House Of Storm (26 page)

Dr. Riordan’s voice cut through Jim’s detached, quite impersonal words, with a question. “How do you know it was Roy that took the bills?”

Jim listened in spite of his curious air of detachment. He replied: “Roy gave me money to pay my plane fare. I’ve still got one of the bills. I used part of the other one to pay the boatman to bring me back to Beadon Island. But there were two hundred-dollar bills. The one I’ve got still has the crease in it and it matches the folds in the bills Happy stole. Happy had exactly ten hundred-dollar bills.”

“Let me get this straight,” Dr. Riordan said. “Roy took them from Nonie, gave them to Hermione to keep her quiet for the moment—until he could think of a way out. He wouldn’t have told her that Nonie wasn’t to be the rich wife he’d expected. After you and Nonie had gone to Elbow, Hermione went home and the boy stole them. Yes, she’d wait, of course, until she could get the bills back quietly, so it wouldn’t look as though she’d been having a row with the boy—just in case he didn’t get well. Yes, I see that,” Dr. Riordan said. “The thing I don’t see is why Roy would take anybody’s money, and why he’d give money to Hermione and …”

There was this time a creak; quite definite, quite clear. She wouldn’t look. She wouldn’t let her glance so much as flicker toward the armoire. “Jim,” she whispered, and Jim said, replying to Dr. Riordan, “There’s only one reason. It’s the obvious and simple reason. He owed her the money.”

“Roy!” Dr. Riordan cried incredulously. “Roy!”

“The only reason for anybody to steal twelve hundred dollars is because he has no money,” Jim said. “There simply can’t be any other reason.”

“But—wouldn’t there have been a note—a written record of such a loan?”

“If there was one, Roy destroyed it.”

“He couldn’t; there wasn’t time after he shot Hermione. Still, maybe he tricked her. Maybe he told her he had the money; maybe he induced her to get it out of the safe. Maybe …”

Jim said rather loudly and distinctly: “Maybe we’ll never know; the important evidence is the gun.”

“Well, I saw him get the gun; no doubt of that. He must have taken it away with him after he shot Hermione, thinking if he got in a jam he’d use it in order to implicate Dick. Perhaps he didn’t mean to kill her. I think she came to the door with the gun and they quarreled and he got it away from her and …”

Dick Fenby was in the doorway, he had been listening, he was speaking and Nonie had not known he was there.

Dick said: “If anybody ever borrowed a cent from Hermione he’d be in her clutches for the rest of his life and when she put the screws on …” He stopped and cried: “But that’s what she did! That night when she came for me. She taunted Roy, she called him a gentleman of the old school, she said he was reliable, she said his word was as good as a bond …That kind of thing! Every word she said was a dagger and a threat. So he went to see her and they quarreled. And then Seabury guessed …”

“Seabury knew,” Jim said. “I think I know how he knew. I went over and over that last talk we had while Seabury was in the room. There were two things that, once I began to think it was Roy, suddenly were like signposts. One was the sandals …”

“Sandals!”

“Hermione’s green slippers. She’d had them on, you know, when Seabury and I moved her from the porch. They fell and Nonie put them somewhere out of sight. I remember thinking of them and looking and they weren’t anywhere they could be seen. But Roy—who arrived afterward—talking to Seabury last night said something about her green sandals. How did he know? He had to have seen her. Then Lydia’s securities. Lydia was Roy’s alibi. He’d said he was with her, and she’d been asking him about changing investments; but Seabury would have known that Lydia’s money is in an annuity; she couldn’t possibly change her investments. Seabury would have known that.”

Dick said: “Roy could have said that because he didn’t want to tell what he and Lydia were talking about. That doesn’t mean anything.”

“I think it gave Seabury a—a lead,” Jim said, “a kind of opening. And of course Seabury knew that Nonie was soon to make a will. Too soon. Actually before her marriage.”

“In Roy’s favor?” Dick turned to question Nonie, and she was aware of it, yet could not look at him, for if she lifted her head, her gaze would go where it must not go.

Jim was speaking: “I didn’t know that until a few minutes ago. Nonie had forgotten it. It was in a letter she had written.”

“Did you suspect Roy before I told you I had seen him get the gun?” Dr. Riordan asked.

Jim’s voice was very clear and loud, again. “I began to suspect Roy when I saw how he tried to save me. Every time I was in danger of being accused of murder, something prevented it. I began to feel as if—well, somebody somewhere was trying to protect me. As if,” Jim said grimly, “somebody had to protect me. And that somebody was always Roy.” There was nothing casual and idle now about Jim’s words: he might have been addressing an audience. “That phony business of the machete yesterday morning when Nonie was walking along the hedge! If anybody had wanted to kill her he had a chance to do it. But the result was that it kept the commissioner from arresting me then and there. I was with the commissioner when it happened.”

