Death Before Bedtime (22 page)

Paper chase. I thought of Mrs. Rhodes. Something I had heard that day came back to me; something I had known all along appeared in a new way. Unexpectedly every piece fell into place.

And I knew who had killed Senator Rhodes, and Rufus Hollister.

It was evident from the happy faces at table that night that this was to be our last supper together. No one was sorry that the ghastly time was finally over. I was giddy with triumph and I had a difficult time not showing it. My exuberance was doubtless attributed to our coming freedom. We were like prisoners on the eve of parole.

I took great care not to betray myself. I made no reference all that evening to the case; I indicated in no way that I had completed the picture puzzle. I even refrained from staring too long at the killer, who was most serene, doubtless confident that the whole desperate gamble had been won at last.

Winters was noticeable by his absence. There had been some talk that he would come by to say farewell but he did not, out of shame at facing me, I decided, complacent in my victory, keyed up to an extraordinary pitch both by my discovery and by the danger which attended it.

I lacked evidence, of course, but when one knows a problem’s answer its component parts can be deduced
and
proved, by working backwards. I had, I was sure, the means of proving what I knew.

After dinner, we were joined in the drawing room by Johnson Ledbetter and Elmer Bush. They came in out of the black winter night, their faces red from cold, bringing cold air with them.

Their entrance depressed, somewhat, the gala mood of the guests.

Mrs. Rhodes poured us coffee. Cups were handed about. The discredited statesman took bourbon. His journalistic ally
did the same. They sat talking by the fire to Mrs. Rhodes, Roger Pomeroy and Verbena Pruitt, leaving the women and children to amuse themselves. We amused ourselves, even though I was anxious to join the circle by the fire.

Ellen and Camilla fell to wrangling in a most sisterly fashion while Langdon and I exchanged weighty opinions on the state of contemporary letters (“decadent”).

After an hour of this, everyone shifted positions, as often happens with a group in civilized society: a spontaneous rearrangement of the elements to distribute the boredom more democratically.

I ended up with Ledbetter and Elmer and Verbena Pruitt at the fireplace.

“It has become,” said Ledbetter slowly, “A Party Issue.”

“In which case you’re bound to win,” said Verbena comfortably. “I have word that the White House intends to intervene.”

“But when? When?” His voice rose querulously.

“
His
hands are tied. You know how
he
feels about interfering in legislative problems. Yet I have it on the highest, the very highest, authority that
he
intends to act before the week is over. One word from
him
and the Party will support you.”

“Meanwhile I undergo martyrdom.”

“It may turn out to be political Capital,” said Elmer Bush, nodding happily, pleased to be involved in such high and dirty politics.

The Senator-Designate snorted. He looked at the end of his rope; he was also getting tight. “What a mess it is, Grace,” he said, turning with a sigh to Mrs. Rhodes. She smiled and patted his hand.

“It won’t last much longer,” she said softly.

“I hope you’re right.” I was surprised by this sudden gentle exchange; could they have been … but it was to far-fetched.

I was suddenly tempted to drop the whole thing; to retire from the scene with the secret satisfaction of having solved a case which, all things considered, had proven to be damned near insoluble.

I looked at the murderer thoughtfully, aware, disagreeably, of my own power. I have few sadistic impulses and I had no chivalrous love for any of the dead. I resolved at that moment to keep my information to myself.

“The point I have been making continually,” said Ledbetter, turning on the professional political voice which became him so well, if you happen to like politicians of the old school, “is that my connection with the company was perfectly legal, that Rufus and Lee between them ran it and that all I did was have my office occasionally handle their legal work for them. I had no other connection with it.”

“But why, Senator, if you had so little to do with the companies, did you have an equal share with Mr. Rhodes?” I was surprised at my own boldness; hostile eyes were turned upon me.

“I left all that to them, young man. Instead of paying me a legal fee, they gave me stock. I paid very little attention to what they were doing. I will not say that I was used by Lee, my oldest and dearest friend, but I
will
say that Rufus Hollister was a most sinister figure. I am now engaged in investigating, at considerable expense, his business dealing for the past fifteen years, since he came to Washington. It will make unsavory reading, sir, most unsavory.”

