The Dragon’s Teeth (13 page)

“What's the matter, dear? You look—funny.”

Beau hurled a twig away. “Kerrie, we've got to face the facts. You're on the spot.”

“Please. Let's not talk about that.”

“We've got to. You're on the spot, and we've got to do something about it.”

She was silent.

“Your uncle paid me to find his heirs. I should have bowed out when I located you and Margo showed up. I've only brought you a peck of trouble.” He scowled.

“I'm glad you didn't bow out.” She pressed his knee.

“I didn't because—well, I had reason to believe your uncle Cadmus was murdered. I still believe it.”

The red light of the sky on her pallor gave her face an eerie violet cast.

She stammered: “But I don't—I don't understand.”

“Neither do I.” He pulled her up and sat her on his knee, staring at the sky. “Anyway, I've been hanging around trying to find out what it's all about. And who's behind it.”

“Margo,” whispered Kerrie. “Margo! She's tried to kill me, Ellery. But how could she—Uncle was at sea—”

“There's plenty we don't know. Anyway, funny-face, maybe now you'll realize why I've been paying so much attention to your cousin Margo.”

“Darling, why didn't you tell me?” Kerrie sprang off his lap. “Can't we expose her?”

“No proof. She's cute as hell, Kerrie. She's covered her tracks too well. And if we force her hand now, she may become desperate.” Beau paused, then said quietly: “Sooner or later, no matter how many precautions we take, one of these little ‘accidents' won't fail.”

“The police—”

“They'd laugh at you, and you won't have anything to offer them but suspicions. Then the cat will be out of the bag and you'll be worse off than now.”

“What do you want me to do, Ellery?” asked Kerrie simply.

“Get married.”

Kerrie was silent. And when she did speak, it was in an unsteady voice. “Who would marry me, even if I should be silly enough to give up twenty-five hundred dollars a week for him?”

“I would,” muttered Beau.

“Darling!” She flew to him. “If you'd said anything else I'd have killed myself!”

“You'll have to kiss the dough goodbye, Kerrie,” he said gently.

“I don't care!”

“Funny kid.” He stroked her hair. “I'd have asked you to marry me in Hollywood, but I couldn't bring myself to—not when it meant depriving you of everything money could give you. But now it's different. It's no longer a choice between money and me … it's a choice between money and—” He drew her closer.

“The money doesn't mean a thing to me,” cried Kerrie. “The only one I'm sorry for is Vi. Poor Vi will have to go back—”

“You would think of her,” grinned Beau. “Think of yourself for a change! With you married, Margo gets your share of the income automatically. So she won't have to kill you, and you'll be safe.”

“But, Ellery.” She looked troubled. “She likes you. I know. She likes you a lot. If you marry me, she won't—I mean, a woman can act awfully nasty in a case like that.”

“There won't be any trouble with Margo,” said Beau quickly.

“But—”

“Kerrie, are you going to trust me, or aren't you?”

She laughed tremulously. “Yes—if you marry me now, today!”

She could hold him against any woman, she thought—once they were married. She had so much love to give. So much more than a woman like Margo could possibly offer, much less feel.

“Is this a proposal?”

“I couldn't make it any clearer, could I? Oh, but I'm delirious, I guess, darling. How can you marry me today? We haven't even a license.”

“Didn't I say to leave everything to me?” Beau grinned again. “I took out a Connecticut license last week.”

“Ellery! You didn't!”

Kerrie ran all the way back to the house. Beau followed more slowly. Following, with her eyes no longer on him, he stopped grinning. In the deepening crimson light, his face was ghastly, too.

X.
The Ring and the Book

Kerrie was furiously hurling things into three bags when Vi returned. Beau was pacing the terrace downstairs in the dusk; Kerrie could hear the slap of his steps. She was grateful for them, because they kept him near her. She felt the need for his nearness when Vi came in, and that was strange, for Kerrie had never required a defense against Vi before.

“Kerrie! What's up?”

“Darn it,” said Kerrie. “Where are those new nighties?”

“In the bottom drawer. What are you packing for? Where are you going?”

“Away,” said Kerrie, as if it were unimportant. She did not look at Vi. “This is a heck of a trousseau I'm getting together.”

