The Bizarre Murders, page 63
“Get Pitts,” said Moley laconically to the detective on duty at the door.
When Godfrey and Jorum had gone, the millionaire prodding his gardener like a proud shepherd, Inspector Moley threw up his hands. “Another complication. A damned maid!”
“Not necessarily a complication. If Jorum’s time-sense is to be relied on, our original reconstruction still stands. The coroner said Marco died between one and half-past, and this Pitts woman was being coy with Marco within that period. And Jorum actually saw her leave.”
“Well, we’ll soon enough find out if this Pitts business is just nothing, or what.” Moley lowered himself into a chair and stretched his thick legs. “God, I’m tired! Must be pretty tuckered yourself.”
Ellery smiled ruefully. “Don’t mention that word. All I can think of is Judge Macklin snoring beatifically away somewhere over my head. I’ll simply have to get some shut-eye soon, or drop in my tracks.” He sat down limply. “By the way, here’s the murder-note. Your local district attorney may find it valuable when—and if—this case ever reaches the prosecuting stage.”
Moley tucked the pasted sheet carefully away. They sat relaxed, facing each other, minds emptied. The library was hushed, a cloister in a land of pandemonium. Ellery’s lids began to droop.
But they came alive at the sound of clattering feet. The Inspector swung about, tense. It was the detective he had sent, followed by Mrs. Godfrey.
“What’s the matter, Joe? Where’s that maid?”
“Can’t find her,” panted the man. “Mrs. Godfrey says—”
They sprang to their feet. “So she’s gone, eh?” muttered Ellery. “I thought I heard you say something about that to your daughter this morning, Mrs. Godfrey.”
“Yes.” Her dark features were worried. “As a matter of fact, when I went upstairs before to tell you about luncheon, I had in mind mentioning Pitts’s absence. I forgot in what happened.” She passed her slender hand over her forehead. “I didn’t think it important—”
“You didn’t think it important!” howled Inspector Moley, dancing up and down. “Nobody thinks anything important! Jorum keeps his mouth shut. You won’t talk. Everybody…Where is she? When’d you see her last? For God’s sake, haven’t you a tongue, Mrs. Godfrey?”
“Don’t shout, please,” said the dark woman coldly. “I’m not a servant. If you’ll keep your temper, Inspector, I’ll tell you what I know about it. We’ve been so upset here today that a thing like that didn’t make much impression on me, at first. I don’t generally see Pitts until I return from my morning dip to dress for breakfast. Naturally, with everything that—that happened, you see…It wasn’t until I returned to the house this morning, after I—I found the body, that I asked for her. Nobody seemed to know where she was, and I was too dazed and harassed about other things to push the matter. One of the other maids helped me. All day at various times it’s come back to me that she wasn’t anywhere about…”
“Where’s she sleep?” said Moley with bitterness.
“In the servants’ wing on the main floor here.”
“Did you look there?” he barked at the detective.
“Sure, Chief.” The man was frightened. “We never thought—But she’s gone. Skipped clean. Took all her duds, her bag, everything. How should we know that—”
“If she took a powder under your noses,” said Moley savagely, “I’ll have your shields, the pack o’ you!”
“Now, now, Inspector,” frowned Ellery, “that’s not credible. Not with all those troopers on guard. When was the last time you saw her yesterday, Mrs. Godfrey?”
“When I returned to my own quarters after—after—”
“After you left Marco’s room. Yes, yes. And?”
“She usually helps me prepare for bed, combs my hair. I rang for her, but she didn’t appear for a long time.”
“Was that unusual?”
“Yes. When she did show up she complained of feeling ill and asked if she might be excused. She was very flushed and her eyes did look feverish. Of course, I permitted her to go at once’.”
“Just a gag,” snarled the Inspector. “What time was it when she left your room?”
“I don’t know exactly. Around one o’clock, I suppose.”
Ellery murmured: “By the way, Mrs. Godfrey, how long has this woman been working for you?”
“Not very long. My former maid quit rather unexpectedly in the spring, and Pitts came to me soon after.”
Moley said irritable: “I suppose you didn’t see where she went. This is a fine kettle of fish—”
A brute in trooper’s uniform said from the doorway: “Lieutenant Corcoran sent me to report, Inspector, that there’s a yellow roadster missing from the garage. He’s just checked up with that man Jorum and the two chauffeurs.”
