I said she was as well as could be expected.
“Yes, I’m sure she’s very brave about it all. It happened to me, you know. Right out of a clear sky too. They came one day and said: Lady Edderdale, we’ll want a new accounting. Of course I didn’t know what they were talking about so I told them I never did accounts but my lawyer did. They went to him and, before you know it, I had to pay over a hundred thousand dollars.”
I had the sensation of being caught in a nightmare. Either Lady Edderdale had gone completely off her rocker or I had or we both had. I looked desperately at Liz but she was sunning herself wantonly beside a thick white Swede.
“Hundred thousand dollars?” I repeated the one thing which I’d managed to salvage from her conversation.
“More or less. I don’t know the exact sum but it was simply awjul trying to get that much in such short time. They are relentless. I hope they give Rose a little more time than they gave me.”
“Time?”
“Yes, to pay them.”
“Them?”
“Those awful Income Tax people"
Then it was all clear. “How long ago did Rose find out she’d have to pay all that money?”
“Weil, not too long ago. I’m awfully bad about time. We lunched at the Colony I remember with Chico Pazzetti . . , you know Chico? His wife’s left him by the way.”
“She told you this at the Colony? Recently?”
“A month ago, yes. I remember she was in town for several days; she’d come down to talk to them, to the Bureau of Internal Revenue people, about the thing.”
“Just what kind of . . . thing was it?”
Alma sighed and waved her emerald-laden arms helplessly in the air. “I don’t know, really. I know she was awfully upset and she wanted to talk to me because I’d gone through the same thing. I was no help, I fear. I think she said a hundred thousand ... or was that what I had to pay? No, we both had to pay that much and on short notice. I remember saying we were in the same boat except of course Rose, poor darling, really hasn’t much money any more.”
4
I told Liz I’d call her later that day, if I got a chance. Then, excusing myself, I went back to the North Dunes.
The house looked peaceful and strangely empty, as though no one lived there any longer. A prophecy? It was nearly empty too, I found, when I went inside. Everyone was out for the day except Miss Lung who sat at Mrs. Veering’s desk with the proofs of the penultimate “Book-Chat” in her hand.
“You see me at my labors,” said the pen woman, removing her glasses with a smile equally compounded of lechery and silliness. Yet she was not really a fool; I was beginning to see that.
“I went to see Allie,” I said, sitting down in the chair next to the desk, where I had had so many interviews with Greaves.
“Oh? I didn’t know anybody was allowed to see her?"
“They let me in. She’s much better.”
"I’m glad. I’m devoted to Allie. By the way, I’m doing Pearl Buck this week. I think her Indian phase so fascinating . . . especially after all the China she’s done. I mean, there’s just so much China to do and then one wants a change.” She read me the entire column of “Book-Chat.” I applauded weakly.
“Hard at work?” Mrs. Veering, looking businesslike and steady appeared in the alcove; she removed a sensible hat. “What a dayl The first chance I’ve had to get any work done.”
Miss Lung got to her feet. “I was just having the nicest chat with Mr. Sargeant. I was testing my column on. him: you know how I am about 'reader response.’ If only more writers would attempt, as I do, to gauge exactly the average response and then strive to that goal, as I do. I believe in making a direct contact with the average mind on every level.”
I excused myself, average mind and all.
I took a short walk on the beach in front of the house. The light was dimming; the silver day was becoming gold. I realized that no one had yet found the spot where Claypoole had been killed. It would probably be impossible to tell now: he had been dragged on the beach, probably close to the water so that the surf would hide the murderer’s footprints. I had a hunch the murder had taken place close to the house, probably just out of sight, behind the dunes. Yet why wouldn’t the murderer leave the body where it was? Why drag it to the terrace ... a risky business, considering the house full of police?
Something kept eluding me; it was like a word temporarily forgotten which the tongue almost remembers but the mind refuses to surrender up.
It was no use. Two gulls circled the sea. In the north the blue sky was smudged with gray: a storm approaching? the first blast of winter? I shivered and went into the house. I had one more errand to perform that day.
5. Brexton was seated gloomily on a bunk in the rather picturesque jail of Easthampton. He wore civilian clothes (I’d half-expected to see him in a striped suit) and he was sketching with a bit of charcoal on a pad of paper.
“Therapy,” he said with a smile as I came in. “You don’t look much like my lawyer.”
“It was the only way I could get in. I told the police I was a junior partner of Oliver and Dale. You look pretty comfortable.”
“I’m glad you think so. Sit down.”
I sat down on a kitchen chair by the barred window. The branch of a green-foliaged tree waved against the window: I felt like a prisoner myself.
“I don’t think you did it,” I said.
“That makes two of us. What can I do you for?”
“Three. I talked to Allie this morning. I don’t see how they could possibly arrest you in the light of her testimony.”
“But they have.” He put the pad down on the bed beside him and wiped charcoal smudges off his fingers with an edge of the blanket.
“I’m doing a piece about this for the Globe. I guess you’ve been following them,”
He nodded, without any comment.
“Well, I’m trying to solve the case on my own and I think you know who murdered Claypoole. I think you might even have watched the murderer roll the body under the swing. Your window looked directly onto the terrace, onto the swing.”
He chuckled softly. “If that's an example of your detective methods, I’m lost. For one thing I wasn’t in my own room until a good deal later and, for another thing, I was still sleeping in the room on the ground floor.”
“Oh,” I looked at him stupidly. I had missed on that all right, missed cold. I began to feel a little shaky about my deductive powers. “Well, that rules that out.” I rallied. “Where were you exactly at the time of Claypoole’s death?”
“Sitting in the dark mostly, with Allie, on the porch,”
“Did either of you leave the porch at that time, while the lights were out?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact both of us did, for short periods. I went to see the man on duty about the lights but I couldn’t find him. I guess he was hunting for the fuse box. Then I came back and Allie and I talked for a while. She left the room to get a book she'd brought me but forgotten to give me, an art book. . .
“All this in the dark?”
“There was a lot of moonlight. You could see perfectly well. She got the book from her room. We talked for a bit and then went to bed. The rest you know.”
“What did you talk about?”
“Mildred mostly.”
“You didn't talk about the possibility of marriage, did you? I mean between you and Allie.”
“That’s nobody’s business,” said Brexton sharply.
“I’m sorry.” I shifted ground. “What do you know about Mrs. Veering’s tax problems?”