House Of Storm (10 page)

Roy gave an angry exclamation. “Are you trying to trap him, Seabury?”

“No,” Seabury said. “Don’t jump down my throat like that, Roy. I don’t want to see Jim hang. But he’ll have to answer all these things sooner or later. Jim, did you see her alive?”

Roy started to rise and Jim said quickly: “Okay, Roy. He’s right. I’ll have to answer everything they ask. No, I didn’t see her alive. It’s just as I told you.”

“What was the quarrel about? They’ll ask that, too, Jim. Everybody on the island knows she had the family money and Middle Road as long as she lived. Was it about money?”

Jim said explosively, “Listen, Seabury! I hated her—and she hated me. I’ve got all sorts of motives for killing her. Any one of them would be sufficient motive to hang me. But the fact is I didn’t kill her.”

Seabury said wearily: “Don’t blow your top, Jim. I didn’t say you did. I’m only saying what the police will say!”

“Okay,” Jim said. “Sorry, Seabury. Anything else?”

“Where were you exactly when you say you heard the shot?”

“That’s another question you don’t have to answer here and now!” exclaimed Roy. “Wait till you’ve seen a lawyer! I’ll say this, Seabury, you can’t stop me.… Jim, you must understand. Whatever you say now at this moment, you’ll have to stick to all through the investigation, maybe even through …” Roy checked himself abruptly but Jim finished: “Through a trial? Well, that’s all right.”

Roy leaned forward. “You must not let yourself be placed in any sort of position which might later be incriminating. I don’t care what Seabury thinks or says; that’s the fact. Seabury is magistrate; don’t forget that even if he is a friend, he is also an official.”

Seabury said wearily: “Maybe I shouldn’t say it, but he’s right, Jim. Our law calls every man innocent, until he’s judged guilty. I’ll say now, because I’m your friend, don’t hang the noose around your own neck.”

“But I didn’t kill her! Nobody’s going to prove I did. Nobody’s going to charge me with murder.”

Seabury was shaking his head again rather hopelessly.

“Did you never hear of circumstantial evidence? She was murdered. You were here alone with her … except for the house boys too far away from the house even to hear the sound of the shot. You had quarreled with her. You came back without anybody knowing you were coming.” He stopped with the effect of a shrug.

Roy said earnestly: “Knowledge of your own innocence is fine, Jim, except when it compels you to take dangerous risks. You’ve got to stop and think …”

Jim’s mouth was angry. “See here, Roy, and you, too, Seabury. I’ve got my life to live and now …” He leaned over to drop ashes into a tray, carefully, and Nonie caught the stubborn light in his eyes. “Now that Hermione is dead, the plantation will belong to me and my life will be here on the island. So that life’s got to be free of suspicion. The only way I can start to clear it up is to tell the exact truth from the beginning.”

Roy sighed again. “Why in hell did you come back, Jim?”

It was the one thing he couldn’t then tell the truth about or, at least, that he wouldn’t tell the truth about. That was to protect Nonie; to save Roy’s pain and pride before Seabury. Jim said shortly: “Well, I’m here. And I’ve told you exactly what happened.”

Seabury listened for a moment to the storm, the wild rain, the roar of the wind. He glanced indecisively at the bamboo screen and then at Roy. “We can’t do anything until the storm is over.”

Roy, too, looked at the bamboo screen before he replied. Suddenly it struck Nonie that it was strange how quiet terror may be. Hermione murdered and there was no commotion, no shriek of sirens, no uniformed police, no squad cars and photographers, no procession of trained investigators. Yet how grateful all of them would have been for that smoothly geared and efficient machinery, for skilled and expert investigation, for authority; for someone who knew what to do and how to do it. How welcome the solid, blue-clad figure of a policeman would have been!

Roy said slowly: “We can phone Riordan and the Port Iles men.”

“We will,” said Seabury. “First though, Jim, let me get this straight. How did you get back from Cienfuegos?”

“I got a fellow with a motor boat who was willing to bring me. We landed at the wharf at Beadon Rock.…”

“What time was that?”

“I don’t know; it was dark. About an hour ago; I can’t be sure. I walked up here from the village.…”

Seabury interrupted again. “See anybody?”

“I don’t remember. I may have, around the wharf. I struck across from the highway through the plantation, along the wagon road. I came up to Dick’s cottage, intending to put myself up for the night there. I was just about to turn in when I heard the shot. I ran across and into this house …”

“Why did you run?” said Seabury. “Did you think she was killed?”