“Do you mean Roy did that?”

“Yes, I think so. He had a chance to; he cut through the banana plantation and back again before Aurelia phoned. He didn’t intend to hurt Nonie, not then. He only wanted to make it look as if the murderer had been here at a time when
I
was right beside the commissioner. It worked, so that was all right. And then today he promised to find the gun, in order to keep you from arresting me, Dick. You were going to charge me with murder—and Roy knew how serious that charge would very likely have proved to be. As soon as you did that, Dick, he said he’d find another gun. So when I heard that I thought, he’s got that gun somewhere. He didn’t throw it away; he kept it hidden in case he needed it to help clear himself, or me.”

“I know—I mean you told me. Riordan did what you told him to do; I’ve got that all clear. You told Riordan to pretend to leave and then come back and watch Roy and Roy retrieved my gun. But I still can’t believe it!”

“That,” Jim said, “was to save me again from arrest. He intended almost certainly to say he’d found it in your room, Dick, or some place so it would incriminate you, rather than me. I think he intended you to find Hermione, Dick. I think he intended you, in the end, to be the scapegoat. He had to have known somehow that she had your gun.”

“Maybe I told him—I don’t know—maybe she told him!” Dick rubbed his eyes and said suddenly: “Roy’s not in the house. I’ve looked everywhere. He’s not here.”

Oh, no! That’s wrong. He’s here and he has got the gun, now! So near—so near!

Nonie moved and did not know what she intended to do and Lydia, behind Dick said, “Where’s Roy? I want to talk to him. I …
What’s wrong
?” Her brilliant eyes went swiftly from one face to another and she knew.

One hand went out to flatten itself against the door casing; her whole body swayed. Jim said gently: “We know the truth now, Lydia. You’ve only suspected it; Roy killed her.”

Lydia’s lips trembled; she said in a strangled way: “I wouldn’t have let you hang, Jim. I love Roy. I’ve always loved him. But I wouldn’t have let you hang. I’d have told the truth.”

“He wasn’t with you when Hermione was killed?” Dr. Riordan said.

“He said to say that he was. He said he hadn’t killed her, but he’d said he was with me. And he was with me for awhile. We—we quarreled about his marriage. He was going to marry Nonie because he had to have her money. The estate was going to pieces. He didn’t know where to turn. He’s so proud—so proud. And then Nonie’s father—her rich father, Roy thought, was dying. So he went and brought Nonie back, and then he said he had to marry her for the money.”

“What about that night, Lydia?” Jim asked. “What happened?”

“I didn’t think then that he’d killed Hermione. He took me home; I hated the thought of his marriage. I—then we quarreled and he went away in the car and then in a little while he came back. He said”—her voice shook pitiably—“he said he was sorry, he’d come back to make peace with me. Later when I knew Hermione had been murdered, he told me that if we said we’d quarreled it—it showed—it would show Nonie that we were”—a slow flush came up into her face—“on quarreling terms, he said. He didn’t want Nonie to know, he said, that he loved me. So, he said, we’d not tell anyone that we’d quarreled and he’d gone away for half an hour and then come back. He said that we’d say he’d been with me all the time. I believed it; of course I believed it. Until Seabury was killed like that; until today when I knew that Nonie had no money and he had known it and wouldn’t tell me. But I—yes, I love him. I still love him. But there’s a thing called conscience. I couldn’t have let you hang.”

That was what she’d meant: a thing called conscience. Nonie let her eyes flicker once toward the armoire; there was no sound, no motion. How could any of them know that murder waited there!

Jim said: “He wanted Nonie’s money?”

“He had to have it. He’d borrowed money; cash, he said; he said he had to return it or lose his plantation.”

“Who loaned him money?”

“I don’t know,” Lydia faltered. “I only thought it might be Hermione. I thought that because of the way she talked, that night—before she was murdered …” Lydia suddenly, without any warning slid into a chair and flung her hands over her face and began to cry. “What are you going to do …?” she asked brokenly, sobbing.

And Nonie glanced again toward the armoire and she started to her feet. Her throat was numb, her lips were frozen, and Jim, watching her, flung himself at the widening door of the armoire.

