Rex Stout (23 page)

“I certainly did.” Ross looked at the figure on the ground, still motionless. “I guess I hit him pretty hard. I never did anything like that before.” He went down on one knee beside the figure. “Here, hold this, will you?”

Heather took the gun from him, and stood gazing down at him. In a moment he said:

“I can’t feel any heartbeat.”

Heather’s teeth left her lip to let her say, “Feel his pulse.”

Ross’s hand went to the man’s wrist. After a long silence he said uncertainly, “It feels pretty good to me. Will you see what you think?”

Heather didn’t want to. If this was to be death again … a blow on the head had killed Martha … but she knew she had to. She had to because he had asked her to, and after the way he had jumped over the car straight at that gun … She squatted beside him, took the wrist he released to her, and felt for the spot. She couldn’t find it; and it took her half a minute to realize that her own heart was beating so violently that it was out of the question to feel another pulse.

“It’s all right,” she lied.

“Good.”

“It really is.”

“Good. Let me see again.”

She relinquished the wrist to him, arose, took two steps, and sat down on the bumper. In a moment Ross got up and came and sat beside her.

“My knees are wobbly,” he said. “Gosh. Now I don’t know what to do. I can’t just leave him here. I expect he’ll come to pretty soon, and then what am I going to do? Maybe I ought to take him to a hospital. Or maybe I ought to take him to the house and turn him over to that fathead district attorney. Darned if I know what to do.”

Heather giggled; and, as Ross looked at her in surprise, she
giggled again. She knew she was doing it, and was furious; but in spite of the desperate effort she made, she felt it coming once more, up to her throat; it was irresistible; and then suddenly Ross’s arms were tight around her, and the last giggle never got out because his lips were against hers, allowing it no avenue of escape, and it was no longer even in her throat, there were no more giggles in her.…

She pulled away, pushed him away, and said indignantly:

“I couldn’t help it, it was funny. I don’t exactly mean it was funny, but your worrying like that about what to do, after you were so brave. I admit you were brave, but you being brave and me being hysterical is no reason for you to do that.”

“You mean kissing you?”

“Yes.”

“That wasn’t why I kissed you. Of course I always want to kiss you, there’s never any time I don’t, but the reason now was I was having a thought about you and I didn’t like it. And I guess I’ve got to ask you about it, and I don’t want to but I’ve got to.”

“A thought about me?”

“Yes. You and Vail.”

“Vail?”

“Yes.” Their eyes were meeting. “How long have you known him?”

“I never have known him. I don’t know him at all. I suppose you mean the Republic Products Vail, but I don’t know any Vail. But I want to know why you ask that, because Mr. Hicks asked me the same thing. He asked if I or my sister knew him.”

“And you don’t?”

“I’ve never seen him.”

“You’ve seen him now. That’s him there.”

“That? That—”

“That’s Jimmie Vail, head of Republic Products. And I may be dense, but at least I can ask questions, even if I don’t know how to get the answers to them. What’s Vail doing here? With a gun ready for whoever shows up? And that sonograph plate. Why do you say it was your sister’s voice? And why did my mother—but you don’t know anything about that. And why did Hicks send you a message to come here to meet Vail? You think Hicks is your friend. Does that look like it?”

“He didn’t send me that message.”

“No? Who did?”

“I don’t know.” Heather’s heart was quieting down and she was beginning to feel that she had a mind again, though its contents were more of a bewildering jumble than ever. “I don’t know anything about anything. But if Vail was here hiding behind the car, waiting with a gun, he might have—”

She stopped abruptly, staring at the thing in her hand. A shiver ran over her. “It may have been this—he shot George with—” Her fingers went loose and the gun dropped to the ground.

Ross stooped and got it and slipped it into his pocket. “They can tell that. You were saying, Vail might have what?”

“He might have sent me that message himself.”

“By short wave?”

“He could have phoned from anywhere. From Crescent Farm.”

“And how did he know you were sitting there in the car waiting for Hicks?”

“I don’t know.” Heather frowned. “It’s all crazy. Utterly crazy! And so am I. Anyhow, I was wrong. I mean when I told you to get out of the car and let me come alone and you wouldn’t. I mean I ought to be decent about it, and just tell you—I’m glad you came. It’s just decent to say that.”

