Delphi Complete Works of Thorne Smith (Illustrated), page 84
“Bennett,” he said at last, “a man spends all his life taking back something whether he knows it or not. I now take back what I said awhile ago about footprints. It is perfectly true that in the past I’ve never got all worked up over them, but these prints here interest me strangely. They might mean so damn much — not the prints, but the persons who made them. Now, as I read these prints — I refer to the smaller ones — it strikes me they must have been made either by a woman who prefers comfort to style or by one who has occasion to be much on her feet, a servant perhaps. I don’t mean one of your high-stepping, high-heeled, movie-mad girls, although she may easily be that type — Wait a minute.” Munson broke off, and returned to his inspection of the prints. “Let’s take up the man’s prints for a change,” he resumed. “What type of man left them here, do you suppose?”
Bennett studied the marks in the damp soil for several minutes. He, too, seemed to be endeavoring to give flesh and blood to the wearer of the shoes that had made them.
“For one thing,” he said, “he was far from being a dandy. The wide, flat heel and the broad toe, the nail marks in the heel and the full impression of the sole, all go to convince me that those are the working shoes of a working-man — an outside man.” He looked at Munson for confirmation, but Munson seemed to be miles away.
“All right,” said Munson unexpectedly. “How about this: A maid still wearing her service shoes snags onto the stable man, the gardener, or some other outside male servant, and takes him for a walk. No date, no dressing-up for the occasion, no thought one way or another. They come down here and eventually stand behind this bush. Now, I say this because I happen to know just such a likely pair. There may be a dozen of them on this point of land — all sorts of combinations of those pairs, but I know one pair. I’ve watched them. A maid and an outside boy who possesses both the inclination and the enterprise to come prowling down here on a dark night. Perfectly innocently, I mean, that is, within all reasonable expectations. I’m going to find out — Oh, hell,” he broke off, “all this is unprofitable speculation, but interesting. You got me into it, Bennett. I already know the murderer. Of that I’m fairly certain, but I wish to God I could find another one. I rather like this murderer, you see. Understand, Bennett, my remarks are unofficial now.”
“Perfectly, Mr. Munson,” replied Bennett earnestly. “It’s a tough situation.”
“It is. It is,” said Munson, walking absent-mindedly away. Presently he stopped and called back over his shoulder, “Have you had any breakfast, Bennett?”
“I could stand a cup of coffee,” he replied.
“Then let’s go back to the house. There are things to be done there and I’d like to have you along.”
A piping voice greeted them as they were about to leave the point. “What’s to become of us?” asked the piping voice.
Munson looked upon the intrepid Shays with a sardonic grin. “My staff seems to be partially resuscitated,” he said. “What’s going to become of you, did you ask?”
“Yes, Mr. Munson,” said Shad. “What’s to become of us?”
“One hell of a lot,” came the distressing reply, “if you stick around with me. Come along and I’ll show you.”
Chapter Ten: Care Sits on Crewe House
WHEN DANIEL AND the rest returned from the beach, Manning, who had returned a little before the others, was waiting on the veranda.
“A nice, depressing morning,” he said in greeting. “Just the sort of a thing for a bright summer day. Invigorates the body and stimulates the nerves. Gives one an appetite.”
He was talking at random now, popping out anything in an endeavor to make these sad-looking, harried people a little less dispirited. Among Manning’s various vices was a genuine desire to see his friends happy, to open a bottle of any old thing and to help them to enjoy life. He was constantly fighting off the dread of depression. No one suspected how low-spirited he felt when alone at night he confronted himself in the mirror and thought, “Only a few more years left now and those not much good.” For this reason he made it a point to be alone at night as little as possible. In this he succeeded tremendously, but no one realized more keenly than he that within a few short years he would be able to share only his memories with the charming women he had once seduced. Therefore, when he saw the party from the beach come trailing across the lawn, he, too, felt as if the bottom had dropped out of things. Getting drunk, he reflected, was no worse than getting morbid. The only trouble about it was you couldn’t stay drunk indefinitely. And as soon as you got sober you became twice as morbid and no end sick. He voiced his thoughts tentatively.
“I think we should all get just a little bit drunk,” he suggested.
“And play going to Jerusalem,” added June.
“Or murderer, murderer, who’s got the murderer,” put in Sam bitterly.
“No,” protested Daniel, “Scott is playing that game, and it looks as if he’s going to win. How’s Barney, doctor?”
“Barney’s all right,” replied Manning. “I’ve seen the best-hearted people break out like that before. When they’ve had a shock they turn on those closest to them. Don’t worry, Dan. Something will come along and shock him back to reason.”
He led June aside and looked at her seriously and with kindly comprehension.
“Listen, June,” he said in a low voice. “I want you to know that I’m with the house in this affair. You know what I mean. I’m with you and Daniel and Barney, too, for that matter. A friend on the outside may prove very valuable in the near future. I’m that friend, and I want you to consider me so. Might not be so damned respectable, but I’ve still got a lot of influence round these parts with all kinds of people. They’ll do things for me. That’s all. You can count on me. Now I’m going to take charge of Daniel and put him to bed for a while. Send up some coffee and toast and” — he considered a moment, then continued— “yes, you’d better send up a bottle of well-selected wine. I’ve got to put some heart into Daniel. This thing is going to be a fight, June, and it’s only just begun.”