“Trousseau? Kerrie, are you gaga?”

“I'm going to marry Ellery Queen.” From an irresistible compulsion Kerrie said it lightly.

She heard Vi's gasp and the creak of the box-spring as her friend sank onto the bed.

“Marry?
Him?”

“What's the matter with him?” laughed Kerrie. “He's the most fascinating thing in pants I've ever met, and I've decided to grab him before he changes his mind.”

Vi did not laugh, however. “But, Kerrie—When?”

“Now. Tonight.” Despite her best effort, a note of defiance crept into Kerrie's voice.

There was the most peculiar expression on Vi's face. But then she jumped up and hugged Kerrie. “All the luck, hon. You've got more guts than I'd have.”

Kerrie clung. “Oh, Vi, I know what this means to you. Back to the old grind—”

“Easy come, easy go,” said Vi gaily. “Don't fret yourself about
me.
It's twelve o'clock, and the coach turns into a pumpkin, and the glad rags become just rags.… Well, I had a few weeks in a fairy tale, anyway.” She pressed Kerrie to her bosom convulsively. “Kerrie, you're sure?”

“What do you mean?” But Kerrie knew exactly what Vi meant. And because she herself had had similar suspicions, she felt herself go hard inside and slipped from Vi's embrace to resume her packing.

“And how about Sister Rat?” asked Vi dryly, after a long time.

“Who? Oh! I don't know. What's more, I don't care.”

Vi looked at Kerrie; then she laughed. “So little Kerrie's been snagged by the tough lad who looks like Robert Taylor.… Quite a triumph. Epic, they'd call it in the movies. Giving up the old boodle for lo-o-ove. He must feel pretty snazzy, that man!”

“Vi. That's hateful,” said Kerrie in a low voice.

Vi sat down on the bed again. “I'm sorry, Kerrie; I guess the shock … Tell me just how it happened. It's really too thrilling for words.”

Kerrie looked her friend straight in the eye. Vi looked away. “Not so long ago, Vi, you were begging me to give all this up, to run away. And now, when I've decided to take your advice, you don't seem … well, pleased. Why?”

“I'm
not pleased? But, Kerrie dear, aren't you a little mixed up? You're the one who has to be pleased, not I. Are you?”

“Very much!” Kerrie tossed her head.

“Then that's all that matters,” laughed Vi. “Now are you going to stop being silly and tell me
everything?”

Yes, Vi was acting peculiarly. Of course, it was natural for her to be—surprised … yes, and disappointed, too, over the prospect of Kerrie's marriage. It meant Vi's brief day of bliss was over and that she would have to go back to the old, mean, scraping life. And then for some time Kerrie had had the queerest feeling that Vi had come to distrust
him.
Oh, Vi liked him, all right; Kerrie was woman enough to be sure of that fundamental fact.… And, too, Kerrie's marriage meant the separation of the two friends. That much could be remedied!

“Of course, you'll take pot luck with us,” said Kerrie quickly. “I couldn't think … We won't have much, because Ellery's not well off, and it will probably mean a small apartment in the city. But we'll manage beautifully, Vi—”

“Thanks, Kerrie,” said Vi. “But I've been a millstone round your neck long enough.”

Kerrie dropped an armful of stockings and ran to the bed. “Vi! You're crying!”

“I'm doing no such thing,” said Vi, springing up. “I'm going right back to Hollywood, where men are rats and all the rats are casting directors, and with the publicity I've had through this little racket of ours I'll get steady work—maybe. Well, I will!”

“Oh, Vi!” And it was Kerrie's turn to sniffle.

“Stop it,” said Vi. She picked Kerrie up and deposited her on the bed. “Now you lie there while I finish packing for you. I'll see you through the execution, anyway, and then—”

They finished packing together, in silence.

