Delphi Complete Works of Thorne Smith (Illustrated), page 82
And Barney laughed crazily, his trembling arm still extended toward Daniel.
“I tell you my own brother murdered Emily-Jane,” he cried in a loud voice. “Look at him. Look at him. Doesn’t he look like a murderer? He killed her as sure as God.”
And Daniel still stood there like a man crucified, his tired, tragic eyes striving to reach the heart of his brother. It was not what Barney said that mattered, but that his brother for whom he had gone through several cycles of hell with many more to come should have turned on him at this moment — that was the final affliction.
“Barney, old man, Barney,” his voice called to his brother. “Come here, kid. Forget it. Don’t be like that.”
No one will ever know whether or not Barney was answering that call when he took two steps forward, then crumpled to the floor.
In an instant Daniel had gathered him up in his arms and carried him to a sofa. The pain caused by this action caused him to stagger back against Scott Munson.
“Get a doctor, Scott,” he said.
“He’s already here,” replied Munson. “See, he’s taking care of Barney. It was only a nervous outburst, Daniel. Don’t mind that. He knows you’re his best friend.”
He led Daniel to the pantry and made him sit down. Then he handed him a drink. Leaving him for a moment, he returned with Manning.
“My God, Dan,” said the doctor, “you shouldn’t have lifted your brother like that. Here, let me look at that arm.”
Then, carrying on a rapid-fire conversation, he dressed and bandaged Daniel’s arm, after which he took a drink himself and gave one to his patient.
Daniel, feeling his strength returning, followed Manning back to the library where Munson still held the group together. Barney, revived, had gone to his room under the care of Aunt Matty.
“Does he still believe?” Daniel asked as Scott Munson joined them.
“He’s not right yet,” said Munson, “but you mustn’t mind him. All sensitive, high-strung temperaments are like that when overwrought.”
“Then you’re not going to arrest me?” asked Daniel, with a broken grin.
“Not on that kind of evidence, Dan,” replied Munson. “Barney’s ravings are not relevant.” He looked Daniel squarely in the face and said: “We are all going to the rocks now. Are you strong enough to come? I had to talk myself hoarse this morning, waiting for that damn fool Manning. Of course we could have moved her before, but I’ve blocked off the entire point from cliff top to the beach. It’s essential that I should see things for myself. Would you like to see her?”
It was a challenge that Daniel feared not to accept.
Back down to the beach again. Daniel recalled all the terrors of only a few short hours ago. This time he was accompanied by nearly all of the actors in the drama. Thank God, Barney was not among them. Daniel could never have stood that. Those stretcher-bearers, two stalwart fishermen, they were to bring Emily-Jane home. And he must look at her in full daylight under the watchful eye of Munson. Was that why they all were there? Munson, the torturer, always got his way. Well, he, Daniel, would fool him this time. He had used up all his emotions of any kind. He was as dead as Emily-Jane so far as caring was concerned.
He was walking with Manning now, and the doctor was helping him along. “Munson’s a brute,” said Manning. “You should never have done this.”
Daniel began to laugh. “Done what, doctor?” he demanded.
He knew the doctor was looking at him curiously, and he pulled himself together.
They had reached the rocks now. Munson was carefully shepherding them. Something to do with footprints, perhaps, or perhaps not. Somehow, June was on his other side. She was holding tight to his hand. Raise your head. Look. Don’t laugh. For God’s sake, don’t laugh. “I did that.” Should he shout it?
Yes, there was Emily-Jane. A little figure on a large rock. He knew what she looked like. He had made her so for this public exhibition. Hold tight, June.
“Jesus,” muttered Manning behind them, “doesn’t she look lonely?”
Chapter Nine: From Beach to Cliff
ONCE MORE EMILY-JANE was the center of all eyes. It almost seemed a pity that she couldn’t have arisen in her ballet dress and performed one of her innocently suggestive little dances. Instead she lay there cold, picked out by an early sun as golden as her hair. As in life so in death, eyes looked at her fascinated, but this time there was a different quality in her spell.
