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Authors: Elizabeth Daly

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“It was terrible afterwards. Arthur Atwood teased them about his signing the register, and they were furious at him. And when he left, just after you did, Freddy, she came into my room—Aunt Eleanor did—and she told me I must make up my mind what to do about Hugh Sanderson. She said that I would have to give Arthur Atwood his hundred thousand dollars, if not more; but that all Hugh wanted was to marry me.”

“And the rest of the million,” said young Barclay.

“I told her I'd always liked him well enough, but that I couldn't marry anybody but Fred.”

“That was the way to talk.” Young Barclay gently patted her on the head. “Did she say she couldn't see me letting you hand over vast sums of money to Sanderson and Atwood, and even to her?”

“Yes, she did. And she said that if they didn't get their money, they'd tell you how I got it. And she said…” Miss Cowden's voice faltered.

“Go ahead.” Fred Barclay took firm hold of her hand. “Go on and tell how Aunt Eleanor dropped the brick.”

“I was making her angry, and of course she was dreadfully nervous and tired, but I wouldn't have known her. Even her voice was different. She said: ‘I know perfectly well why you got up the nerve to go through with this; you knew Fred Barclay cares only for money, and you knew he wouldn't have you without any. Now I'll tell you something about him you don't know. He does care for money, but he wouldn't commit a fraud to get it. Can you imagine your uncle Harrison doing such a thing? In that respect, Fred's just like him.'”

“Flattering,” murmured Fred.

“And she said: ‘If he knew what you'd done, he wouldn't have anything to do with you. We're morally justified, but in the eyes of the law we're criminals. Remember that.'”

“Cheerful bedtime talk,” said Gamadge.

“They wanted to give me morphia, afterwards. I wouldn't take it. I lay awake, and I realised what it was going to be like, tied to those three others for life. And all I could think of, at first, was that they were going to have all the money, and that Fred would never have what Amby left him. So I decided that I'd say that about giving them all their legacies so Fred could get his, and the others couldn't object.”

“Very clever of you,” said Gamadge.

“But Fred wouldn't take his share.” Alma Cowden's eyes filled with tears. “And that night I began to wonder whether Arthur Atwood wouldn't kill me, somehow, and get five times a hundred thousand dollars. He had been saying: ‘I've taken a bigger risk than you know anything about, and I've done most of the work, and you couldn't have worked it without me. Why do I get this measly hundred thousand?' You don't know how he frightened me.”

“I know how he frightened Sanderson,” said Gamadge.

“So I thought I'd give the money up, and then perhaps Fred—perhaps somebody—I thought Mr. Ormville might help me to go away somewhere and work.”

“In other words, you had, as your aunt said, acquired the money in order to acquire this paragon here; and that's all you wanted it for.”

“Silliest idea I ever heard of,” said young Barclay.

“It wasn't only that.” Alma Cowden looked unhappy.

“I know it wasn't,” Gamadge told her, smiling. “A more miserable conspirator than yourself I never encountered. You simply didn't like the set-up, once you began to think it over. Well, Ormville is going to wangle you out of the jam, if he hasn't done it already. Mitchell is co-operating.”

“I always liked Mr. Ormville. But won't it ruin Fred's career in the Army, if he marries me?”

“Ormville will tell the Army that you were kept under drugs, or something, and didn't know a thing that was going on. Your aunt's letter says plainly that you were under duress. Leave it to Ormville.”

Fred Barclay said: “The parents want to see you, Gamadge, and express their appreciation.”

“I'm sure I don't know what for.”

“They're a little foggy about it all, but Mother has a vague impression that you saved her from a long term of imprisonment, and me from the gallows.”

“Tell her they don't hang people in Maine.”

“And they want to know how you got on to the thing, in the first place. So do I.”

“That's hardly worth telling. It was simply that from the beginning Mitchell and I looked at the case from opposite points of view. Being a policeman, he kept wondering whether Amberley Cowden hadn't been killed for his money; being an idle dreamer, I kept wondering whether he had ever lived to get it, and thinking how unfortunate it would have been for his family if he hadn't.

“From that, the next step was to wonder what they could have done about it, if anything, if he had died too soon. Nothing, obviously, unless the circumstances permitted, and unless there had been a substitute at hand. I didn't more than play with the idea until I heard—almost immediately—that the supposed Amberley Cowden had actually wanted Sam to see him in the lobby. Instead of leaving secretly, he had left openly; and had fixed his presence there—well after midnight, standard time—on Sam's attention.

“I ceased to play with my fantastic idea; I began to consider it seriously. A substitute would have to be a young man of Amberley Cowden's general build; he would have to make up convincingly, and play a part; and he would certainly wear gloves. Nobody at the Beach seemed to fill the first requirement; how about Atwood? I went up to the Cove to see Atwood, and I was convinced.

“But I couldn't say a word to Mitchell, or interfere in any way, because of Miss Cowden. She was undoubtedly struggling with the problem, and trying as best she could to undo what had been done; I couldn't possibly ruin her chance of getting out from under. My only hope was to get some kind of statement from Mrs. Cowden, exonerating her niece. I meant to bring pressure to bear; and, thanks to Sanderson's activities, that was easy. But not pleasant… Well.” He rose, and held out his hand. “Good luck to you both. I suppose you'll all be getting back to New York as soon as you can. I shall look forward to seeing you there.”

“And I don't believe we shall be coming back to the Old Beach again. But you will—lucky dog. Look here, Gamadge—wait half an hour or so; I'll go back with you, and we'll have some bridge with the parents. They need cheering. Poor Mum spends all her time thinking of how to impress upon the world that Aunt Eleanor wasn't a blood relation.”

“Some other time; I'm booked this afternoon. I still have that foursome with the Macphersons.”

All the characters and events in this work are fictitious.

UNEXPECTED NIGHT

A Felony & Mayhem mystery

PUBLISHING HISTORY

First print edition (Farrar & Rinehart): 1940

Felony & Mayhem print and electronic editions: 2013

Copyright © 1940 by Elizabeth Daly

Copyright renewed 1971 by Daly Harris, Virginia Taylor, Eleanor Boylan,

Elizabeth T. Daly, and Wilfrid Augustin Daly Jr.

All rights reserved

Ebook ISBN: 978-1-937384-78-4

You're reading a book in the Felony & Mayhem “Vintage” category. These books were originally published prior to about 1965, and feature the kind of twisty, ingenious puzzles beloved by fans of Agatha Christie and John Dickson Carr. If you enjoy this book, you may well like other “Vintage” titles from Felony & Mayhem Press.

“Vintage” titles available as e-books:

Elizabeth Daly

The “Henry Gamadge” series

Ngaio Marsh

The “Roderick Alleyn” series

“Vintage” titles available as print books:

Margery Allingham

The “Albert Campion” series

Edmund Crispin

The “Gervase Fen” series

For more about these books, and other Felony & Mayhem titles, please visit our website:

FelonyAndMayhem.com

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