“I ran because it was a gun shot. People don’t as a rule shoot guns without a reason!”

Seabury insisted. “But did you think of Hermione? Did you think of danger?”

Jim replied slowly: “I don’t know what I thought. I imagine I assumed that she’d got frightened at something. That or accident. But I wouldn’t have heard a gun shot and made no inquiry about it.”

“Did you see anybody?” Seabury asked.

“I saw Hermione. I thought—as nearly as I can remember—she’s had an accident. I ran to look and just as I did it, I thought that I heard something in the shrubbery beyond the driveway. I couldn’t be sure; I’m not sure now. It was very windy, gusts of wind, and everything happened at once.”

“Did you see anybody running along the road or driveway?” Seabury asked, turning to Nonie.

“I didn’t see anybody at all. I didn’t even pass a car.”

“A car could have been hidden almost anywhere in the thick shrubbery along the road. The rain has washed out tire marks by now—if there were any.” Seabury sighed. “This is Dick Fenby’s job. He’s Chief of Police.”

“Well, we’ll have to do what we can ourselves,” Jim said. “We’d better phone the commissioner at Port Iles and report the thing. That’s what Dick would do. The commissioner will tell us exactly what to do.”

Seabury said suddenly: “The doctor will have to see the body before we take her away. Poor Hermione. I’m sorry about this.”

Wind sifted through the hall, so the red Turkish carpet quivered gently, the curling bamboo screen across Hermione’s bedroom door seemed to sway a little as if hands touched it lightly, as if Hermione herself were listening.

No one spoke for a moment. In the pause, the door from the veranda was flung open again. Dick Fenby, a sodden wet figure, came in, caught the door, forced it to close and stood with his back against it. His gaze fixed itself on an object upon the table. He made a sudden lunge forward, picked up Jim’s gun, held it and turned it to his nose and sniffed at the barrel. Loudly over the sound of the storm he said: “What’s happened? This gun’s been fired. Who shot what?”

He peered at the gun. “Whose gun is this anyway? I’ve never seen it before. It’s certainly been fired within the last half hour; you can still smell the smoke.”

Jim went to him and took the gun. “It’s my gun. I fired it into the bushes when I thought I’d heard somebody there.”

There was another sharp moment of silence. Then Seabury rose. The look of intense, inward question had gone. He said: “Hermione Shaw was a woman of wealth. I was her lawyer. I know her well. I know all of her circumstances. From now on, Jim, I’m afraid I’ll have to act in my official, capacity. Give me the gun.”

W
IND SHOOK THE HOUSE
and wild rain drummed upon it. Seabury Jenkins walked over to Jim and took the gun, wrapping it in his handkerchief. Nonie watched the white linen and Seabury’s tanned, thin hands and again a wave of incredulity washed over her. It was not real, it was a film, it could not be murder. She had never in her life seen anyone intentionally preserve fingerprint evidence, to give to the police. But then, she had never seen murder. And she thought with a sense of horror and bewilderment:
it’s Jim
! Jim they suspect, Jim they already think killed a woman.

But Dick had hated her too! He had said, defeated and helpless: “I’m still tied.”

Dick, however, couldn’t have shot her, even to break the chains he hated. Dick had an alibi. She wished with all her heart that Jim had an alibi half as sound, half as firm.

Roy rose abruptly and went to Jim. “That’s all right. The slug that killed her can be proved not to have been fired from Jim’s gun. This will clear you, Jim.”

Dick’s vague but interested gaze was still on the gun. “Is anything wrong? I’m the Chief of Police. Mustn’t have people firing guns.”

Jim crossed the hall and took him by the arm. “Something very serious has happened. Listen, Dick …”

“Where’s Hermione?” Dick asked. “She won’t let you fool around with guns. Any shooting that’s done around here she’ll do.” He seemed aware suddenly of the frozen stillness of their faces. “What’s wrong? What are you looking at me like that for? That gun …” He caught at Seabury. “Something’s happened. I can tell … Is it Hermione? That’s not my gun. I didn’t do it.”

Seabury snapped it up as a dog snaps up a bone. “Didn’t do what, Dick? What is it you didn’t do?”

Jim’s voice was angry and quick. “You can’t question him now. He doesn’t mean anything.…”

“What didn’t you do?” Seabury repeated.

Dick said clearly: “Is it Hermione? What happened? Was she hurt?”

“She’s dead,” Roy said.

Seabury whirled upon him. “I’m going to question Dick and do it in my own way.”

