“Someone tried to kill me, though, on general principle, I suspect.”
Ellen frowned suddenly and looked nervously at the door, as though expecting a gunman to be lurking there. Then: “Rufus was killed, wasn’t he?”
I nodded.
“And the same person who killed him killed my father and tried to poison you?” I nodded again. She looked thoughtful. “I figured that out some time ago. I didn’t believe the story that you tried to kill yourself.”
“Was that what the police said?” I was incredulous.
“Of course … they’d hardly admit their case wasn’t closed.”
I whistled. “Winters is pretty smart. If I had died he would have said I was a suicide and that would’ve been the end of the case … everything would be just ducky.”
“They’re so corrupt,” said Ellen, betraying more feeling for me than I had thought possible.
“I wonder why Winters didn’t let me quietly drift off to a better world?”
“Because, my darling, I for one raised such a fuss and summoned the doctor. It was completely a matter of self-esteem. I couldn’t take the chance of your killing yourself for me (as Verbena Pruitt maintained you had, out of jealousy over Walter) and then having you actually die and there be some doubt. I insisted you be saved so that the world could hear from your own foam-flecked lips that it was because of me you wanted to end it all. How in demand I should’ve been!” She chuckled: then, seriously, slowly, “Peter, do be careful. Of all my fiancés I am fondest of you, at this moment anyway. For God’s sake be careful.”
“I will, dear. I have no intention of letting myself get killed.”
“You haven’t done so well so far,” she said. She paused; when finally she spoke, her voice trembled and for the first time since I’d known her she was no longer in control. “I’m terrified,” she whispered. “There’s something I should’ve told you when Father was killed. You remember I said then I knew who did it? Well, in a way, I did. When Mother …”
But she wasn’t allowed to continue. At that moment the door opened and Mrs. Rhodes entered. “Ah, Ellen, I didn’t know you were here.” She seemed disagreeably surprised. But quickly she became all sympathy, brushing past her daughter to me. “Mr. Sargeant, I do hope you’re better; I tried to see you earlier but you were still unconscious.”
“It looks as if I’ll be all right, Mrs. Rhodes,” I said with a gallant smile.
“I’m glad. One more tragedy would have been too horrible to bear.”
“It seems,” said Ellen, “that he did not kill himself for love of me.”
“I never thought he had,” said Mrs. Rhodes with a certain sharpness. “Verbena is the romantic one …”
“Well, if I had tried to kill myself, Mrs. Rhodes, it would have been for your daughter’s sake.”
“A pretty speech,” said Ellen; she looked drawn and tired.
“Are you getting up now?” asked Mrs. Rhodes.
“Yes, I have an appointment downtown. I’ll be back in time for dinner; you must be so sick of your boarders by now.”
“Not at all. In any event, when you come back from your appointment I should like to talk to you.” Over her mother’s shoulder Ellen shook her head suddenly, warningly.
I told Mrs. Rhodes that I would be glad to see her later in the afternoon, if we had time. Mother and daughter withdrew.
Carefully I sat up in bed and swung my legs over the edge of the bed. Some fairly discreet fireworks went off in my head. I was weak but not ill. Slowly I dressed. I was tying my tie when Miss Flynn rang me from New York.
Her usual composure had obviously suffered a shock. “You are well?” was her first majestic misuse of an adverb. I told her I had survived, that the report she had read in the newspaper about attempted suicide was not true. I assured her that I would see her the next morning at my office in New York. She was very much relieved. I asked her for news and she told me that all Gotham was Agog at the thought of Hermione’s recital. It was generally considered that I had pulled off the public relations stunt of the minute. I told her to contact the editor of the Globe and tell him that I should have another article for him on the Rhodes murder case and that, since it would be the eyewitness account of the murderer’s arrest, I would expect X number of dollars for this unique bit of coverage. Miss Flynn agreed to Talk Turkey with the Globe. “I trust, however, you will be very careful in the course of this most Crucial Day.” I said that I would. I then asked her to check, if possible, some records and to call me back at five o’clock. She said that neither rain nor sleet … or so many other words, equally prolix … would keep her from finding out what I wanted to know.
2
The day went smoothly.
Winters went everywhere I did but, perversely, I kept throwing him off the track, to his fury. He could say nothing, though, for it was part of his official pose that he knew already, on his own, who the murderer was. I am fairly certain that he did not figure it out until the business was finished.
Before I left, I requested that Johnson Ledbetter be asked to dinner that night, without Elmer Bush.
On our way downtown, I read the afternoon paper. My attempted suicide appeared on page ten, with very little tie-up to the Rhodes affair. The Ledbetter affair occupied the front page, however. He was quoted at length to the effect he had been smeared by the opposition. There was even an editorial on the subject of morality in politics. Everyone was having a good time with all this and none of the papers seemed aware that either the Governor’s fiasco or my own misadventure was in any way connected with the recently “solved” murder. All this was to the good, I thought, with some satisfaction. It would make the beat all the more exciting.
“What’s our first stop?” asked Winters.
“Our first stop is the Party Headquarters and the office of one Verbena Pruitt.”
“But …”
“There will be neither ‘buts’ nor outcries. You will in fact have to wait outside in the anteroom while I speak to her.” There was considerable outcry at this but I won my point.
Verbena’s office was large and comfortable. Its position on the second-floor corner, southern exposure, indicated her importance in the Party. I was allowed to come in right away. Winters waited outside in the hall, trying, no doubt, to listen through the door.
“Come sit over here, beside me,” boomed the second or third lady of the land from behind a dainty knee-hole desk which looked as if it might crumple at any moment beneath the weight of her huge arms.
I sat down and she swiveled around in her chair and fixed me with her level agate-gaze. “You look green,” she said at last.
“I don’t feel so good,” I admitted.
“Love!” she snorted. “Root of all evil if you ask me … money certainly isn’t. I’m all for money … it’s pure; it’s useful; you can measure it … or at least you could before they started monkeying with the gold standard.”
“I didn’t kill myself for love, Miss Pruitt.”
She brightened. “Money worries? Career on the downgrade?”
“Just the opposite. I was doing too well and someone decided to kill me.”
“You’re a very daring young man,” said Miss Pruitt enigmatically.
“I suppose so. I wish you’d help me, though. There’s a lot at stake.”
She smiled. “How do you know that I may not be ‘at stake’?”
“I’m fairly sure. I don’t know everything of course; that’s why I want you to help me.”
To my surprise she said nothing to show that she was surprised by this turn of affairs, that the murderer of Lee Rhodes was still free and dangerous. Instead she said: “Ask me what you like and I’ll answer what I like.”