Halfway House (27 page)

“What’s the idea?” demanded Bill.

“A few chores. By telephone. One to Trenton.”

“Trenton?”

“I wanted to speak to Ella Amity. But she hasn’t been in her office at the newspaper all day. Off on some tangent of her own, no doubt. Brainy female. And then I spoke to Sergeant Velie.”

“Oh, private business?” Bill slumped down as Ellery put the car into gear again, the dreamy look reappearing on his face.

“You might call it private,” chuckled Ellery. “The Sergeant, you know, is a veritable rock of ages. I always lean on his brawny shoulders when I’m weary—he’s my father’s Man Friday, you know, and as tongueless as a mummified Pharaoh. Well, Velie knew a good agency and promised to set the hounds on the trail instanter.”

Bill sat up abruptly. “Ellery! So you did—”

“Of course, you idiot. Your little attack of gallantry back there at Oyster Bay has made me change my plans. I deliberately concealed myself to keep him ignorant of my presence; but if he talks he may do damage nevertheless. Your having been there might strike a suspicious note in someone’s mind.”

“I couldn’t let that bird—” began Bill doggedly.

“Yes, yes, Romeo, I quite understand. The way it’s worked out there’s an additional advantage. A guard is always more effective when the guardee is unaware of his presence. Velie’s friends will watch Andrea and her mother closely enough, never fear. So we’ve given them protection under the best possible circumstances.”

“But won’t this blamed shadow of a murderess find out?”

Ellery looked hurt. “My dear Bill. If the arrangements give
me
a sense of security, they should satisfy
you.
I’m rather finicky in these delicate matters.”

“All right, all right. But it would be hell if she did. She’d know that Andrea had spilled—”

“Spilled what?”

“What?”

“What did Andrea spill?” asked Ellery patiently.

“Why, she told us exactly what happened that night—”

“Yes, and does it mean anything?”

Bill scowled. “I don’t get you.”

Ellery drove silently for a long time. He murmured at last, “Don’t you see, Bill, this criminal is deathly afraid of something connected with Andrea’s presence on the scene of the crime that night? Well, you heard Andrea’s story. Did it enlighten you? Did it point the road to the vital truth? Was there anything in it that struck you as damaging to an individual from the detective standpoint?”

“No,” admitted Bill.

“But there should have been. If Andrea had caught a glimpse of the murderess, her face, figure, clothing, even her hand, it would be conceivable that this dancing shadow of ours might feel it necessary to warn Andrea to say nothing. But the killer must have known that Andrea saw nothing: she was struck from behind and fell unconscious instantly.
Then what was it the killer was afraid of?
”

“You tell me,” said Bill gloomily.

Ellery said in a casual tone, “How about spending the night with me, Bill?” Then, as the Duesenberg howled under the impact of his foot on the accelerator, he muttered: “Perhaps I will, perhaps I will.”

“What d’ye mean by that?”

“Oh, nothing.”

“And why did you go into that telegraph office?”

“Oh! To check up on that wire sent to Andrea today that lured her out to the
North Shore Inn
”

“Well?”

“Nothing. The clerk doesn’t remember who sent it.”

The next morning the Inspector had left for Centre Street, and they were dawdling over their second cup of coffee in the Queens’ living-room, when the doorbell rang. They heard Djuna, who had a mind of his own, sharply questioning someone in the little sitting-room into which the door opened. “Djuna!” called Ellery from the breakfast table. “Who is it?”

“A girl,” said Djuna sulkily, appearing in the living-room doorway. Djuna, for all his tender years, was an incorruptible misogynist.

“Heavens!” said Andrea Gimball from behind him. “This young ogre almost snapped my head off. You don’t receive females often, I gather… Oh.”

Bill half rose, clutching the lapels of his borrowed dressing-gown over the russet and tan stripes of his borrowed pajamas; he glanced in panic at the bedroom door. He said, “Oh,” too, and sank back with a foolish grin.

“A plethora of orotundities,” observed Ellery with a smile. “So good of you, Andrea. You catch us literally with our… Well, never mind. Come in, Come in! And, Djuna, if ever you bark at this lady again I’ll wring your blasted young neck.”

Djuna scowled and departed for the kitchen. But he was back almost at once bearing the peace-offering of a clean cup and saucer, napkin, and spoon. “Coffee?” he growled, and vanished again.

“What a refreshing young person,” laughed Andrea as Ellery poured. “I think I like him.”

