Knapweed, as I shall probably always think of him, was never cut out to be a spy. I’m so relieved that he’s conscious. I’ll nip over tomorrow on my bicycle and take him some bedstraw. He may be feeling rather blue about Viola. I couldn’t make up my mind whether he was stuck on her or afraid of her, but then I’ve never had any experience in affairs of the heart.”
“Then why is this good Mr. Debenham gazing upon you with the eyes of a stricken sheep?” demanded Sieglinde. “Sir, have you a wife living?”
“Oh no. I—” Over Debenham’s honest face crept a warm blush. “I am a widower of many years’ standing. It’s true that over a period of time I have come to feel an ever-increasing regard for the courage, high principles, and never-failing good humor of my client.”
“Pussyfoot! You love her.”
“I—I suppose I—yes, I admit it. I worship her.”
“Oh, Mr. Debenham.” Winifred was blushing, too. “But why have you never told me?”
“How could I? You, whom I knew to be sole heiress to a great fortune, and I, just an old fuddy-duddy of a lawyer with only a modest competence saved from years of unceasing toil in the service of my clients. It wouldn’t have done, you know. It would have been a breach of professional ethics.”
“Bah to professional ethics!” cried Sieglinde. “What is so ethical about leaving our dear Winifred alone in the wilds as the prey of spies and kidnappers because of your pettifogging reluctance to be branded a fortune hunter? Be sensible, Mr. Debenham. Join with Winifred in her zeal to disburse her grandfather’s wealth in the interests of many good causes. Then you both can live happily upon your modest competence and all will be well.”
“Why—why, bless my soul, so it will.” Chin firm, eyes resolute, Debenham advanced to address his principal client. “Miss Binks—Winifred—do you—could you—might you ever bring yourself to think of me as Alaric?”