Munson mounted the rock. For some minutes he stood looking down at the girl. Dark, lithe, and inscrutable he was. The sun splashed against his straight black hair. He stood motionless, his intense gaze photographing every detail of the body and its immediate surroundings. Then, throwing back his head, he let his eyes travel slowly up the face of the cliff until they rested on the summit. There they remained fixed. He would have to go up there to the actual point of the departure of Emily-Jane from the world she had so successfully deceived. Once more he looked down at the dead girl as if trying to discover the reason for her existence.
“All right, Manning,” he said, in a low voice that carried its calm tones clearly to the silent group of watchers.
Dr. Manning left Daniel’s side and joined Munson on the rock.
“Manning,” Munson said, “I waited for you so that you could give evidence at the inquest. I can rely on your discretion when you are discreet, and I might as well tell you now that I want the inquest to be a mere formality — wilful murder with an open field. You understand?” He raised his dark eyes to those of the doctor.
“What a body, Munson,” murmured Manning. “What a figure. Too bad. Too damn bad. Wasted. Lost. I understand.”
The whole-hearted depravity of the man pleased Munson, who smiled grimly and said, “For the moment, Manning, I want your purely professional observations.”
“You have them, Munson. What is it?”
“The position of that figure and certain other details,” Munson continued, “tell me an interesting story. What do they tell you, Manning?”
For some time Manning’s eyes roved over the body, then he looked up at Munson with puzzled eyes.
“In the first place, Munson,” he said, “there’s the position of the body itself. Graceful as she was in life, she just couldn’t have fallen so gracefully. Impossible. She would have been all sprawled out or twisted. Somebody has fixed her. Decent of whoever it was. Then another thing, those blood smears on her face, they upset me. By rights they shouldn’t be there. The face, fortunately, is uninjured. There is no reason — no way that I can see, for blood being there at all. My conclusion is that someone put those marks on her face . . . in the dark. Probably it isn’t her blood, but that of some wounded—” He gave a slight start and ended up with, “That’s the way I see it.”
“Thanks,” said Munson. “Damned good. And that’s the story I want you to tell at the inquest with the exception, with the very essential exception, of the wounded part. Now just one minute and we’ll get this over. I want to let these people go back home to breakfast, if they can eat any.”
Once more his eyes traveled over the little group at the foot of the rock.
“Pete,” he called in a casual voice, “will you come up here for a moment?”
For the second time that morning Pete ascended the rock, on this occasion with the dignity and deliberation of a semi-official consultant.
“Now, Pete,” said Munson, with an indulgent smile, “you arrived at the Crewe house at six o’clock.”
“Did I?” said Pete, quite pleased and surprised.
“Yes, Pete, you did,” Munson assured him. “About how long were you on this beach altogether?”
“About an hour by the sun,” replied Pete. “What I mean is, one hour from the time I landed until I called on Mr. Barney.”
“So that puts you here just at about five o’clock,” observed Munson. “Was the body when you found it exactly as it is now?”
“Exactly,” replied Pete emphatically. “Just as she lays there now.”
“Not likely that anyone else would be wandering round here before five, do you think, Manning?” asked Munson.
“Most unlikely, I should say,” he replied.
“That’s all,” said Munson briskly. “The inquest will be held at ten o’clock tomorrow.”
As Pete was on his way down, Munson called him back.
“Did you see anything else down here,” he asked, “that might be helpful in clearing up this case? Any marks or objects — anything?”
And Pete honestly declared that he had not seen a thing, for he had completely forgotten the bright little object now resting in his pocket.
Alone on the rock, Munson knelt down and examined the girl’s dress. Suddenly he rose and called to June Lansing. Reluctantly she left Daniel’s side and mounted the rock.
“June,” said Munson, still preoccupied, “would you very much mind reaching your hand down in there and see what it is? I don’t like to do it myself for some reason.”
