Halfway House (26 page)

“What a bungler I am! I should have examined that wrapping-paper more carefully. But it was so torn… I’m sorry, Andrea. Go on.”

“Still dazed, I looked at it. It had marks on it. I was at the table, by the lamp. I read what was written on the note.”

“Andrea,” said Ellery softly. “If only… Where is that note? Lord, be good to us! Did you save that note, Andrea?”

He could not see in the dark. But Bill, still holding her hand as if it were a lifeline stretched wonderfully across an abyss, sensed her eagerness, the swiftness with which her other hand went to the bosom of her gown, vanished, and reappeared.

“I knew some day… Despite everything,” she said simply, “I saved it.”

“Bill!” snapped Ellery. He was out of his chair and before them so quickly that they drew back a little in alarm. “A light. Dig that box of matches out of my pocket. I must have a light. Heavens, man, you can do your hand-holding later! Give me light.”

There was a confused scuffling; and after a while a match fizzed. Bill’s cheeks were dark with blood. Andrea closed her eyes to the tiny blob of illumination. But Ellery was bent over the note, swallowing every mark, every letter, every word as if the torn and crumpled scrap of paper were an ancient and blessed holograph.

The match sputtered out. Bill struck another. And another. He used up most of the box before Ellery straightened, still studying the crudely printed capitals with a detached puzzlement, a frown, the faintest disappointment.

“Well?” said Bill, safe in darkness again. “What does it say?”

“Eh?” Ellery grunted and went back to his chair. “Not much, but what’s here is to the point. I believe I’ll keep this, Andrea, if you don’t mind. It says, ‘
Say nothing about anything you have seen or heard tonight, if you value the life of your mother.’
The word ‘anything’ is heavily underscored. I think, Bill, we both owe this young woman an apology
de profundis
.”

“Andrea,” said Bill in a pleading, humble voice. But he did not seem able to say anything more. Ellery heard Andrea sigh from across the glade; Bill felt the hand in his, recaptured, tighten a little.

“Interesting,” continued Ellery in an absent tone. “Of course it’s plain now, for one thing, Andrea, why you felt you had to keep quiet. Upon your silence, imposed by someone who had proved herself a murderess, depended your mother’s life. It’s so clear now, after the event.” They heard him make an annoyed, clicking little sound. “I’m to be severely censured for my attack of stupidity. You didn’t know when or where the blow would fall. Yes, yes, very interesting indeed. Your mother knows nothing of this, I take it?”

“Oh, no!”

“You’ve confided in no one at all until tonight?”

“How could I?” She shivered a little.

“That’s a load,” said Ellery grimly, “I shouldn’t particularly care to carry about myself.”

“But now—tonight. She must be frightened now. I mean this awful, awful person. It was I who was stupid, not you. I should have known better. But when the wire came this afternoon I was frantic. It took me in completely. I imagined all sorts of dreadful things. So I rushed out to that inn and… Whoever it was took no chances. I’d no sooner run into the lobby there—I had no time even to realize how I had been fooled—when a hand holding something soft and smelly pressed it to my nose and I passed out. The next thing I knew I woke up outside on those chairs with Bill—” She stopped, and Bill squirmed like a child.

“Didn’t you see anything—the face, a hand, a scrap of garment?”

“Nothing.”

“How did the hand feel?”

“I didn’t feel the hand at all. I suppose it was a hand. Just that cloth—it must have been a handkerchief—saturated in chloroform.”

“A warning. Again a warning. Remarkable!”

“What’s remarkable about it?” demanded Bill.

“Forgive me; I was thinking aloud. Well, the warning didn’t work, did it, Andrea? Instead of inducing you to clamp your lips tighter, it parted them completely.”

“Don’t you see?” cried Andrea. “As soon as you got me out of that stupor I saw it. The woman who attacked me this afternoon must have been the same woman who attacked me in the shack that day and put the note in my hand. I realized that at once. And so I was sure—sure at last.”

“Of what?” asked Bill blankly.

“Sure that your sister hadn’t been that woman, silly! I never really believed, Bill, that Lucy killed Joe and attacked me that day, but I didn’t
know
. This afternoon I knew. Lucy’s in prison; so she couldn’t possibly have been—don’t you see? That was one thing I was clear about at last. It made up my mind for me. It’s still important to protect mother, more important than ever; but the terrible injustice to Lucy—I had to tell you my story.”