“Aw, that’s all right. Forget it. But that message—”

Ross stopped himself, at a groan from the figure on the ground, and a movement. They both stood up. Another groan came, considerably louder, and more movement, and as Ross took a step James Vail got himself lifted to an elbow, and then, with his other hand braced on the ground, was sitting. He sat and blinked, with the light right into his face, and groaned again.

Ross said, “Maybe you’d better take it easy.”

“Who are you?” Vail croaked.

“I’m Ross Dundee.”

“What? Who?”

“Ross Dundee.”

“Dick Dundee’s boy?”

“Yes.”

“How the hell did you get here?”

“I drove here in a car with Miss Gladd. Heather Gladd. She came as soon as she got your message.”

“What message?”

“The message you sent her on the phone.”

“I sent no message to anyone.”

Heather put in sharply, “He was playing possum. He’s been lying there listening to us. The way he talks. His head’s clear.”

“Why the hell shouldn’t my head be clear?” Vail demanded. “What happened?”

“Because I hit you,” Ross said. “When we came you popped up from in front of your car and pointed a gun at Miss Gladd. I jumped you and took your gun and hit you with it, and you passed out. At least we thought you did. If you didn’t, you don’t need this explanation, but you’re welcome anyhow.”

Vail’s only reply was a grunt. He shifted his weight to his right hand, propped on the ground, and put his left to his head and felt of it, above the ear. He moved his head from right to left, grunted, forward and back, grunted again, then got onto his hands and knees, pushed himself up, and was on his feet. He felt of his head again, pivoted it slowly to one side and the other, took a trial step, and another.…

“Better hold it,” Ross said crisply. “I’ve got your gun. If you get near the edge of the light I’ll start shooting at your legs, and I’m not much of a shot.”

“You’re a jackass.” Vail turned to face him. “You’re as big an idiot as your father. That message. I didn’t send it. What did it say?”

“Don’t tell him,” Heather said. “Don’t tell him anything. Make him tell you things.”

“Make him tell me what?” Ross kept his eyes on Vail and his hand in his pocket. “Anyway he’s a dirty liar and we couldn’t believe anything he said. We won’t get anywhere chewing the rag with him. We’ve got to take him somewhere. We’ve got to do something with him. I think we’ve got to go back to the house with him, I don’t know what else to do. And the police can take this gun and test it, and if it’s the one Cooper was shot with it won’t do him any good to try to lie—”

“What’s that?” Vail demanded. “Who was shot?”

“Cooper.”

“Cooper shot?”

“Yes. If you think—”

“Where? When?”

“Don’t tell him,” Heather insisted. “Don’t tell him anything. The thing to do would be to take him to Hicks, only we don’t know where Hicks is.”

“We certainly don’t,” Ross agreed. “Wherever he sent that message from—”

“He never sent that message! If he had he would have been here! If anything had happened—oh!” Heather stopped short.

“I forgot,” she said. “I know what I’m going to do. What he told me.” Her tone was resolute. “I’m going to see Mrs. Dundee.”

“Mrs. Dundee? You mean my mother?”

“Yes.”

Ross was gaping at her. “Hicks told you to go to see my mother.”

“Yes, and I’m going to. I won’t go back to that house again, anyway. If you want to take him there you can, but I’m not. You can take him in his car.”

Vail took a step toward them.

“Hold it,” Ross said warningly, as if he meant it.

“I have no intention,” Vail said contemptuously, “of inviting bullets in my legs. You children are fantastic. Absolutely fantastic. Discussing what you’re going to do with me. I can assure you, the decision involves considerations that you know nothing about. If we go to the police, they’ll want an explanation of my presence in this neighborhood at this time, and they’ll get it, and it won’t be me who will suffer for it. If I’m brought into this, and forced to tell the police what I know, for my own protection, I can’t be blamed for what happens to the Dundee family and business.”

“Don’t believe him,” Heather said. “He’s putting on an act.”

“Are you suggesting,” Ross said sarcastically, “that I hand you back your gun with a God bless you and just forget this little encounter?”

“Not at all. I don’t care what you do with the gun, except that it’s my property and I want it returned some time. What I suggest is that we go with Miss Gladd to see your mother. It is she who needs and deserves an explanation, and who should decide what is going to be done.”