“You’re a terrible man, Scott,” replied June, “and I mean it, but you can’t help some of your finer instincts, can you?”
When she looked into his eyes she read there a deep, abiding sadness, and there was sadness in his voice, too, when he said: “June, you must believe me. This is the rottenest, the most heartbreaking task I’ve ever undertaken. But, June, I’ve got to go through with it to the end, and I must do it my way.”
Without another word, June did as she was bidden. The hand she withdrew held a packet of letters. She exchanged glances with Munson, and for the first time June’s eyes wavered. Silently and with a heavy heart she left the rock. When Munson rose and read with deep concentration one of the letters from the packet, Sam could not repress a gasp.
“What is it?” asked Sue, startled.
“Oh, nothing,” replied Sam, when all the time he felt like ducking and setting off hell-bent down the beach. “Nothing at all except that this place is getting on my nerves.”
He braced himself to receive the admonitory look that Munson was sure to bestow on him upon his completion of the beastly letter. Fortunately for the state of Sam’s morale, no such look was forthcoming. Instead, Munson looked up thoughtfully, then slipped the letter back into the packet. There was a new expression in his eyes when he glanced down at the still figure at his feet.
“Holt,” he called sharply.
As Holt approached the rock it became apparent to everyone present that he was in an abject state of funk. His swagger and self-esteem were gone, and with their departure the man became a lamentably deflated creature. His feet seemed to scrape along the rocks and his eyes strained away from the body of Emily-Jane.
Munson watched him silently.
“Go on and look at her,” he said harshly. “You weren’t so modest when she was alive.”
Lane Holt for a swift flash bared his teeth, then he looked uneasily away, his fingers nervously plucking at the flaps of his coat pockets. Munson seemed to be in no hurry. He was carefully, almost hopefully, examining the blood smears on the waxen face turned to the sky.
“What the hell do you want with me here?” Holt asked at last in a husky voice.
“Oh, yes,” replied Munson. “Thanks for reminding me. Were these, by any chance, what you were looking for in Emily-Jane’s room?”
He held out the packet of letters. Holt started visibly. Involuntarily his hand went out as if to seize the packet.
“Oh, no, no,” he replied. “I was looking for nothing — just to see if she was in, that’s all.”
“No thought of a little blackmail, Holt?” asked Munson. “Sort of a complete life of crime? No?”
“I didn’t do it, Munson. I didn’t, you know. I — I was fond of Emily-Jane. I really was.”
“That admission makes it all the more probable in view of the fact that she was soon to marry another man. Don’t try to convict yourself, Holt. You don’t have to.”
“May I go now?” Holt’s face was ghastly, his words trembled. He could feel Munson’s eyes burning into him. There was no escape. No hope of escape.
“Yes, go!” The words fell like a lash.
Munson turned back to his inspection of the blood smears.
“Dan,” he called in an absorbed voice, “do you think you could make the grade, old man?”
“Damn him and his old mans,” muttered Sam. “He’s trying to hang the lot of us. Why, old Dan can hardly stand on his feet. He’s been through enough for one day.”
But Daniel was moving forward, moving slowly and carefully, but well under way. There was no suggestion of hesitancy about his approach, no indication of guilt or dread. At the base of the rock, Pete Clark, who had remained to see whatever was to be seen, offered to lend a helping hand.
“Thanks, Pete,” said Dan. “I think I can still navigate.”
He climbed the rock he had played on so often as a boy, and stood gazing down at Emily-Jane. Not many hours ago she had been dancing and trysting. Enjoying both. It seemed such a great way off. Just a few hours. Most of the guests at the affair were still sleeping. Time had not even begun for them. How could she be so utterly dead, so completely remote from life? Why, she did not even know that life ever had been, that there was a world with golf links in it, country clubs, and dances. She was not even aware of the rock she was lying on. She was through, gone. And really it was a good thing, although even in death she still retained the power to wound and to destroy. What a fool he had been to hope otherwise. Munson had been repeating his name for some time. Why in hell couldn’t he keep quiet? Daniel wanted to think.