“It began a long time ago, Dr. Manning,” said June. “I’m afraid that this is the last act where everybody gets carried off the stage on stretchers and things. But it’s good to know we can count on you. Something keeps telling me we’re not licked yet. If I thought so” — she shrugged her shoulders— “I’d put an end to the misery.”
“How?” asked Manning.
“I don’t know right off, but I’d find a way.”
“Do you think he did it, that chap, Holt?”
June followed the direction of the doctor’s glance to an isolated corner of the veranda where Holt was sitting alone. Within the past few hours the man had altered shockingly. There was a crazy cast to his face. His eyes were all confused with conflicting emotions, hate and fear fighting for supremacy. June could find in her heart no pity for Lane Holt.
“I wish he had,” she answered. “I wish he had.”
“He damn well looks the part,” said Manning. “If he goes round like that much longer he’ll be slipping the noose over his own head. Come along, June. I must look after Dan.”
Together they walked down the veranda and joined the group. No one appeared to be interested in breakfast, yet no one could hit on anything better to do.
Before Daniel left with the doctor, he turned to his friends. “We should get this straight, I think,” he said. “Munson is not to blame. He did everything in his power to head off what has happened. I know that. Now he must go his way and we ours. I still consider him my friend, and you must admit that as a friend Scott Munson is, to say the least, a good egg.”
“And as an enemy he’s a pain in the neck,” said Sam doggedly.
“An unhappy selection of words to express your sentiments, Sam.” Daniel grinned at his friend from the doorway.
Sam looked back at Daniel and realized with a stab of impotent anger what a human wreck he was as he stood there grinning, or trying to grin. It was as much as he could do to keep the tears from starting to his eyes.
“Oh, hell,” he replied a little huskily, “what do words matter any more? What do they mean? I feel like Manning. Let’s all get a little drunk, and laugh a lot at nothing.”
“Or cry a lot for something,” surprisingly remarked Sue, who had never placed much confidence in her tongue.
One by one they drifted into the cheerful old dining-room, but Holt remained alone on the veranda. He was brooding, scheming, and fighting down his fear. Why couldn’t he tell? Munson wouldn’t believe him. No one would believe him, yet, by God, Daniel was guilty as hell. Holt had not seen his face, but there was no mistaking his figure, particularly that blood-wet hand. His fear was gaming ascendency now. All the world was fear. Everything was against him. Everyone. Hopelessly he slumped forward in his chair. His thoughts were like the haze on a tropic swamp . . . fevered, poisoned, drifting.
When Manning had finished with Daniel’s arm and got him into bed, he leaned back in an easy chair and sipped his wine with pagan appreciation.
“Ah, Daniel, my boy,” he said, “if we were only in Biarritz or Paris. I often think of those places.”
“Somehow I’d like to be in Montreux,” came rather wistfully from the bed. “You know, Manning . . . all of us . . . out of this mess . . . Barney better and everything.” A moment’s silence, then, “but that can’t be . . . ever.” The voice trailed off and finished with a decided, “Damn it all to hell!”
“It can be, Daniel.” Manning’s tone was tempting. “Listen, Daniel, it can be. I’m positive of that.”
“How?”
“You know my damn young fool of a nephew, Lambert? Rich as all outdoors. Mother’s side.”
“Know him well. He’s all right.”
“Glad you think so. Glad somebody thinks so. I like him, myself. Drink up, Daniel. It won’t hurt you.” Manning was working hard to put a little enthusiasm into his patient. He was waxing enthusiastic himself as his plan took shape in his mind. “Well,” he continued, “young Lambert has a yacht among many other things, a regular sea-going yacht. She’s anchored in a cove near Willow Point . . . not far off. And she’s ready for sea at a moment’s notice. Remember that. It’s a good point. Now, this damn fool nephew of mine has been just aching to take a trip round the world or to any spot between or thereon. All he’s waiting for is someone to go with him. Doesn’t care how many. It could be done quietly, Daniel, and if this mess, as you call it, keeps on getting messier, why, I say, let’s go.”
There was a knock at the door.
“Come in,” called Daniel.
“The doctor’s wanted,” one of the maids announced in an awed voice. “They’ve brought the body back.”
“Oh, damn!” said Manning, gulping down his wine. “It’s not my job, but anything to be obliging. Think it over, Dan.”
The door closed and Daniel lay there alone . . . thinking. He was too damn tired to think. He closed his eyes. . .
He must have drowsed off, for when he next opened his eyes, June was sitting by his bed. He had not heard her come in nor did he know how long she had been there. Her hand was lying on the coverlet, a strong but now pathetically listless hand, and he let his fall upon it.
“Hello, June.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze.
“ ’Lo, Daniel. Any better?”
“Lots. How’s Barney?”
“He’s up and about. The poor kid seems to be lost.”