“You mean—” Ross stared at him. “You have the gall to say that you want to explain to my mother?”

“I say that, my boy. It can be left to your mother whether it is an exhibition of gall.”

“Take him up,” Heather said.

“He’s stalling,” Ross declared. “He doesn’t want to go to the police.”

“You’re an imbecile,” Vail asserted.

Ross regarded him. “Okay,” he said finally. His hand came out of his pocket with the gun in it. “You and I will go in your car and you’ll drive. Miss Gladd will follow us in the other car. If you try any monkey business.…”

“I’ll stay right behind,” Heather said. “But you’ll have to be careful. No matter what he does, you can’t shoot him while he’s driving. If you shoot him while he’s driving, the car might—”

“You don’t necessarily,” Ross said indignantly, “have to consider me an imbecile just because he called me one. And you’d better try to drive a little better than you did on the way here.”

Margie Hart had determined, come what might, to hold fast. First, there was loyalty. She had worked for Mrs. Dundee for over twenty years, and was quite convinced that should she die or quit, Mrs. Dundee would be utterly helpless, starving and clothed in rags, within a matter of weeks or even days. Second, there was her pay, which, thanks to an uninterrupted series of annual raises, was now stupendous. Third, there was her curiosity. The scenes recently overheard by her between Mr. and Mrs., the murder, actual murder, at that place in Katonah which she had never seen, the visits and questionings by real detectives in that very apartment—it was an earthquake, a cosmic spasm, a nightmare. Anything could happen. The whole shooting match might be arrested and thrown into jail. She herself might be drawn into the pitiless glare of a murder trial. It was a horrible and fascinating prospect.

But she wasn’t sleeping well, partly because she knew Mrs. wasn’t, and partly because of the feeling she had that the next development would be that Mr. would come in the night, letting himself in with his key, and kill Mrs. She derided herself for
having the feeling, since it was completely unjustified and unreasonable, but she had it; and because she did, she heard, in her half sleep, the front door of the apartment open and close at twenty minutes past midnight. For a second she was rigid under the sheet, unable to move; here it was, here he was, he had come to do it; her heart stopped beating; then she was out and up, clicking the light, grabbing her dressing gown, flying from the room, down the service hall, through the kitchen, dining room, living room, into the reception hall.…

“Well!” she cried indignantly.

“Hello, Margie. Is Mother up?”

“This is unseemly,” Margie said, showing how flustered she was, for she had not used that phrase to Ross since the far-off days when she had taken him to Central Park. She glared at Ross, at the young woman behind him whom she didn’t know, at the man beside him whom she did know … but Mr. James Vail wasn’t welcome at this apartment any more.…

“Your mother’s in bed,” she said shortly.

“I’ve got to see her. Tell her I’m here. Will you, please?”

Margie turned and marched out. Ross ushered the other two into the living room, turned on lights, gave them seats, seated himself, and then got up again to help Heather when she started to rid herself of the long dark coat. Though the coat certainly had no aspirations to elegance, he handled it as if it had been chinchilla as he draped it over the back of a chair. A voice from the doorway turned him:

“Ross, my child? You devil of a child!”

He crossed to meet his mother, took her hands, put his hands on her shoulders, looked at her face, and kissed her on the cheek.

“I always forget how big you are,” she said. She squeezed his arm and released it. “I was expecting you. That is, I was expecting Miss Gladd, with you probably escorting her. I suppose this is Miss—what—what’s the matter?”

Approaching Heather, she halted to stare. Heather was herself staring, her mouth open, her eyes wide with stupefaction and incredulity—the frozen gaze that a ghost might expect to be met with, but not a comely matron in a yellow house gown from Hattie Carnegie. Ross, seeing it, stared too and demanded:

“What is it? What’s the matter?”

“Her voice—” Heather stammered.

“My voice? What’s the matter with my voice?”

“My dear Judith.” It was James Vail, out of his chair. “This was bound to happen sooner or later. Miss Gladd is speechless with astonishment because of the remarkable resemblance of your voice to that of her sister. You can judge of how remarkable the resemblance must be by the shock it gave her. Isn’t that true, Miss Gladd? It is an amazing resemblance, isn’t it?”