“Open it,” said the Inspector. “Yeah.”
Ellery yawned. “Goodbye,” he said, and strolled out.
Glücke sat at his desk, crushed. “Let that,” said District Attorney Van Every dryly, rising, “be a lesson to you.”
V
AL
came into Fitzgerald’s office Thursday morning waving the front page of a late Wednesday night edition of the
Los Angeles Independent
. “Who’s responsible for this story?” she raged, pointing to the scarehead.
“If it’s you, King,” said Walter from the doorway, “you’re a damned busybody!”
“Isn’t anything sacred to you?” cried Val.
“Stand up and take it,” growled Pink, pushing Walter aside.
“Desist,” said Ellery.
“Shut the door,” said Fitz.
“What are you sore about?” said Ellery.
“This story—Walter’s admission, retraction…”
“Is it true?” said Ellery.
“Did it happen?” said Fitz.
“I resign!” cried Val.
“Put up your mitts, lug,” said Pink.
“Oh, pipe down, the lot of you,” said Ellery. “You’re all too damned self-righteous for your own good.”
Val looked at Walter, and Walter looked at Val, and Pink looked at both of them for a clue to
his
attitude. Finally the three of them sat down. Ellery uncoiled himself from Fitz’s desk and began to stride up and down, smoking furiously. Walter and Val hitched their chairs closer. Ellery, watching them from under his blue glasses, was reminded of their drawing together in Glücke’s office the evening before. At the first hint of danger they flowed into a common meeting-place. There was mystery, secrecy, stubbornness written all over their young faces. “I don’t know what you two were up to last night,” he said finally, “but I’m convinced of one thing—in a sort of inspired idiocy you’re trying to solve a crime that should properly be left to trained people.”
“Like you,” sniffed Val.
“Like Glücke and Van Every. You are, aren’t you?” Val and Walter glanced at each other again. “For heaven’s sake,” exploded Ellery, “can’t you two do anything on your own? Must you have a conference before every speech?”
“What if we are trying to solve it?” said Val defiantly.
“Let him rave,” said Walter. “Don’t pay any attention to him, Val.”
Ellery glared at them. “That’s lovely. Babes in the woods! Next thing you know you’ll be playing G-man with a Buck Rogers atomic pistol!”
“This is very interesting,” said Walter, “but I’ve got work to do. Let’s go, Val.”
“Sit down! Where are you going? Do you know what to do? Do you know where to look? Answer me!” They were silent. Fitz beamed at the loudly dressed product of his imagination. The bewildered, sullen look was creeping over poor Pink’s face again. “You don’t. Well, I’ll tell you. We’re going after Mr. Anatole Ruhig in a big way.”
“Ruhig?” frowned Val.
“We?” said Walter, raising his eyebrows.
“Do you remember what I told you yesterday about Ruhig and the will?” Val nodded despite herself. “We came to the conclusion that Ruhig had lied, that he’d got into
Sans Souci
on his first visit at five-fifteen, that it was at that time, just before Spaeth died, that Ruhig’s men must have witnessed the signing of a new will.”
“What’s this?” exclaimed Walter.
“Oh, Walter,” wailed Val, “I forgot to tell you!”
“The Moon woman is left everything,” said Ellery softly, “and almost before your father’s body is cold, Walter, Ruhig announces that he and she are going to be married. Why?”
“Any dope could figure that out,” said Pink with a disgusted look. “He wants that dough she’s falling into.”
“Very lucidly put,” drawled Ellery. “Any dope could figure out why
he
wants to marry
her
. But could any dope figure out why
she
wants to marry
him
?”
“I never thought of that,” mumbled Val. “That’s true. Why
should
she marry him?”
“There are three common reasons for relinquishing the sacred heritage of liberty,” said Ellery dryly. “One, money. But the fifty millions are hers, not his. Two, to spite some one. Perhaps a reluctant swain is hanging around somewhere; but I question Miss Moon’s dividing fifty million dollars just to make him feel sorry. Three, love, or whatever they call it in California. But you’ve seen friend Ruhig. Do you suppose any woman could feel romantically drawn to him?”
Walter jumped up and began to race up and down. “I don’t know about that,” said Pink. “To look at me you wouldn’t think a dame—”
“Shut up, Pithecanthropus,” growled Fitz.
