Somewhere in the House (20 page)

“They'll never find out who did it,” continued Miss Nagle. “They can't even
find
the gun. We'll all get a certain amount of publicity, which never hurt anybody yet, and then it will all be over. Now what I suggest is that you come home tonight with me. We're all out of it—Dad and Mom and I and you. I say stay out of it. You can share my room, I'm away working all day anyhow. Rowe Leeder will be there—you like him.”

Malcolm, who had returned from the pantry and was unpinning his dish towel, gazed at her as at a fabulous monster. Two tears welled up in Elena's eyes; Roberts put out an old hand and patted her on the arm.

Gamadge said: “Your parents went some time ago, Miss Nagle; you elected to stay?”

“Ena had to have somebody her own age—somebody in the family.”

“Most kind of you indeed. As a matter of fact, Miss Clayborn's father has asked me to give her a message—he wants her to go elsewhere tonight.”

Elena stared. “Wants me to go?”

“Yes, but hotels are pretty hard to get into at a minute's notice nowadays—any notice; and it's late to arrange a visit with friends. I suggested your spending the night at my house. I called my wife, and she's delighted to have you.”

“Magnificent idea,” said Malcolm, looking puzzled.

“Malcolm will take you,” continued Gamadge, “and he and you can see Miss Nagle on her way home.”

Miss Nagle said: “Why shouldn't Ena come home with me?”

“Because you are a member of the family, as you yourself remind us; and you and your father and mother will have to deal with a certain amount of that publicity you spoke of. You don't object to it, but Miss Clayborn does. With us she'll be out of circulation.”

Elena said: “I can't just run off like that. It would be brutal.”

“Your father asks it as a favour to him. He wants you out of the house tonight, Miss Clayborn.”

“I'll go up and speak to him.”

“He's had one of those sedatives he takes.” Gamadge held out a sheet of note paper. “Here's his message.”

Elena took it and read it. Then, silently, she handed it to Malcolm. It contained three pencilled, sprawling words:
Elena, Please go
.

“Mandatory,” said Malcolm.

“Yes, I'll pack my bag.”

“Why wait for that? Why bother?” asked Gamadge. “My wife can supply you with what you need for tonight, and there are drugstores and toothbrushes on your way.”

“If I'm going, I'd
rather
just go,” said Elena. “I can't bear to go upstairs. If it weren't for Father, I couldn't bear the house.”

“Have you a coat down here?”

“Yes.”

“Then put it on and—er—fly.”

Elena went through the swing door. Presently she returned in a tweed top-coat, with Miss Nagle's coat over her arm. Miss Nagle silently put the garment on, took gloves out of one of its pockets and adjusted them, looked up at Gamadge and made a dry remark: “Quite the hustler.”

“You'll find the back way clear,” said Gamadge.

They went out by the kitchen lobby and back door; a policeman was waiting for them with his torch, and the two young women descended into the garden. Malcolm, with a final questioning look at Gamadge, followed them.

Gamadge came back into the kitchen. He said: “You must be more than ready for bed, Roberts.”

“The young people did most of my work for me, Sir.”

“I'll help you with the last of it. The usual tray.”

“Do they want the tray tonight, Mr. Gamadge?”

“More than ever. I'll carry the heavy stuff—the bottle of whisky and the siphon.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

They went into the dining-room, where Roberts got out the big silver tray and placed glasses on it. He counted them with a frown.

“Mr. Clayborn and Miss Clayborn,” said Gamadge, “Mr. Seward Clayborn, Mrs. Leeder, Mr. Leeder, and myself.”

“Mr. Seward Clayborn, Sir?”

“He didn't want his daughter upstairs again, Roberts. Too hard on her, all this. She would have tried to see all those distraught people—too hard on her.”

“Yes, Sir.”

He ranged the six cut-glass highball glasses on the tray, got out the silver ice bowl and tongs, opened the lower cupboard of the sideboard. He stood looking in at the array of bottles.

Gamadge said: “A wonderful and beautiful sight.”