PINK and blue—that was how Kerrie had always visualized her wedding. She would wear a pale pink satin gown with a short train and a swathing veil of pink tulle. The gown would be princess-lined, with leg-o'-mutton sleeves and a high neckline edged with a narrow pleated ruffle, and the gown would button down the back—one long row of twinkly little buttons from her neck to her waist. Pink satin slippers, long pale pink kid gloves, a wedding bouquet of pink camellias and baby's-breath …

There she would stand, a creation in pink among bridesmaids in baby blue, who would be wearing doll hats and little muffs made out of fresh flowers. Of course Vi, as maid-of-honor, would be in powder blue.…

That's the way it had always been, a vision of the future. But what was the actuality? Kerrie had hurriedly put on a simple two-piece tailored dress of navy-blue net, with a touch of white at the throat, and a navy-blue hat, white gloves, and navy patent leather shoes and bag. It was all right, but … And Vi. Vi had climbed into a white tailored sharkskin suit over a pink sweater.

And even aside from the clothes—just the three of them. That masterful individual who either scowled or grinned had insisted upon secrecy.

“When the papers get hold of this,” he had said, “you'll be hounded to death. It's a big story.”

“But, darling,” Kerrie wailed, “something—anything—a few friends. A woman only gets married once! I mean—”

“So you see what you're getting,” said Vi. “A woman only gets married once! Didn't you ever hear of Reno?”

“Lay off my wife,” said Beau. “Heiress Gives Up Fortune for Love! They'll play it up bigger than the bundling party at Munich. If you want to enjoy your honeymoon, funny-face, you've-got to outsmart the press.”

“But how, darling?”

“Leave it to your uncle Dudley.” And he had telephoned a Justice of the Peace he said he knew in Connecticut, upon whose discretion he could rely, and had sworn Margo and De Carlos and the servants to a twenty-four hour conspiracy of silence, and had refused to tell even Kerrie where he was going to take her on their honeymoon.

AND Margo—Margo was something of a surprise.

“You mean you're actually giving up Uncle's money?” she asked when she heard the news.

“Yes.”

“But why?”

“We happen to be in love,” said Kerrie shortly.

“Oh, I see.” And Margo smiled slightly at the stiff face of the groom-to-be. “Well, I hope you'll be very happy.”

“Thank you.”

It was baffling. Margo acted almost
relieved.
Of course, as soon as Kerrie married, Margo's weekly income would be doubled. But Kerrie had been positive Margo was in love with “Ellery”—as much in love as a woman of that sort
could
be. Wasn't there a conflict? Or had Kerrie been altogether mistaken about Margo—in everything?

“You're being married immediately?” murmured Margo.

“We're leaving in ten minutes,” said Beau abruptly. “We'll be married before the night's over.”

“How romantic!” said Margo; and then she said politely: “Is there anything I can do, Kerrie?”

“No, thanks. Vi's going with me.”

“But there must be things you aren't able to do at such short notice—arrangements about your belongings, your bank—”

“They can wait. Goodbye, Margo.”

“Goodbye.”

They eyed each other inscrutably.

Then Edmund De Carlos stumbled in, drunk as usual.

“What's this I hear?” he shouted jovially. “Getting married to Queen, or some such nonsense, Kerrie?”

“But it's true, Mr. De Carlos.”

“True!” He gaped at her. “But that means—”

“I know,” snapped Kerrie. “It means I'm giving up twenty-five hundred a week for life in exchange for a big lug who'll probably beat me up for exercise on Saturday nights. Now that
that's
clear—goodbye, everybody.”

And they drove off, leaving De Carlos goggling after them, and Margo on the drive in a long white gown which shimmered in the dying sunlight, smiling faintly.

Kerrie found herself thinking about her cousin's smile as Beau's car rattled toward Connecticut. It was a strange quarter-smile, a delicate and subtle exhibition of amusement, and it had persisted throughout their farewells to the silent household staff, the packing of Kerrie's and Vi's bags into Beau's runabout, throughout the exchange with De Carlos.

That smile of Margo's seemed to have cast a pall over all three of them. Beau drove in a shut-in silence, and in the back seat Vi was a mouse.

What's the matter with us? thought Kerrie in despair. This isn't an elopement; it's a funeral. Why is he so quiet? And Vi?

It was that woman back there, dominating the driveway, mistress of all she surveyed—ex-clothes-horse! Gloating over the fine rolling lawns, the big house, the view of the Hudson—visibly gloating over her triumph.

That was it—triumph. Why was she so
triumphant?
Did complete possession of the estate mean so much to her? Or was there something darker and deeper and more hateful in the secret pleasure of that smile?