“He likes you. He reserves his sternest manner for those of whom he secretly approves.”

“Bill Angell, you look positively embarrassed. I thought bachelors preserved their poise under all circumstances.”

“It’s the pajamas,” said Bill, still grinning foolishly.

“They
are
weird. Yours, Mr. Queen? Thank you.” She sipped the coffee. She looked fresh and almost happy, dressed in something gay and perky, and showing no evidences of the previous day’s experience.

“It’s my libido sneaking out,” said Ellery. “Well, Andrea, you seem in better spirits this morning.”

“I am. I had a sound night’s sleep, a canter in the Park this morning, and here I am. And here
you
are, you two. Not dressed at ten-thirty!”

“Bill’s fault. He snores, you know—quite adept at it; has a most amazing virtuosity. Kept me awake half the night.” Bill blushed angrily.

“Bill!”

“It’s not true. I never snored in my life!”

“Thank goodness. I don’t think I could stand a man who—”

“Oh, couldn’t you?” retorted Bill. “Well, I’ll snore if I choose, and I’d like to see the woman—”

Andrea said maliciously, “Look, the little boy is angry. Oh, Bill, I do like you when your eyes get bright that way, and you make the funniest faces!”

“By the way,” said Ellery hastily, “did everything go off all right, Andrea? I mean last night?”

“Oh, yes.” Andrea sobered. “Mother came back just after you left. She was surprised to see me, of course, but I invented some excuse or other and persuaded her to return to the city.”

“No trouble?” asked Bill rather anxiously.

“Not the least bit. Not what you would call
trouble
.” Andrea’s chin hardened a little. “When we got back I found a series of frantic messages from Burke’s mother. I suppose you don’t know Burke’s mother?”

Bill grunted, looking glum, and Ellery said dryly, “Haven’t had the pleasure. Is she horsy, too?”

“Worse than that. She has aviation on the brain, an acute case. Goes about flying, gets in everybody’s hair. The professionals are afraid of her. Gray bobbed hair, a nose like Cæsar’s, and the riches of Midas. Well, dear Mrs. Jones wanted to know what in heaven’s name had happened to her little Burkie boy.”

“Oh,” said Bill. He was scanning Andrea’s face with renewed anxiety.

“It seems,” murmured Andrea, “that he came home last night with a black eye, a smashed nose, and a front tooth missing. Burke’s very proud of his appearance, you know, and this will keep him out of circulation for some time.”

“Break for the horses,” muttered Bill. “Did you—?”

“And of course,” continued Andrea, “Mrs. Jones wanted to know why I broke off the engagement. Then Mother got in on it and we had a perfectly lovely time. I was afraid Mother would throw a fit right on my bedroom rug.”

“Did you—?” began Bill again.

“Well, no, I didn’t. I thought,” Andrea looked at the floor, “one shock at a time was sufficient. Later…” Her voice was low. Then it lifted and she smiled again. “I suppose you’re wondering why I’m here?”

“Sufficient unto the day is the fact thereof,” said Ellery gallantly.

“No, but really. I awoke this morning remembering something that I’d completely forgotten last night. It’s a small thing that can’t be important, but you said you wanted to know everything.”

“Andrea.” Ellery rose, then he sat down again. “About that night in the shack?”

“Yes. Something I saw before I was struck by that fiendish woman.”

“Something you
saw?”
Ellery’s gravity was smothered in a rising tide of excitement. “What, Andrea? Don’t worry about its unimportance; let me do the fretting. What was it?”

“The matches.” Andrea shrugged. “Those yellow paper-matches on the plate. You see, I told you it was trivial. But they were different.”

Bill jumped up and went to the window, as if a thought had suddenly struck him. Below, on Eighty-seventh Street, a black town-car shone opulently at the curb. A few yards behind was parked a nondescript sedan with a hard-faced individual smoking at the wheel. “Andrea! You shouldn’t have come. Have you gone out of your mind? I just realized. That town-car downstairs simply shrieks. If that woman gets wind of this—”

Andrea went pale. But Ellery said impatiently: “There’s no danger, Bill; don’t be an old woman. Come, come, Andrea! What about those matches? In what way were they different?”

Her eyes were wide on Bill. “There weren’t as many,” she said in subdued tones.

“Not as many?” snapped Ellery. “When?”