“The only reasonable explanation is that Winni knows her inheritance of that fifty million dollars
depends upon Ruhig
. If Ruhig could control her inheritance, if some action of his could either give her the millions or take them away, then Winni’s willingness to marry him becomes understandable.”
“That new will we were talking about!” cried Val.
“Exactly. With the other inferences we made yesterday, it’s a cinch that Solly Spaeth signed a new will Monday afternoon, before his murder, which seriously reduced, or cut out completely, Winni’s share in his estate.
That will Ruhig has suppressed
.”
“The dirty dog,” said Walter. “The skunk!”
“Ruhig undoubtedly went to Winni and told her he had it in his power to see she didn’t get a cent; but that if she’d marry him he’d destroy the latest will, and the older one giving her the fortune would remain in force.”
“And he’s holding that will over her head!” cried Walter. “He couldn’t destroy it, or his hold over her would be gone. Until they’re married he’s got to hold on to that new will!”
“And she won’t marry him until the old will is probated,” said Val breathlessly.
“Certain interesting questions,” murmured Ellery, “arise. For instance, exactly when did Ruhig leave the Spaeth house Monday afternoon? Before Spaeth’s murder—or after?”
“You mean—”
“Nothing at all.” Ellery shrugged. “But certainly Ruhig realizes that if he’s caught with that new will now he’s in the worst kind of jam. The police would interpret it as a Ruhig motive for murder. The will’s hot—almost too hot to handle. Yet holding on to it means twenty-five million dollars to him. My guess is that he’s taking a chance, at the same time safeguarding himself as much as he can.”
“He certainly can’t have that will in his actual possession,” said Walter thoughtfully.
“Then how are we ever going to find it?” asked Val in dismay.
Fitz said briskly: “We’ve got to trick Ruhig into producing it. At the same time he mustn’t suspect for a second that anybody knows the will exists.”
“Otherwise,” nodded Ellery, “rather than be tagged for a murder, he’ll destroy it.”
“So,” said Fitz, glaring at Pink, “we’ve got to keep this talk a deep, dark, dirty secret. I won’t print a line of it, and you’re not to talk about it even in your sleep.”
“Obviously,” said Ellery, “strategy is called for. Mr. Ruhig’s vulnerable spot is the incomparable Winni. Consequently we’ll work through her.”
“How?”
“It all depends on how much Ruhig has told her. It seems unlikely that he actually showed her the new will. He wouldn’t carry it around with him one second longer than necessary. We’ll have to assume she hasn’t seen it.
“Now. If we can somehow plant the proverbial bug in her ear that little Anatole was lying all the time, that such a will has never existed, that he just invented it to make her marry him and cut himself in on the fifty million, what will Winni do?”
“Demand to see the will!” cried Val.
“Right. And Ruhig will have to show it to her or risk losing everything. When he does—we pounce.”
“Smart,” said Walter curtly.
“And you’re the man for the job, Walter. She knows you well—I think she even likes you.”
“I guess so,” said Walter, flushing. Val examined her fingernails.
“Meanwhile, we’ve got to be in a position to follow developments. That calls for a little scientific eavesdropping.”
“And that’s where yours truly comes in,” said Fitz. “I’ve got connections, and I can get hold of a dictograph under cover. We plant it in the house there and lead the wires over to the empty Jardin house.”
“That’s a
swell
idea,” said Val, her eyes shining. “And then we keep listening on the other end—”
“Lemme in on this,” pleaded Pink. “Look, guys, I can do anything. I used to be an electrician once. I can get in and plant the machine and—”
They broke into an excited gabble. Ellery opened Fitz’s drawer and helped himself to the Scotch. Fitz got busy writing out a note to one of his “connections,” and Pink boasted that he was as good as any second-story man that ever lived, and Val coached Walter in exactly what he was to say to the unsuspecting Winni.
“Remember!”
“Don’t worry, honey.”
“Walter, get the hell out there and make a stab at your cartoon, will you? They’ll think it’s a Cabinet meeting in here.”
“Where you going?”
“To see pop.”
“Gimme that note!”
Finally Walter and Val and Pink were gone, each to a different place. Ellery hastily put the bottle down on Fitz’s desk and ran after Val. “Peace,” said Fitz, reaching glassy-eyed for the Scotch. “It’s wonderful.”
E
LLERY
caught up with Val on the street. “Mind if I tag along?”