“He doesn’t come to me.”
“He’s thinking only of himself at present and of . . . her.”
“I’d like to spank his bottom.”
“Very pretty. Suppose I died. Would you go round visiting the sick and wounded?”
“If they’d been good to me, yes. I might get drunk and laugh at nothing.”
“Would you mind if I died, Daniel?”
“Quite a lot. Part of me is dead already. Do you want to kill the rest?”
“No.”
“Then don’t die.”
“But I might have to.”
“Same here. I’m pretty damn close to it now.”
“What do you mean?”
“What did you mean?”
Silence. A long silence, then Daniel, “Is she next door?”
“No, Dan. It’s in a spare room. There is no ‘she.’ ”
“It’s just as well, June. The trouble started with her, but it hasn’t ended with her.”
“Are you glad she’s gone?”
“Yes, glad.”
“Then so am I.”
“Munson thinks I did it, June.”
“Scott thinks everybody did it.”
“Sort of a mass attack, eh?”
“Or a series of individual assaults.”
“Each pushing her nearer the brink.”
“We shouldn’t talk like this,” said June.
“Why not? You never liked her.”
“I never liked her, no. Toward the end I hated her more than anything else in life. I hated her more than the filthiest vice or the most cowardly deed.”
“She deserved all that, June.”
“But what about God?”
“He wouldn’t have cared for her much.”
“Wish it could have happened some other way . . . wish he had done it instead of—”
“He did kill her, June, if there is a God. He killed her as much as — oh, well, anybody. Don’t doubt that.”
“You couldn’t get Scott to see it that way.”
“He’d have a hell of a time catching God.”
“He’d try to if he thought there was a ghost of a chance.”
“June?”
“Yes, Dan.”
“How’d you like to go away?”
“How go away?”
“On a yacht, a fine big yacht. All over the world. Everywhere. Away from this mess. Out of reach. New places. A new suit of thoughts.”
“God, Dan, I’d love it. Could I have a new dress of thoughts?”
“Yes, dear, and a hat.”
“Everything new from the skin out, Dan.”
“That goes with me as long as you don’t change your skin.”
“Do you like my skin?”
“The little I’ve been able to ogle.”
“We’ll like each other a long time, Dan?”
“Let’s do it, June.”
“No matter what?”
“No matter what.”
“And then we’ll go away to everywhere on that yacht, won’t we?”
“If you’ll slip me a kiss we will.”
“All right. I’m going now.” June bent over Daniel.
“Excuse me, can I come in, lady?”
“Great God, June, what’s that?”
A crushed face with desperate eyes was looking in at the window. It seemed to be suspended in space and terribly aware of the fact.
“What are you doing there?” asked June. “Just what are you doing there?”
“Damned if I know, lady,” spoke the face. “Risking life and limb, if you ask me, but Mr. Munson thinks I’m looking for clues.”
“Are you?”
“What, me, lady? Looking? I’m just clutching. Hanging on for dear life.”
“Well, you can’t come in. That’s that. Tell Mr. Munson so.”
“Oh, lady, I can’t get down. Come look how I am all scrunched up and perilous.”
“You should have thought about that before you climbed up here.”
“I did, lady. That was all I thought of. Couldn’t think of anything else.”
“Well, tell Mr. Munson you can’t come in.”
The face looked earthward cautiously. “Mr. Munson,” it wailed, “she says I can’t come in.”
“Then snap on down,” came the voice of Scott Munson.
“Did you hear that, lady?” asked the face. “ ’Snap on down,’ says he. There’s a fair sample for you. I’d snap like a twig if I hit the ground. Do let me come in, lady.”
“Let him in, June,” said Daniel. “I’m interested to see just what is attached to a face like that.”
“You can come in,” said June.
“I’ll always remember this, lady, and you, too, sir, in the bed. I’ll always remember this and be grateful. Could you give me a hand, lady? It’s more for the sake of confidence. A man just can’t be courageous in the position I’m in. It would be foolhardy.”
June seized the outstretched hand and gave it a powerful pull. Face, body, and feet came clattering into the room.
“Lady, you saved my life,” said Officer Shad as he rose from the floor.
“Bring him over here, June?”
From the left knee of the man’s trousers Daniel picked a piece of red lint. Another piece clung to his elbow.
“Now an envelope and my fountain-pen, old dear.”
He placed the lint in the envelope and wrote:
Clues found on the body and person of one of your profession. With the compliments of Daniel Crewe.
“Take that to Mr. Munson, officer, and call again at any time.”
“But not by the tree, sir. Never that tree again.”
“This is the way out,” said June.
“Where do I go when I leave here, lady?”
“Oh, just go wandering round, barging in anywhere. Some day we’ll find your body rotting in the halls.”
Officer Shad slid out with a shiver.
“He spoiled a perfectly good kiss,” complained June, returning to the bed.
Daniel dressed slowly and went downstairs. He was wondering what had become of Sam Stoughten. He hadn’t had a talk with Sam since the thing occurred. He would like to know what Sam was thinking. Munson had those letters.