“Look out, Dick!” cried Jim, and caught him as he stumbled forward, his face like chalk, half-fainting, against a chair. He guided Dick into the chair and Dick put his face in his hands with a long, shivering sound like a moan.

Seabury wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. Jim said: “We’ll get some coffee into him. He’ll be all right.”

“That’s a good idea.” Roy came to Nonie and took her hand. “The storm has about spent itself. As soon as there’s a lull, I’ll get you out of this. How about going out to the kitchen with Jim and fixing some coffee? It won’t hurt any of us. Seabury and I will do what has to be done.”

He wanted to get her out of the way. He wanted to protect her; it was like Roy. She rose and replied and went with Jim along the hall, to the door at the end that led to a wide, low-ceilinged kitchen, before the small irony struck her. She had wanted to talk to Jim alone and Roy himself had given her the opportunity.

However, she had only a moment alone with Jim, for they searched the house rapidly, thoroughly, at Seabury’s suggestion. They found no one and, again at Seabury’s suggestion, looked through Hermione’s room and her tiny office adjoining the kitchen. “Robbery,” Seabury said, “might have been the motive.”

But nothing was disturbed; the small wall safe was closed, the desk in order.

“What about her jewelry?” Seabury asked.

Jim shook his head. “What she had she kept in the safe.”

“Anybody but Hermione know the combination?”

“I didn’t. If that’s what you mean. I don’t think anybody knew it except Hermione.”

The bubbling coffee sent a warm and homely fragrance over the kitchen. Nonie went to the cupboard and got out cups and a tray. Roy was at the telephone. They could hear his voice. “Hello, Doctor—can you hear me? I am at the Shaw place. Hermione’s been shot …”

Seabury went back into the hall. As Nonie reached for a pad with which to lift the coffee pot, Jim came to her. “Have you told Roy?”

She shook her head. “There wasn’t time. Dick was there and Lydia.”

“You must tell him. It’s only three days.”

Roy said from the doorway. “Jebe’s coming, Nonie. He’ll take you home.”

“Here, I’ll do that.” Jim took the pad from her hand. She lifted the tray with its clinking cups and Jim followed her back into the hall, carrying the steaming coffee. She was aware then of the lull that, as Roy had predicted, had come. With the suddenness of tropical storms, the wind had hurled itself and the rain out to sea. Such a small island for it to cover, she thought; such a small island, so few people, yet murder had come to dwell there, too!

Jim poured coffee. “Drink it, Nonie,” said Roy. “Do you good. Jebe’ll be here in a minute in the station wagon. I’ll be home later.” He turned worriedly to Seabury. “I think it’s safe enough for her on the road in a car, don’t you?”

Seabury nodded tersely. And certainly whoever had crept through the thick, tropical night to shoot Hermione Shaw on her own doorstep would not linger along the roads. “There’s Jebe, now,” Roy said, listening. “Jebe or Riordan.” He went to the door.

It was Jebe, his dark face frightened, full of questions. And as he came up the steps another car came rapidly along the driveway, its headlights shining. “That’s Riordan!” Seabury exclaimed.

“You’d better go along now, dear,” Roy said. “The doctor …” Again she realized that he wished to protect her from the ugly tasks that followed in the train of murder. “I’ll take her to the car,” Jim said quickly. “Come along, Jebe.”

She put down her cup and went with Jim, his hand warm and steady under her arm, along the wide, cluttered hall. The rain had gone but everything glittered wetly in the lights of the cars in the driveway below. She had a glimpse of Doctor Riordan getting hurriedly out of the shabby coupe that everyone on the island knew. The violence of the storm had cleansed the veranda completely; certainly if there had been such things as clues, footprints, any sort of material evidence, they had been washed away.

“I’ll be home later,” Roy told her. “Don’t wait for me. But tell Aurelia. Take care of her, Jebe.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Roy!” Jebe stared at the doctor, stared back at the house, but trudged along beside her toward the station wagon. So there was no chance to say even a word to Jim without Jebe hearing it. There was only the crunch of their footsteps on the shell driveway; the heavy wet fragrance of the tropical night. Jim opened the door of the station wagon. She slid under the wheel, pulling her long white skirt straight. The white dress she’d worn because Jim had remembered it.

Jebe was crawling into the seat beside her. Jim’s fingers moved from her arm; she leaned over the wheel which felt cold and damp to her hands. Jim’s face in the faint reflected glow of the headlights looked white and strained, his eyes very dark. “It’ll be all right, Nonie. Believe me. Be careful driving; don’t stop for anything. See you tomorrow.”