Lydia screamed and shots roared against the walls of the room. Roy was between Jim and Dick, struggling, knocking Dick across a chair, jerking away from Jim’s hold on his arm. There were shots again, this time through the ceiling. Lydia screamed and screamed and Roy gave a mighty tug and pulled away and reached the French windows and they were open. He plunged through onto the balcony. There was a wild rush of rain and wind and sound and then only the night and the wind and the rain and the door swinging wildly. And Lydia screaming.

Nonie knew that. She knew that Jim had the gun in his hand. Dick was scrambling to his feet, rubbing his jaw. Dr. Riordan said: “Let him go.”

Nonie’s throat was suddenly unlocked. “You knew—Jim, you knew he was there.”

Jim looked at her and came to her. “Of course,” he said. “I saw your eyes—I saw the red mark on your face. I was waiting. I—wanted him to know all the proof we had.” He put his hand gently against her face. “When I saw that I—lost my head. I didn’t care what happened to Roy.”

“He didn’t deserve mercy,” Dr. Riordan said sternly.

“He’ll come back …” Nonie whispered.

“No. He’ll not come back.”

Dick said slowly: “Jim, why did he try to save you? He could have let you take the rap. It was getting my gun in order to protect you, by implicating me, that actually proved he did it. It was his own act. If he hadn’t done that …”

Jim said slowly: “I was his only chance to recoup. To make a comeback. To save his plantation. Riordan said he didn’t mean to kill Hermione; but perhaps he did mean it—in his heart, not acknowledging it. You see, if Hermione was out of the way, I’d inherit. And we’d planned, Roy and I, to run the two plantations together, as a partnership. It would have saved his plantation, saved his home, saved his pride, saved everything he lived for. When he learned that afternoon that Nonie had no money, then, I think—in his heart—he made a decision to act. But I came back. He didn’t expect that. He thought I’d have a perfect alibi. That was the essential part of his plan. I would inherit from Hermione. I would be all too grateful for his offer to enter partnership, and nobody could suspect me of murder because I’d be on a plane, in full sight of everybody at the time she was murdered. He had to save me or his whole scheme fell apart. If they hung me for Hermione’s murder, he was lost. He had to have me.”

I’ll kill even Jim. Even Jim …
That was what Roy had meant.

Nonie remembered that and then she saw Aurelia in the doorway. Aurelia had heard; she knew.

She said: “I was afraid of this! I was afraid. He was not a planter, Jim. Everything went wrong, always. It always had gone wrong. But he was so proud, so proud.” She looked at Nonie. “I wanted you to marry him. I thought he’d be happy, he’d have your money, yes, and that would help—you must have seen that the plantation needed money. But mainly—I wanted you to be his wife. Well, this is the last of the Beadons of Beadon Gates. Where will he go, Jim? What will he do?”

There was an effect of glances exchanged and yet no one looked directly at anyone else. Dick, however, went quietly to Aurelia. “It’s better this way,” he said. He led her from the room. Lydia rose, the tears shining on her face and went away, too, quickly, her lovely red hair gleaming, her head still high.

Dr. Riordan said after a moment: “He’ll take the motor boat. That’s my guess. He’ll think he can make it in spite of the storm.” He looked at Nonie and then at Jim. “I don’t see why he tried to kill Nonie—if that’s what he meant to do this afternoon.”

Oh, yes, that’s what he meant to do, Nonie thought. That’s what he meant—when I was married to him, when my will was made. A slip on the rocks. An accident with the boat.

Jim was going to the French windows and he spoke over his shoulder. “Because she could identify the money, of course. He had to kill her before somebody found the money and Nonie said it had been stolen from her. It was too direct, too damning a chain. He wouldn’t have hurt her otherwise.”

Oh, but he would have murdered sometime; the dark seed of violence was already in his heart. A slip on the rocks. Money she hadn’t had; a marriage, a will … But Hermione could not resist the cat-and-mouse game which had so evil and strong a fascination for her—and this prey was too strong.

They were talking, tracing the inevitable, terrible pattern of murder, speculating on things they could never know, now: how had Roy known that Seabury believed him guilty; when and how had Seabury let Roy see his suspicion; had he told him in words; had Roy guessed only when Seabury so secretly, so dangerously tried to telephone to the police commissioner? She sat huddled, listening, not listening. Suddenly Jim said: “You see, Nonie was afraid. I think when I realized that, when she said the house seemed to watch and listen, when I knew there was something she was afraid of and still she didn’t know what it was, then I began to be sure. You can’t be afraid of a thing; you have to be afraid of a person. There was a latent savagery in Roy, a streak of dreadful violence. He could hold it, he could control it when he wished; but she sensed its presence. She was afraid and didn’t know why she was afraid.”