Val stopped abruptly on the busy corner of Spring and First. The crowd flowed around them. “I certainly do!”
“That’s not polite.”
“See here, Mr. King,” snapped Val. “We—I appreciate what you’re trying to do, and all that, but there are certain things… I mean, please don’t be annoying. I want to see my father.”
“My skin,” said Ellery, taking her arm, “is one part rhinoceros hide and two parts armored plate.” Val helplessly permitted herself to be pulled along. If only she could get away from him! He was too quick, too smart. He knew too much already. The way he had analyzed the Ruhig situation. He might find out everything. He might find out that Walter…
There was no examination at the City Jail this morning. The shabby man was on hand, but he did not follow them. And the guard unlocked Rhys’s cell door and departed at once. Rhys was calmly playing solitaire and smoking a cigar. His eyes narrowed when he saw the flamboyant figure with Valerie, but he kissed her and shook hands with Hilary “Scoop” King when Val introduced them and invited him to sit down on his pallet, brushing the cards aside. “I don’t know what’s the matter,” he complained with a grin. “But my friends Glücke and Van Every are ignoring me completely. Do you suppose they’ve got cold feet?” He patted the scattered cards into a neat stack.
“Absolutely frozen,” nodded Ellery. “Keep it up, Mr. Jardin. You’ve got ’em buffaloed. They’ve never had a prisoner who’s seemed so happy with his lot.”
“It’s the clean life I’ve led. Don’t worry, eat three squares a day, and get plenty of exercise. That’s the only thing I miss here. Otherwise, it’s ideal.”
“Oh, pop,” said Val.
“Why the long face, puss?”
Val said something perfunctory, and for a few minutes they chattered about inconsequentials. Ellery sucked on a cigaret. There was something in the aristocracy of blood after all. It made things difficult for a seeker after truth whose success must depend upon the agglomeration and synthesis of facts. He kept his eyes dull but aware. And very soon after Val opened her bag and took out a handkerchief and put it to her nose in a dainty, unnecessary gesture and closed her bag and opened it again; and Ellery, squatting on the end of the pallet, knew that something was happening. He rose and turned his back. Val kissed her father and got up, too, and Rhys offered his hand to Ellery with a charming smile, and in a moment they were out in the corridor, walking. And Ellery thought it strange that cards which had been decorated with a schooner should, between their coming and their going, have magically changed into cards decorated with a Dutch windmill. Now why should an otherwise honest young woman palm one deck of cards and leave another in its place?
“I wish,” said Val outside, “that you would make yourself extremely scarce, Mr. King.”
“Don’t be that way.”
“You’re getting me very angry. I don’t know what you think you’re accomplishing by following me, but I assure you you’re wasting your time.”
“I like you,” sighed Ellery. “You send chills down my spine. Do you call that a waste of time?”
“That’s not very funny. If you don’t stop following me, I’ll get Fitz to. I warn you!” She walked rapidly away, heading for the parking lot. Ellery watched her for a moment. Then he hurried around the corner.
When Val drove northwest on First Street, a small green coupé was behind her, one of that breed of rented cars which overrun Los Angeles like mice. And when Val parked outside the
La Salle
and walked into the lobby, there was Hilary “Scoop” King, his elbows on the desk, waiting for her. Val said contemptuously: “You worm!” and made for the telephone booth in the lobby. Mibs Austin stuck her head around the switchboard and called out. Val stopped. “Yes, Mibs?”
“Mr. Spaeth left a note for you.” Val came back. The switchboard girl handed her a hotel envelope and she tore it open.
Mr. King heaved away from the desk and quickly went to the telephone booth. “Fitzgerald… Fitz? King talking,” he said rapidly. “I haven’t time for explanations. Do me a favor.”
“For you, Master-Mind—anything!”
“In five minutes call up Val Jardin at the
La Salle
.”
“Why?”
“Shut up, will you? I’m in a hurry. Call her up and tell her to come down to the
Independent
office right away.”
“But what for?”
“How should I know? But make the excuse stand up. I don’t want her to get wise.”
“Trust me, sweetheart.”
Ellery hung up and stepped out of the booth. Val was gone. He went to the desk and said to the blonde girl: “Where did Miss Jardin go?”
“Who wants to know?” said Mibs with a hostile look.
“Give, sister. We work on the same rag.”
“Oh. She went upstairs to her apartment.”
“I’ll show you my etchings some time.”