Elmer Bush nodded. “There is already enough proof at hand to show that Hollister was involved, on his own, in a number of rackets which would completely discredit him.”

“While my own record is …” An open book, I murmured to myself, “an open book,” said Johnson Ledbetter, scowling honestly. “I was used by him. I am being used now by politicians in an effort to discredit not only me but the Party. We will win, though,” he added, his voice solemn, like a keynoter at a convention.

“You should’ve shown more sense,” said Verbena sharply. Mrs. Rhodes excused herself aware, doubtless, that her husband’s memory might be impugned. It was. “Lee was always getting involved in some get-rich-quick scheme and though he was perfectly honest he couldn’t resist a deal, no matter how shady, if it looked like a million dollars might be made. The fact that he never made a cent on these things is proof enough that he was a dupe himself, though he thought he was a financial genius.”

“Where did he make that three and a half million he left in his will?” I asked, always practical.

“Inherited,” said Verbena crisply.

This was interesting; I wondered why I had never thought before to inquire into the source of the Rhodes fortune. “One thing which puzzles me, though,” I said, in a very humble way, “is why, if Senator Rhodes was perfectly innocent in this deal, did he go out of his way to arrange it so that Rufus Hollister would be solely responsible for the company’s illegality?”

“How,” said Ledbetter, “do we know that Lee did? We have only Hollister’s word for it, in that farewell note of his.”

“We have also those documents which were sent to me anonymously.”

“Had they been executed?”

“No, sir, they had not, but the fact that they had been drawn up indicated that someone expected to use them in case the various deals were ever made public; the papers provided
a perfect out for Rhodes.” And for you, I added to myself.

“But there is no proof that either Lee or myself drew up those documents, remember that,” said Ledbetter, and I saw quite clearly the direction his defense would take.

“By the way,” I asked, “what was his attitude the other night when you talked to him, before he died?”

The Senator-Designate was startled.

Verbena snorted angrily. “How did you know Johnson was here?”

“It’s no secret, is it?”

“At the moment, yes,” said Verbena and she looked like an angry mountain before an eruption.

“You will do me a great favor by saying nothing about that visit in the press, my boy,” said Ledbetter with an attempt at good-fellowship.

“I’m sure Pete wouldn’t think of it,” said Elmer, warningly: reminding me that he was still author of the
Globe
’s main feature: “America’s New York,” and of considerable influence with the editor.

“I have no intention of printing any of this, Senator,” I said earnestly. “My only interest was in the murder. Politics is out of my line. I was only curious, that’s all. I mean you
were
the last person to see Rufus alive.”

“This is, then, off the record,” said Ledbetter heavily. “Rufus Hollister threatened me, threatened to blackmail me. I told him to do his worst. He said he would, that he would cause a scandal even if it would involve him. I am afraid that we parted enemies, never to meet again in this world.” There was a long silence.

I was suddenly weary of the whole business, sleepy, too.

Mrs. Rhodes returned and the company rearranged itself like musical chairs. I refused a drink, was given coffee, but
it did not wake me up. Yawning widely behind my hand, I excused myself and went up to bed.

The case was solved and I had the satisfaction not only of having solved it but also of denying myself the glory of announcing my solution to the world, to the accompaniment of fame and glory. I was quite pleased with myself.

When I got to my room, I went straight to the bathroom to brush my teeth. I was so exhausted that I had trouble keeping awake. When I finished I sat down for a moment on the toilet seat to rest. I awoke suddenly to find that my head had fallen with a crack against the washbasin. I had gone to sleep.

Rubbing my eyes, I got to my feet and went into the bedroom. Each step I took fatigued me. I wondered if I might be ill, if I’d caught Camilla Pomeroy’s virus. I fell across the bed. I was ill. I tried to sit up but the effort was too great. My hands and feet were ice-cold and I felt chill waves engulf my body.

Clouded as my brain was, on the verge of unconsciousness, I realized that I had been poisoned. I was just able to knock the telephone off its hook before I passed out.

