The Sorcerer's House (23 page)

Doris and Mr. Hardaway watched with great interest as I positioned a tablet on each knee. Have you ever seen me write different things simultaneously, Millie? One with each hand? It is a parlor trick, I confess, but since I have very few I am absurdly proud of it.

In this instance, I composed notes of thanks to each of them, employing cursive for Doris's note and print for Mr. Hardaway's.

Trelawny wiped his nose more thoroughly than ever and leaned back in his swivel chair. "Impressive, Mr. Dunn. Most impressive, I confess."

Doris rose. "Want to hear mine? 'Doris, you are a pillar of strength, and a pillar far more lovely than any Greek caryatid.' It's signed 'Bax.' "
She laid it on the desk. "You can look at it if you want to, but you have to give it back."

"Mine thanks me for my friendship and support," Mr. Hardaway said. "It's signed 'Baxter Dunn.' " He laid his note on Trelawny's desk as well.

"Mr. Dunn." Trelawny leaned forward again, glanced at the notes, and reprised the finger-steeple. "I would like you to understand my position. Everyone present, yourself included, seems to have the notion that I seek to discredit you. It is erroneous. I personally believe that you are the Baxter Dunn to whom the will refers. I have given you credence--if we may call it that--from the moment you walked into the room. With no support from the executor, I am attempting to do my duty as attorney for the estate. I do not ask for your friendship, Mr. Dunn. Only for your understanding."

"You have it. Shouldn't we proceed to the third proof?"

"We should. The Baxter Dunn specified by the will is a twin. Although the will does not say it, Mr. Skotos once referred to him as an identical--"

His secretary was screaming. Trelawny stood up, strode to the door to the outer office, and flung it open--

--admitting George, your husband, who shoved him quite violently. "Are you the lawyer? Well, by God I've got a few things to say to you and you'd better listen."

Trelawny pushed past him and hurried through the doorway; his secretary's screams faded to loud sobs.

George fastened on me. "I don't know what you've been up to, Bax, but if you're cooking up some scheme to defraud me again, you're not going to get away with it. Now get the f-k out of here!"

I urged him to control himself. Mr. Hardaway joined me in that, and George turned on him, shouting obscenities.

"Bax! Oh, poor, poor Bax!"

It was not until she spoke that I realized that Doris was clinging to me. I made haste to assure her that George would not become violent.

"He knocked down my secretary." That was Trelawny, behind his desk once more and (it took me a long half-second to realize this, Millie)
holding a gun. "I've told her to call the police." George took a step toward him, and he added, "Sit down, you! Be seated, or I'll fire!"

"With that?" George pointed. "It must be a hundred years old."

"It is far older," Trelawny told him. "It was made in England at the time of the American Revolution, but it is in perfect working order. Do you want to find out whether it is loaded? If you don't, you had better be seated this instant."

"He can have my chair, Urban." Mr. Hardaway rose. "I'll stand behind him and grab him if he tries anything."

At that point I advised George to sit down, and he did.

"Now then, sir." Trelawny was still aiming his silver-mounted flintlock pistol. "What is your name?"

"It's George J. Dunn. I'm the real George J. Dunn."

"It appears to me that you and Mr. Baxter Dunn are identical twins. Do you deny that? Either of you?"

George glared and shook his head. I said, "We are."

"That would seem to settle the matter." Trelawny looked toward Mr. Hardaway. "It certainly appears to me that the Baxter Dunn who is here in my office is the--"

Trelawny's secretary stepped in. Her makeup was in ruins and her eyes still swam in tears, but her voice no longer quavered. "I've called the police, Mr. Trelawny. They say somebody will be here right away."

He nodded curtly. "Our time is short. I shall employ your first name, as well as your brother's, to minimize any confusion. Why did you come here, George?"

"Oh, for God's sake! To protect my interests, damn it! To keep from being robbed again!"

"At some point in the past, your brother Baxter robbed you?"

George sprang to his feet. "It's all he's ever done. He's robbed me over and over again. He's been my curse! I have a brother who looks just like me, and he's a criminal and a lunatic. Why in holy hell can't people understand?"

Trelawny snapped, "Sit down, George! Sit or I shoot!"

"I won't! Shoot, damn you! Do it!"

Doris went to him, looking very starched and prim. "Are
you
saying
Bax
is insane? Is that serious?"

"He's a maniac. You ought to s-see his l-letters. He's a g-goddamn m-m-maniac and a th-th-thief." George wept.

I went to him, patted his back, and put my arm around his shoulders. "Can't we be friends? I'm not as bad as you think."

"You bastard! You utter bastard! I've worked hard, so damned hard all my life, and your butler told me where you were.
Your g-g-goddamn butler!
" He swung at me after that, Millie, something I had been half expecting. Though jarred, I deflected his follow-up punch, and Mr. Hard-away got his arms around him and forced him down into his chair.

Trelawny laid aside his pistol. "Thank you, Jim. For a moment there I was afraid I'd have to shoot."

Soon afterward there were voices from the outer office and a policeman and a policewoman came in. The woman was Officer Finn, whom I had met before. I hope, Millie, that you saw the letter in which I spoke of her.

"What's going on here?" the male officer asked. I have since learned that he is Officer Dominic Perrotta.

Trelawny pointed to George. "My secretary wishes to charge this man with simple assault."