“But your mother—”

“Do you think,” she whispered, “that anyone…”

“No one knows we’re here, Andrea,” said Ellery gently. “And when your mother returns we’ll see to it that she’s well protected without her knowledge. This note, however… No salutation, no signature. That was to be expected. Can’t get anything typical out of the phraseology, either. On the the other hand, the comparative length of the message was a little troublesome to the writer. The words ‘of your mother’—the last phrase in the message—grew regularly fainter, with ‘mother’ virtually illegible. Of course the length of the note explains the many matches used. A singeing of cork carbonizes only the upper surface; a stroke or two and the carbon is gone, necessitating another application of fire. Andrea, when you went in—and before you were struck on the head—did you see the knife lying on the table with the cork imbedded on its point?”

“No. I mean it wasn’t there then. I saw it only when I recovered from the blow.”

“That’s something. Before you were struck the knife therefore was in Gimball’s heart. Between the time you were struck and the time you recovered the murderess withdrew the knife, stuck the cork on its tip, charred it, tore off a piece of the wrapping-paper, and wrote the note to you. Before you recovered she stuck the note in your hand and fled in Lucy’s Ford. You didn’t catch even a glimpse of the one who struck you, Andrea?”

“No.”

“Not even her hand—anything?”

“It was a complete surprise.”

“What happened when you recovered?”

“I read the note. I was really frightened then. And I looked over the table and saw Joe. He was lying on the floor with blood on his chest. He looked dead. When I recognized him I must have screamed.”

“I’ve heard that scream of yours,” muttered Bill, “a hundred times in my dreams.”

“Poor Bill. I grabbed my bag and ran for the door. I saw a car’s headlights on the main road nearby. I realized then what a dangerous position I was in—alone with a dead man, my stepfather. I jumped into the roadster and drove off, putting a handkerchief to my face as I passed the car. Of course I didn’t know whose car it was, or who was in it. I left the main road going back and managed to reach the city by dodging in and out about eleven-thirty. I slipped into the apartment without being seen, changed into my evening things, and drove down to the Waldorf. I did say something to the others about having had a headache, or something; they didn’t question me. The rest,” she sighed with an infinitude of weariness, “you know.”

“Have you had any further messages, Andrea?” asked Ellery absently.

“One. It came the day after the… you know. A wire. It merely said,
‘Say nothing.’”
“Where is it?”

“I destroyed it. I didn’t think a wire—”

“What office was it sent from?”

“I don’t believe I noticed. I was practically petrified.” Her voice rose. “Oh, how could I say anything to you when I knew someone was watching from the dark, ready to—to harm Mother if I said a word?”

“Don’t, Andrea,” said Bill tenderly.

“But doesn’t this story of mine change things for Lucy, Bill? You—you could see to it that Mother and I were both protected from now on. The attack on me today proves that Lucy couldn’t have been the one who—”

“No, Andrea. From the legal standpoint it’s no proof at all. Pollinger would say that the attack on you today was engineered by friends of Lucy’s for the very purpose of making her appear innocent of the murder for which she’s been convicted.”

“I agree with Bill,” said Ellery suddenly. “As a matter of fact, our plan from now on must be entirely different. Andrea, I shall give you what is popularly known as the air—a generous gift, under the circumstances. You will say nothing to anyone about the attack on you at the North Shore Inn today, not even to your mother. Your assailant, inferring that I have given you up as a bad job, that you took her warning to heart and said nothing, will feel more comfortable—ample protection, I believe, against further assaults. Whoever it was who chloroformed you, my dear, isn’t bloodthirsty; you’ll be safe enough.”

“Whatever you think best,” murmured Andrea.

“But, Ellery—” protested Bill.

“No, no, I’m sure there’s no danger if we let matters rest, Bill.” Ellery’s chair scraped. ‘I think we’d better be on our way, Bill. Andrea’s mother will be along soon and there’s no point in remaining for awkward explanations. Shall we see you——”

Someone was crashing through the underbrush. Ellery stopped talking. The sounds grew louder. It was as if a large animal, blind, were blundering toward them through the bushes and trees.

“Not a word, Bill,” whispered Ellery. “Come out of that. Quickly! Andrea, sit tight. At the first sign of anything, run like the devil.”

Bill stole toward him in the darkness. Ellery grasped his arm and squeezed. Across the glade Andrea was very still. A man’s voice shouted, “Andrea!” with a queer thickness.

“Burke,” whispered Andrea.