“Is he dead?” asked Lieutenant Winters, his voice coming to me from behind some dark green clouds through which a light shone fitfully.

“Not yet,” said a voice and I slipped away, discouraged.

My next attempt at consciousness occurred when a great many yards of tubing were withdrawn from my insides. I opened my eyes, saw a pair of hands above me, felt the tube being withdrawn, felt hideously sick and passed out again.

The next day, however, I was sitting up in bed ready to receive callers. My head ached terribly and I was extremely weak. Otherwise my mind, such as it is, was functioning smoothly.

A trained nurse was the first person I saw on my return to the vale of tears. She smiled cheerfully. “They took out two quarts,” she said.

I moaned.

“Now it’s not as bad as all that.”

I said that it was as bad as all that. I asked her what time it was. “Eleven forty-seven. You can have milk toast now if you want it.”

I said that it was unlikely I should ever want milk toast at any time; in fact, the whole idea of food, despite the complete vacuum in my stomach, was sickening. I asked if it was day or night.

“Daytime, silly.”

“How long have I been unconscious?”

“About ten hours, since last night. You came to once or
twice while Doctor was pumping your stomach; you made things very difficult for Doctor.”

“For Nurse, too, I’ll bet,” I said, remembering my hospital-talk from an appendectomy of some years before.

“I’m used to difficult cases,” she said with some pride. “We had a very difficult case, Doctor and I, a week ago. It involved a total castration and my gracious …”

“Send for Lieutenant Winters,” I said weakly, putting a halt to these dreadful reminiscences.

“Well, I’m not sure that …”

“I will get up and go to him myself,” I said, sitting up with a great effort.

She grew alarmed. “You stay right there, dear, and I’ll go get him. Now don’t you move.” I couldn’t have moved if I wanted to.

A moment later she returned with Winters. He looked upset; as well he should have been. He motioned for the angel of mercy to leave the room.

When we were alone, he said, “Why did you do it?”

“Why did I do what?”

“Take all those sleeping tablets. According to the doctor you took over a dozen, of the strongest type. If you hadn’t knocked the receiver off the hook and the butler heard the phone ring in the pantry, you would’ve been dead now which, I suppose, is what you intended to do.”

“Winters,” I said softly, “when I go you go with me.”

He looked alarmed. “What do you mean?”

“Only that I did not take any sleeping tablets, that I was deliberately poisoned.”

“Are you sure of this?”

I called him several insulting names. He took them gravely, as though trying to determine whether or not they suited him.

“Who do you think gave them to you, and how?”

“They were given me by the killer you failed to apprehend and, as for the how, they were slipped rather cleverly into the coffee I drank after dinner. Mrs. Rhodes serves something which tastes not unlike Turkish mud, very expensive and heavy, so heavy that it’s impossible to taste whether it’s been tampered with or not.”

“Why do you think you were poisoned?”

“Because I know who did the murders.”

“You do not.” Winters sounded suddenly like an angry schoolboy trying to put a braggart in his place.

“I do, too,” I said, mocking his tone. He blushed.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I just don’t see how you happen to know who did the murder from the information available.”

“It may be that I have a better mind than yours.”

It was his turn to attribute rude characteristics to me. I smiled seraphically all through his insults. When he finished, I suggested that this was hardly the way to speak to a man who has only recently returned from the other side. Then, all passion spent, I spoke to him reasonably. “As soon as I have enough evidence I’ll let you know.”

“When will that be?”

“Tonight at dinner,” I said gaily, not at all sure that I could produce enough evidence but undisturbed by any thought of failure: so great is the love of life. I had recovered; I was not to die just yet. It is a feeling common to soldiers and those who survive operations and accidents of a serious nature.

“I insist you tell me now.” Winters became suddenly official.

“Not a chance in the world, friend,” I said, pulling myself up in bed. My head still ached but I was no longer dizzy.
“Now you tell the doctor to give me a shot of something to put a little life back into me and then, like Dr. Holmes, full of morphine or whatever it was he took, I shall proceed to arrange the evidence in such a manner that not even the police will be confused.”