“Yellow roadster!” gasped Stella Godfrey. “Why, that was John Marco’s!”
Moley glared out of red-rimmed eyes. Then he sprang at his detective with a yell. “Well, what are you standin’ there for, like a damn’ dummy? Get busy! Trace that car! This Pitts woman must have run out durin’ the night! Get the dope on it, you dumbbell!”
Mr. Ellery Queen sighed. “By the way, Mrs. Godfrey, you say your former maid left you rather precipitately? Did she have any reason for doing so, to your knowledge?”
“Why, no,” said the dark woman slowly. “I’ve often wondered about that. She was a good girl and I paid her well. She’d often expressed herself as delighted with her job Then—she just left. No reason at all.”
“Maybe,” shouted Moley, “she was a Communist!”
“Ha, ha,” said Ellery. “And you secured the ailing Miss Pitts from an agency, of course, Mrs. Godfrey?”
“No. She was recommended to me. I—” Mrs. Godfrey stopped so suddenly that even Moley paused in his stamping about the room to stare at her.
“Recommended to you,” said Ellery. “And who per formed this friendly service, Mrs. Godfrey?”
She bit the back of her hand. “It’s the oddest thing,” she whispered. “I just remembered…John Marco did. He said she was a girl he knew who needed a job—”
“No doubt,” said Ellery in a dry tone. “Respectable woman, eh, Inspector? Hmm. Now, that business on the terrace couldn’t have been a bit of an act for Jorum’s benefit, could it? …Well, sir, while you’re taking arms against your local sea of troubles, I give notice that I’m perishing for slumber. Mrs. Godfrey, could you have some one guide me to that sanctuary your daughter was so kind as to offer my outraged bones?”
Chapter Eight
OF HOSPITALITY
A SHIP WAS SINKING at sea. It was a sea of red waves tumbling deep, and the ship was a toy. Colossus stood astride the prow, boldly naked, leering at the dark moon inches above his head. The ship sank and the giant vanished. An instant later his head was small and floating on quiet water, turned blindly to the black heavens. The moon shone brightly on his face; it was John Marco. Then the sea vanished and John Marco was a tiny chinaware man swimming in a glass of water. He was very stiff and dead. The clear liquid kept bathing his white enamelled body, lifting his curly hair, bumping him idly against the sides of the glass, which gradually grew opaque with a dyeing scarlet which looked like…
Mr. Ellery Queen opened his eyes in darkness, feeling thirsty.
For a moment his brain was a dizzy vacuum groping toward memory. Then memory flooded back and he sat up, licking his chops and fumbling for the lamp beside his bed.
“Can’t say that vaunted subconscious of mine has been of any assistance,” he muttered as his fingers touched the switch. The room sprang alive. His throat was parched. He pressed the button beside his bed, lit a cigaret from his case on the night-table, and lay back smoking.
He had dreamed of men and women and seas and forests and strangely animate busts of Columbus and bloody coils of wire and forging cruisers and one-eyed monsters and…John Marco. Marco in a cloak, Marco naked, Marco in white drills, Marco in tails, Marco with horns sprouting from his forehead, Marco making Hollywood love to fat women, Marco dancing adagio in tights, Marco singing in doublet and hose, Marco shouting blasphemies. But nowhere in the turbulent career of his dream had he even glimpsed a rational answer to the problem of Marco murdered. His head ached and he did not feel at all rested.
He grunted at a knock on his door and Tiller glided in with a tray bearing glasses and bottles. Tiller was smiling paternally.
“You’ve had a nice nap, I trust, sir?” he said as he set the tray down on the night-table.
“Miserable.” Ellery grimaced at the contents o£ the bottles. “Plain water, Tiller. I’m thirsty as the very devil.”
“Yes, sir,” said Tiller with a raising of his precise little brows, and he took the tray away and returned instanter with a carafe. “You’ll be hungry, too, sir, no doubt,” he murmured as Ellery drained his third glass. “I’ll have a tray sent up at once.”
“Good lord! What time is it?”