“Andrea!” It was an angry roar. “Where the hell are you? Can’t see a thing in this blasted darkness.”

They heard him thrash through the last barrier of undergrowth into the glade. His breath came in gusts, as if he had been running. “Here I am, Burke,” said Andrea quietly from the basketwork chair.

Jones grunted; he was clearly groping about for her. Bill, crouching beside Ellery, was glaring toward the source of the noise. “Here you are,” Jones’s heavy laughter rolled out from the glade. “Dodging me, Andy? That’s a hell of a way to treat your fiancé. Had to trail you, by God. Telephoned your apartment and some servant said you’d come out here with the old lady. How about a kiss? Come on—”

“Take your hands off me,” said Andrea. “You’re drunk as a swill-filled pig.”

“What’s a couple o’ drinks between friends? Come on, now, Andy, gimme a kiss and make it hot.”

The listening men heard a scuffling noise and then, sharp as a punctuation mark, a slap. “I said take your hands off me,” said Andrea evenly. “I don’t like drunks pawing me. Now get out, Burke.”

“So that’s the way it is, hey?” growled Jones. “All right, Andrea; you asked for it. What you need is a li’l old-fashioned lovin’. Now, now…”

“Stop that, you filthy—”

“Like that sheep-eyed Philadelphia lawyer better, don’t you? Well, I don’t want my fiancée playing around with other men, see? No, sir, not
my
fiancée. My property, Andy; t’have and t’hold. Now gimme that kiss and be quick about it!”

“Burke, we’re through. Will you go now, please?”

“Through? Oh, no, we’re not. What d’ye mean—through?”

“Washed up. I’m breaking our engagement. It was a mistake. You aren’t yourself; you’re tight, Burke. Go now, before you do something you’ll be sorry for.”

“What you need, li’l one, is a touch of the whip. Break ’em… You come here!”

They were struggling across the glade. Bill shook off Ellery’s hand and silently streaked forward. Ellery hesitated, shrugged, and retreated more deeply into the protection of the tree above him. He heard a tearing sound, as if something had been ripped forcibly away. Jones grunted in pure surprise. “What the—”

“This is Angell speaking,” said Bill grimly. “I can’t see you, you swine, but I could smell you all the way across the glade. How’s that flipper of yours?”

“Leggo my collar, damn you!”

“Arm healed yet?”

“Sure! You going to leggo, or do I have to—” A fist thudded against bone, and a body crashed to the grass.

“It’s a shame to take advantage of a drunk,” growled Bill from the darkness, “but you had it coming to you.”

Jones scrambled to his feet. “Oh, it’s little Bill, is it?” he snarled. “Arranging pretty rendezvous in the dark, hey?” He said something obscene very clearly, and struck out.

“Bill, don’t!” cried Andrea.

Bill’s fists played a momentary tattoo, and again Jones went down. “That will teach you to be a good little polo-player, Jones. Now are you going peacefully, or do I have to boot you out?”

“Bill!”

Jones was silent now; Ellery could almost see him crouching on the grass. Then he sprang again. For several seconds Ellery heard nothing but panting exhalations and the soggy sounds of fists striking flesh. Then someone fell again. Jones cursed; Ellery heard him pick himself up and stagger away. And after a while they heard the sound of a motor retreating in the distance. Ellery stepped into the glade again. “My hero,” he said dryly. “Do you know what you are, Sir Galahad? You’re a fool.”

“Go sit on a tack,” said Bill defiantly. “I itched to maul that egotistical pillar of society the first time I set eyes on his ugly map. And nobody talks to Andrea that way—”

“Where is Andrea? It’s uncommonly quiet here.”

“I’m here,” murmured Andrea.

“Where?”

“The location,” she said softly, “is somewhat private, sir.”

Ellery threw up his hands. “I never knew an investigation that was materially assisted by the presence of little Eros. Disgusting! Well, there’s nothing I can do about it. Bless you, my children. Shall we see you back to the house, Andrea?”

“I’ll meet you at the car,” said Bill in a rather dreamy voice. Ellery grinned under cover of the darkness. He heard them walking slowly away.

When Bill rejoined Ellery he was silent and his face was shining. Ellery glanced at him once in the light of the Duesenberg’s dashboard, chuckled to himself, and drove off. Ellery parked the car on the main street of Roslyn, excused himself, and hurried into a drug-store. He was gone for a long time. When he came out he strode up the street toward a telegraph office and went in. Five minutes later he was back, looking thoughtful.