“Yes, Sir. I was just thinking. The others—they all take Scotch, and they all take a good stiff drink. Mr. Garth—he would never touch anything but rye, straight rye, with a little water afterwards. I knew him from a baby: he wasn't a troublesome boy. It was just that he hadn't anybody of his own here; he used to be with us servants too much. He was a good-natured boy, Mr. Gamadge.”

“Must have been a bad shock for you, Roberts. You've stood by nobly.”

“I never thought I'd be glad to retire until to-day, Sir.”

“I hope they'll take good care of you.”

“They will, Sir. And I have my annuity coming in from the trust.”

“That's good.”

Roberts got out the Scotch, and then went back into the pantry with the ice bowl; when he returned it was full of cubes, and he had the siphon in his other hand.

Gamadge took the whisky bottle and the siphon, Roberts took the tray, and they went out into the hall and up the front stairs.

When they reached the sitting-room, Roberts put the tray down and got the folded coffee table from a corner. He extended the two leaves, placed it in front of Mrs. Leeder's seat before the fire, and put a log on the embers. Gamadge added his load to the tray, and then carried it over to the table.

“And now, Roberts,” he said, “you're to quit.”

“Yes, Sir; but I must put out the lights, Sir.”

“I'll do that.”

“The dining-room, Sir?”

“All of them. Forget it.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

Gamadge followed the old man into the hall, followed him through into the back passage, and watched him mount the back stairs. Then he came into the hall again and closed the passage door. Nordhall had just come down from the top floor; he addressed Gamadge gravely: “I've seen them all except Mrs. Leeder.”

“What luck?”

“All right, I think, but I'm having a little trouble with Seward. I've got to go back up to him. Will you speak to Mrs. Leeder? I think she'd take it better from you.”

“I'll speak to her.”

“That's her door at the end, on the left.”

Nordhall went upstairs again. Gamadge walked to the east end of the hall, and knocked on the left-hand door.

After a moment Mrs. Leeder's voice came faintly to him: “Who is it?”

“Gamadge. I'm sorry to disturb you.”

“Come in.”

Gamadge went into the room, asked: “May I close the door?” and at her nod closed it. He said: “We must talk a little, Mrs. Leeder; I shouldn't like to run the risk of being overheard.”

She was sitting on a chaise longue between the front windows, and she had been looking out into the dark. She did not move except to turn her face towards him. “Who would listen?” she asked.

“You mean the listener is dead?”

“Why was he killed, that wretched boy?”

Gamadge brought up a chair to face her. He sat down and glanced about the room. It had been bright and luxurious once, with its bamboo furniture and its draperies of blue satin, its cheval glass, its flowered rug; but blue fades, and the satin had been replaced on the chaise longue and the chairs with cretonne which was now fading too.

“Why was Garth killed?” she asked again, her pale lips hardly moving.

“He'd found out a secret. There's a flat downtown that somebody now in this house went to and paid rent for.”

“A flat?”

“It belonged to a man named Raschner, who died years ago. Garth must have followed somebody down to it at some time, and this evening he went again. He never got in, but I did. It's obviously a hide-away. Deals for art objects could have been made there, drugs taken there. The boy probably came back here and told somebody that he had information to give away—or sell.”

“You mean he was blackmailing someone?”

“There must have been good reason for killing him; it was a risk.”

“I should think it would be easy enough to find out who rents this flat.”

“Even the landlord doesn't know.”

“How did you find it?”

“I remembered what you told me about Garth's ways, and when he went out this evening I had him followed. He must have thought that the place would tie up in some way with the Fitch murder.”

“Does it?”

“There's a sort of connection. Raschner may have known the Sillerman woman.”

“The Sillerman woman! What connection—”

“When there are two murders traced to the same set of people, the police don't as a rule expect to find two murderers, only one; and the two murders twenty years ago were committed only a couple of weeks apart.”

“The Sillerman murder was never traced to any set of people.”

“They've traced it to this house now.”

She sat up to stare at him.

“They've found the gun.”