“Yes, yes,” he said impatiently. “What’s on your mind, Scott?” His gaze was polite but abstracted. Scott was a good chap. A hard worker. At present, an awful pest.
“What do you make of these, Dan?” asked the awful pest, pointing to the blood smears on the face of Emily-Jane. “I asked Doc Manning, but I’d like to get your opinion.”
Daniel’s thoughts snapped back to the immediate present. “Are we conversing as equals, Scott?” he asked.
“As always, Dan,” replied Munson, a little puzzled.
“That being the case,” said Dan, with a smile, “my opinion is that you’re an extremely apparent hypocrite and that you don’t want my opinion at all. Scott, old dear, you’re just plain plain, if you get what I mean. Now let’s get down to cases. What do you really want? Do you want me to find the murderer of this girl here? Are you seeking my collaboration? If so, give me your confidences also. As you know, I’m a pretty sick dog at present. You can’t bank on my reactions, you know, because I’m not quite myself at the moment. Out with it, Scott. Don’t be a humbug.”
“Daniel,” said Munson, “you’re too much for me. As far as I’m concerned, your rather painful trip down here has been entirely wasted. I see now that I’ll have to work on you a different way. You know me too well. I’m at a disadvantage because of that, but time will tell. Good luck. I hope you win.”
“Same to you,” said Daniel. “I hope you choke.”
“Thanks,” replied Munson with a real smile. “Can I help you down?”
“No, thanks,” said Daniel. “I think I can make it, but why don’t you cover her up, Scott? She’s licked.”
“But don’t forget, Dan, she still possesses the power of death.”
Daniel turned and faced him squarely. “You mean you possess the power of death,” he retorted. “She’s ended.”
Thus, at the moment of triumph, Daniel made the mistake of emphasizing with obvious satisfaction the impotency of Emily-Jane. Munson was not the man to overlook such little slips. He dropped the sheet over the body and followed Daniel from the rock.
“We’ve stood about enough punishment for one morning,” he said to the little group. “You’d better get back now and try to eat something. When we bring home Emily-Jane, I hope you’ll keep young Barney out of the way. Don’t mind the presence of some minions of the law if you happen to see them. I’ve had to have a few photographs taken, but I’ve instructed the men to leave the members of the household entirely alone. Let’s try to carry on as usual. I’ll join you as soon as I can, if that prospect brings you any pleasure. I hope, Dan, young Barney has come to his senses, but don’t be surprised if he develops a fixed idea. It will have to wear itself out. It’s tough, but the kid’s had a shock.” He paused and looked down the beach. “At last,” he exclaimed, “here comes our honored coroner. I bet he’s had his breakfast.”
Munson was back on the rock when they last saw him. With the assistance of a short stout officer he was carefully painting the outline of Emily-Jane upon the rock.
Having settled his business with the coroner and that dignitary having departed, Munson turned to the two local officers who had come to relieve Griggs, the gardener.
One of these officers was a red man. That was the impression he gave. Red of face and hair and hand. He was short and rather stout. The other was a crushed individual. No stomach. A sad, broken sort of face, and great lengths of arms and legs — yards of them.
“Well,” thought Munson, considering the pair, “this is a well-balanced team they’ve given me.”
“What’s your name?” he asked the little red officer.
“Shay, sir,” came the piping reply.
“And yours?” Scott turned to the other, whose sad eyes were fixed dreamily on the sea.
“Shay, sir,” this one found the heart to say.
“I’m not asking to be introduced to my friend here,” said Munson. “I already know his name.”
The crushed officer looked even more sorrowful. “My name is Shay,” he replied, as if trying to convince himself of that fact.
“Oh,” suggested Scott hopefully. “Brothers, I take it.”
“We hardly know each other,” protested the crushed one. “He’s just joined. Been an officer somewhere else.”
In the face of this new complication, Munson came near to washing his hands of the case, but he rallied gamely. “What do they call you at home?” he asked the red officer.