“When I was standing in front of the table just before she hit me on the head. I saw the plate clearly. Everything was perfectly clear, like a photograph. It must have been my nerves. My nerves were on edge and my brain was racing—”

Ellery was leaning on the table now, his knuckles white. “Before she struck you the plate held fewer matches than—when?”

“Than when I came to and found the note in my hand and the woman gone and Joe on the floor.”

Ellery pushed back from the table. “Now, look here, Andrea,” he said softly. “Let’s get this straight. You came in, advanced to the table, saw the plate, were hit on the head, and when you revived noticed that there were more matches on the plate than when you’d come in. Is that right? Now, how many more were there?” his voice became urgent. “Think hard, please. I want
the exact number
.”

Andrea was bewildered. “But what could it possibly——”

“Andrea, will you answer my question!”

She frowned dutifully. “I don’t remember how many
more
there were when I revived. All I recall is how many there were on the plate when I came into the shack.”

“That will do.”

“There were six; I’m sure of the number. Six matches on the plate. I think subconsciously I counted them.”

“Six. Six.” Ellery began to pace up and down between Andrea and Bill. “Burnt, eh?”

“Oh, yes. Or rather half-burnt. You know.”

“Yes. Six matches which had been struck and used.” Ellery compressed his lips and continued to pace, his eyes abstracted.

“But, Ellery,” said Bill wearily, “what difference can it make how many she saw?”

Ellery made an impatient gesture. Andrea and Bill looked at each other, first in perplexity and then, as Ellery flung himself into a chair and began telling something off on his fingers, with a half-glimpsed excitement. Then he stopped counting, his features perfectly at rest. “Andrea, what was the situation as regards that plate when you first looked into the shack?”

“You mean at eight o’clock?”

“Yes.”

“Why, the plate was empty.”

“
Wunderlich!
Andrea, this is vital news. Are you sure you haven’t left anything out? There’s one thing—if only…” He stopped again to remove his pince-nez and tap them against his lips.

Andrea looked blank. “Why, I don’t think so. I think that’s all.”

“Please, Andrea. Concentrate. The table. Try to visualize the table as you saw it. What was on it at eight o’clock?”

“The empty plate. The lamp, unlit. I lit it then, as I think I told you. That’s all.”

“And at eight thirty-five, when you walked in—that is, just before you were assaulted?”

“The lamp, the plate with the six half-burnt match-stubs, and—oh!”

“Oh,” said Ellery. “We’ve struck a mnemonic chord.”

She said breathlessly, “There
was
something else; I remember it all now. There was a match-packet on the plate, too! Closed!”

“Ah,” said Ellery, and he put the pince-nez back on his nose. “An interesting point.” The way he said it, the way his eyes behind the rimless lenses glittered, made Bill glance at him sharply. “This packet of matches, Andrea—do you remember anything about it?”

“Why, no. Just that it was closed. It was a packet of paper-matches. You know. Those little things where the top fits into the piece where you strike the match——”

“Yes, yes. That’s everything, Andrea? You’re sure?”

“Really, I don’t see… That’s all.”

His eyes flickered. “Well, that takes care of the period before your assault. Now what was on the table when you came to?”

“The plate with a great number of those burnt yellow match-stubs—you saw them yourself later that night—the lamp, and that horrible paper-cutter with the—the—blood and burnt cork on its tip.”

“Nothing else?”

She thought for a moment. “No. Not a thing.”

“Wasn’t the match-packet still there?”

“No.”

“Hmm.” Ellery studied her for a moment rather queerly. Then he heaved himself out of his chair and said to Bill, “How would you like the job of sticking close to Andrea for a few days? I’ve changed my mind. I agree there may be some danger now—more than last night.”

“I told you there would be!” raged Bill, waving his arms. “Andrea, that was childish—coming here so openly. What do you think I ought to do, Ellery?”

“Take Andrea home. And stay there. Be her shadow. That shouldn’t be a specially onerous assignment.”

“You really think—?” began Andrea faintly.

“It’s safer, Andrea. Well, well, Bill, don’t stand there like one of Madame Tussaud’s exhibits!” Bill dashed off to the bedroom. He was back in an impossibly short time, fully dressed and flushed to the tips of his ears.

“Wait a minute,” said Ellery; he vanished into the bedroom. When he came back he was thoughtfully hefting a .38 police revolver. “You might pack this piece of hardware. It’s loaded; don’t monkey with that safety. You know how to use a gun, of course?”