“Long past dinner, sir. Mrs. Godfrey said you weren’t to be disturbed—you and Judge Macklin. It’s almost ten o’clock, sir.”
“Good for Mrs. Godfrey. Tray, eh? By George, I am hungry. Is the Judge still sleeping?”
“I fancy so, sir. He hasn’t rung.”
“‘Thou sleepest, Brutus, and yet Rome is in chains,’” said Ellery sadly. “Well, well, that’s the greatest boon of senescence. We’ll let the old gentleman have his rest; he’s earned it. Now fetch me that tray, Tiller, like a good fellow, while I wash some of this grime off my body. We must pay due reverence to God, to society, and to ourselves, you know.”
“Yes, sir,” said Tiller, blinking. “And if you’ll pardon my saying so, sir, this is the first time any gentleman in this house has quoted both Voltaire and Bacon in the same breath.” And he pattered imperturbably away, leaving Ellery staring.
Incredible Tiller! Ellery chuckled, jumped out of bed, and made for the bathroom.
When he emerged, freshly bathed and shaved, he found Tiller arranging a table with creamy napery. A huge tray filled with covered silver dishes and giving off a delicate aroma of hot food made his mouth water. He got hastily into a dressing-gown (the admirable Tiller had unpacked his bag in the lavatory interval and put away his things) and sat down to stupefy his appetite. Tiller presided with a deftness and self-effacement that proclaimed butlerage still another of his infinitely variegated accomplishments.
“Uh—not that I’m casting aspersions, you understand, Tiller, at your perfect conduct,” said Ellery at last, setting down his cup, “but isn’t this the proper function of the butler?”
“Indeed it is, sir,” murmured Tiller, busy with the dishes, “but you see, sir, the butler has given notice.”
“Notice! What’s happened?”
“Funk, I fancy, sir. He’s a reactionary, sir, and murders and such things are a little out of his line. He’s offended, too, at what he terms the ‘shockin’ coarse manners’ of Inspector Moley’s men.”
“If I know Inspector Moley,” grinned Ellery, “his notice won’t get him out of here—not until this case is cleared up. By the way, has anything special happened since my dip into oblivion?”
“Nothing, sir. Inspector Moley has gone, leaving a few of his men on duty. He asked me to tell you, sir, that he would be back in the morning.”
“Hmm. Thanks awfully. And now, Tiller, if you’ll clear this mess out…No, no, I’m perfectly capable of dressing myself! I’ve done it for some years now, and in my own way I’m as hostile to change as that butler of yours.”
When Tiller had gone, Ellery rapidly dressed himself in fresh whites and stole into the adjoining room, after a futile knock on the communicating door. Judge Macklin lay peacefully snoring in a chamber resplendent in royal blue. He was wearing rather flamboyant pajamas and his white hair stuck innocently up from his head like a halo. The old gentleman, Ellery saw, was probably good for the rest of the night; and so he stole out and went downstairs.
When Regan out of the sweetness of her nature plucked aged Gloucester’s beard, he said rather plaintively: “I am your host. With robbers’ hands my hospitable favours you should not ruffle thus.” It is not recorded that this admonishment awoke repentance in the breast of Lear’s daughter.
Mr. Ellery Queen found himself in a quandary; and not for the first time in his career. Walter Godfrey fell short of being the perfect host, and he was the type of fat little man whose facial follicles are infertile; nevertheless Ellery had eaten his food and slept, so to speak, in his bed; and to pluck—in a continuation of the figure—hairs from Godfrey’s beard was an act of sheer effrontery to the laws of hospitality.
In short, Ellery found himself perched on the horns of the usual dilemma: to eavesdrop or not to eavesdrop. Now, while eavesdropping is an affront to hospitality, it is an essential to the business of detection; and the great question in Ellery’s mind was: Was he first a guest, or was he first a detective? He decided very shortly after the opportunity presented itself that he was a guest by sufferance only, and in the face of special circumstances; wherefore he owed it to himself and to the cause of truth in which he was enlisted to listen with all the power of his keen ears. And listen he did, with enlightening result; realizing that the quest for the Holy Grail itself is not more beset with difficulties than the merest seeking after one true, unvarnished word.