Mr. Hardaway said, "He burst in here and became quite violent, officer. I had to subdue him just a moment ago."

"He was crying. Then he hit his brother," Doris told Officer Finn.

I intervened. "He didn't actually hit me, and I have no wish to have him charged with anything."

Officer Finn looked exasperated. "He didn't hit you, sir?"

"No, he did not." I shook my head.

"Well, somebody did two or three days ago. Wait a minute." She grasped my chin and turned my head until my left cheek was toward the light. "That's a nice red spot you've got there, sir. I'd call it a new one, and it's starting to swell."

Doris told her, "They're twins."

"Yeah, I saw. But it won't be real hard to tell one from the other for a while."

Officer Perrotta muttered, "See if the secretary will sign a complaint, Kate." Officer Finn nodded and went into the outer office.

Trelawny cleared his throat. "She will."

"You got that right. Kate's good at getting 'em to sign."

At which, I regret to say, George sprang to his feet again, jabbing a trembling finger at Trelawny and shouting, "That man pointed a gun at me!"

"Siddown!" Officer Perrotta pushed George back into his chair. "That's a damn shame, Mack. Might even be a violation of your civil rights. Lemme see now. You came busting into his office and knocked down his secretary? Is that right? So he pulled a gun on you and called the cops? Why, it's a dirty shame. Keep your ass in that chair!"

"It was this gun, officer." Trelawny displayed it. "Please be careful with it. It is quite valuable."

"Nice! Can I hold it for a minute? I always wanted to hold one of these."

"Certainly, just be very careful with it."

Mr. Hardaway joined them. "I know something about these old guns, officer, and I ought to point out that it couldn't possibly fire. There's no flint between the jaws of the cock."

"Sure. I seen that." Officer Perrotta was aiming the antique pistol at a lamppost beyond the window and squinting at the sights.

Officer Finn returned. "Got it!" She tapped George on the shoulder. "Stand up, sir, and put your hands behind you."

He struck her then, Millie. I hated to write those words more than I can say, but they are the truth. He will have telephoned you long before you receive this; no doubt you have engaged an attorney. I find the entire affair extremely distasteful and more than a little sad; I fear it is also fairly serious.

Forever your friend,

Bax

Dear George:

I have tried (injudiciously perhaps) to reach you by telephone. You may be pleased to hear that my attempts have been fruitless. I hesitate to visit you without an invitation; but should you desire to see me, please let me know. Visiting hours are three to five Saturdays and four to six Sundays. Letters, I am informed, will reach you without difficulty so long as they contain no contraband.

I had been told of an excellent attorney here; and a call to my friend Martha Murrey has yielded his telephone number, with other pertinent facts. His name is Benjamin Ramsey. You may wish to ask some of your fellow inmates about him, a resource denied me. I will undertake
to engage Mr. Ramsey, or another attorney, on your behalf should you wish it.

You believe, or at least you feign to believe, that I delight in your misfortunes. If only you knew the emotions that tore my heart as I watched you beaten with that very clever telescoping truncheon Officer Perrotta took from his belt, you would understand me better. I protested, and tried to bring the violence to an immediate halt; but with so many blows raining down upon you, you can hardly have noticed.

It would seem to me that the police ought to have sent you to a hospital, and I was shocked to learn that they did not. I trust you are healing.

I plan to speak to Officer Finn on your behalf. (She and I are distantly acquainted.) Perhaps I will be able to tell you of our conversation before I close.

After you had been taken away, Trelawny asked whether he should proceed with the reading of the will. All three of us urged him to do so. It was prolix, and I could not give it all here if I wished to. The upshot was that I am to receive everything: the Skotos Strip, a sum in excess of one hundred thousand dollars, and a cased pair of antique pistols. You may recall the one with which he threatened you.

"Alex was a gun collector," Mr. Hardaway told me, "and those dueling pistols were the apple of his eye."

Trelawny wiped his nose, something he does frequently. "I hesitate to say this, Mr. Dunn. It may be a violation of professional ethics. But from what I saw of my client--no, I will not say it. I will simply caution you regarding the firearms I am about to give you. In the heat of the moment, I misrepresented them to your brother. Neither is loaded. Jim and I have examined them with care. Their barrels are not charged, there is no powder in their pans, and as Jim told that policeman there is no flint in either pistol to strike a spark. All those things are in this case, however."

He tapped it. "You'll have powder and priming powder, flints, balls, and patches. All that is needful. I advise you to dispose of the powder. Should you choose instead to load and fire these, you must be extremely careful."

I said that if the powder were as old as the pistols I doubted that it was dangerous.

"It isn't." Mr. Hardaway had gotten out a cigar and was rolling it between his hands. "Any gun shop will sell you black powder."

Doris rose. "I've been watching Bax's cheek swell. I'm going to try to find an ice pack for him."

I thanked her, and she smiled and went out.

(You were struck much more than I, George. I realize that. More often and much more severely.)

"Jim feels that Alexander Skotos, who sometimes fired the antique guns in his collection, intended to fire these upon some special occasion. Is that correct, Jim?"

Mr. Hardaway's lighter flared. "I'd say that Alex daydreamed about it. Of shooting them on his birthday, or something like that. I don't think he would ever have done it. They're too valuable." He applied the flame to the end of his cigar, and sucked smoke.