“The gun? The gun that killed Garth?”

“It killed the Sillerman woman too.”

She gasped: “I can't believe it.”

“It's a fact, Mrs. Leeder. It was in a book—
Floral Belles
.”

“That old funny flower book?”

“Somebody got the idea from your solanders, and hacked out pages to make a hiding place. The gun has been here ever since the Sillerman murder, and it was used again tonight.”

She raised her left hand, in which her handkerchief was tightly clenched, and pressed the back of it to her forehead. Gamadge caught a faint wave of delicate perfume. She said: “I wish my head didn't ache so. I can hardly think. But I can see that it's part of the old plot.”

“Leeder didn't put the gun there?”

“Of course not. The whole thing has been engineered by someone in this house; everything's been done to incriminate him, and I couldn't do anything until now.” She stood up, tall in her velvet robe. “Where's that man Nordhall?”

“He's rounding up the family, or trying to. He wants to talk to them all before he takes Leeder downtown.”

“He won't take him downtown. Will Rowe be there too?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“In the sitting-room. I lent a hand with the whisky tray, so it will all seem quite the normal evening session. People are easier when things go on as usual.” He added: “Elena won't be there.”

She turned her head to look at him.

“I sent her off with Malcolm,” he told her.

“Where?”

“To my place for the night.”

“Thank you for that.” She stood moving her head from side to side like a blind thing hunting for light; then she walked down the room to her dressing-table, dropped the wadded handkerchief on it, and got a fresh one from the drawer. She tinkled glass, and when she turned Gamadge caught a wave of fresh perfume. He asked: “Are you up to it?”

“Quite.”

They went out into the hall. Norris stood near the stairs, looking what he was—the skilled professional, with nothing of the policeman about him. He nodded politely when Gamadge introduced him to Mrs. Leeder, and then addressed Gamadge with a hint of dry amusement:

“The Commissioner came.”

“Oh bother.”

“Nordhall has him upstairs, you can imagine the talk. I'm to get the people into the sitting-room and stand by.”

“That's good. Have you a gun, by any chance, or do you just use them for purposes of comparison?”

“I can use a gun. Nordhall lent me his.”

Mrs. Leeder said: “I don't know why Mr. Norris should need a gun.”

“Somebody might not like what you say. All right, Norris,” said Gamadge. “You'll find us waiting for you. All just as usual.”

“All just as usual,” agreed Mrs. Leeder in a muffled voice.

Norris went upstairs, and Gamadge and Mrs. Leeder went into the sitting-room. She walked directly across to her place behind the tray, and sat down. “I'm glad you helped Roberts with this,” she said. “Glad for more than one reason.”

Gamadge settled himself on the sofa opposite her. He said: “I'm quite sure you'd be the better for a drink. I know I should.”

M
RS. LEEDER WAS
herself again, or nearly so. Once again she lifted her clenched hand to her forehead, as if there were a pain behind it which might be reached by pressure of the perfumed handkerchief; then, as if realizing that the gesture was nervous and automatic, she let the hand fall to the tray. After that, except for the slight working of her fingers at the folds of the handkerchief, a jerky, tearing motion, she was quiet and calm.

She picked up the silver ice-tongs, and looked at Gamadge. “How do you like it?”

“Any way.”

“The family likes them good and strong.” She put ice into two glasses, poured whisky, filled the glasses from the siphon, handed Gamadge his drink across the tray.

They both drank. Gamadge said: “A very present help.”

“Isn't it?”

“Hadn't it occurred to you, until I spoke to Norris about the gun, that you might be in danger yourself?”

“It wasn't until you told me about finding the gun in that book that I was a danger to anyone.”

“And now you know you can be?”

“Yes,” she said sombrely, her eyes on the dark gold of the liquid in her glass. “Now I know I can be. But things don't seem quite real to me yet—it's as though I had been deafened by a bomb.” She looked up at him. “I suppose it was you who told those policemen where to find the pistol?”

“They would have found it themselves; I thought of it first, that's all.”