It had happened quite unexpectedly, and he had had to wrestle with his conscience on the instant. He had descended into an apparently empty house; the vast cavern of the living-room was untenanted; the library, into which he poked his head, was dark; the patio was deserted. Wondering where every one was, he strolled out into the fragrant gardens, alone under a tepid moon.
At least, he thought he was alone. He thought he was alone until he came upon a bend of the shell-garnished path and heard a woman sob. The garden was luxuriant here, the bushes tall; he was quite invisible in their shadows. Then a man spoke, and Ellery knew that the unpredictable Godfreys, husband and wife, were beyond the bend.
Godfrey was saying in a low voice from which, even now, he could not banish the whip-note: “Stella, I must talk to you. It’s high time some one laid the law down. You’re going to give me the truth of this business or I’ll know the reason why; d’ye understand?”
Ellery was perched on the horns for a trice only; and. then he was listening very closely indeed.
“Oh, Walter,” Stella Godfrey was sobbing, “I—I’m so glad. I’ve got to talk to somebody. I never thought you…”
It was a time for confession: the moon was melting and the gardens an invitation to burdened souls.
The millionaire grunted, but it was a softer grunt than usual. “By God, Stella, I can’t make you out. What are you crying for? It seems to me that you’ve done nothing but cry ever since I married you. The Lord knows I’ve given you everything you’ve wanted; and you know that there’s never been another woman with me. Is it this Marco tripe?”
Her voice was muffled and unsteady. “You’ve given me everything but attention, Walter. You’ve ignored me. You were romantic enough when I married you and you—you weren’t so fat. A woman wants romance, Walter…”
“Romance!” he snorted. “Poppycock. You’re not a child any more, Stella. That stuff is all right for Rosa and this Cort boy. But you and I—we’re past that. I am. And you ought to be. Trouble with you is that you’ve never grown up. Do you realize that you might very easily be a grandmother by now?” But there was an uncertain note in his voice.
“I’ll never be past that,” cried Stella Godfrey. “That’s what you can’t seem to understand. And it isn’t only that.” Her voice became calmer. “It’s not merely that you’ve stopped loving me. It’s that you’ve put me out of your life altogether. Walter, if you paid me one-tenth the attention you pay that dirty old man Jorum, I—I’d be happy!”
“Don’t talk nonsense, Stella!”
“I’ve never known why you…Walter, I swear! You—you drove me to it—”
“To what?”
“To—all this. This terrible mess. Marco…”
He was silent for so long that Ellery began to wonder if he had not gone away. But then Godfrey said hoarsely: “I see it now. Just a fool. I’m supposed to be smart. You mean to tell me—Stella, I could kill you!”
She whispered: “I could kill myself.”
A rising wind slithered through the gardens, leaving a trail of curious music. Ellery stood still in the midst of it and thanked the fates which had awakened him in time. There were revelations in the air. And one never knew—
The millionaire asked quietly: “How long, Stella?”
“Walter, don’t look at me that way…Since—since spring.”
“Just after you met him, eh? What a sucker I’ve been. Didn’t have much trouble picking Walter Godfrey’s prize plum, did he? Just a sucker. Blind as a damn bat. Under my nose…”
“It—it wouldn’t have happened at all, I think,” she choked, “if he hadn’t…Oh, Walter, that night you’d been beastly to me—so cold, so indifferent. I—He took me home. He began to take me home. He—he made love to me. I tried to resist, but…Somehow, he got me to take a drink from his flask. And another. And after that—I don’t know. Oh, Walter—he took me to his apartment…I came to there. I—”
“How many others have there been, Stella?” The little man’s voice was like chilled steel.
“Walter!” The tone rose in alarm. “I swear…He was the first! The only one. I just couldn’t stand it any longer. Oh, I had to tell you, now that he’s—he’s…” Ellery could almost see her youthful shoulders quiver.
The fat little man was apparently pacing up and down in the path; his shoes crunched against the gravel in short, quick bursts of sound. Ellery started; the Napoleonic little creature was actually sighing! “Well, Stella, I suppose it was as much my fault as yours. I’ve often wondered how a man feels when he learns that his wife has been unfaithful to him. You read about it in the papers—he takes a revolver, he beats her head in, he commits suicide…” Godfrey paused. “But it hurts. Damn it all, it hurts, Stella.”
