“Name?”
“Peter Cutler Sargeant Two.”
“Two what?” He looked up.
“Two of the same name, I guess . . . the second. You make two vertical lines side by side.”
He looked at me with real disgust.
“Age . . . place of birth . . . present address ”
“Thirty-one . . . Hartford, Connecticut . . . 280 East 49th Street.”
“Occupation?”
I paused, remembering my promise to Mrs. Veering. I figured, however, the law was reasonably discreet. “Public relations. My own firm. Sargeant Incorporated: 60 East 55th Street.”
“How long know deceased?”
“About eighteen hours.”
“That’s all.” I started to go; the policeman stopped me, remembering he’d forgotten an important question. “Notice anything unusual at time of accident?”
I said I hadn’t.
“Describe what happened in own words.” I did exactly that, briefly; then I was dismissed. Now that I look back on it, it seems strange that no one, including myself, considered murder as a possibility.
2
Lunch was a subdued affair. Mrs. Veering had recovered from her first grief at the loss of a beloved niece and seemed in perfect control of herself or at least perfectly controlled by the alcohol she’d drunk which, in her case, was the same thing.
Brexton received a tray in his own room. The rest of us sat about awkwardly after lunch making conversation, trying not to mention what had happened and yet unable to think of anything else to talk about.
The second reaction had begun to set in and we were all shocked at last by what had happened, especially when Mrs. Veering found Mildred’s scarf casually draped over the back of a chair, as though she were about to come back at any moment and claim it.
It had been originally planned that we go to the Maidstone Club for cocktails but at the last minute Mrs. Veering had canceled our engagement. The dance that night was still in doubt, I had made up my mind, however, that I’d go whether the others did or not. I hoped they wouldn’t as a matter of fact: I could operate better with Liz if I were on my own.
I had a chat with Mrs. Veering in the alcove while the others drifted about, going to their rooms, to the beach outside ... in the house, out of the house, not quite knowing, any of them, how to behave under the circumstances. No one wanted to go in the water, including myself. The murderous ocean gleamed blue and bright in the afternoon.
“Well, do you think it will upset things?” Mrs. Veering looked at me shrewdly.
“Upset what?”
“The party . . . what else? This will mean publicity for me . . . the wrong kind.”
I began to get her point. “We have a saying . . .”
“All publicity is good publicity.” She snapped that out fast enough. “Socially, however, that isn’t true. Get a certain kind of publicity and people will drop you flat.”
“I can’t see how having a guest drown accidentally should affect you one way or the other.”
“If that’s all there is to it, it won’t.” She paused significantly; I waited for more of the same but she shifted her line of attack. “When the newspaper people come, I want you to act as my spokesman. One is on his way over here right now. But don’t let on what your job really is. Just say you’re a guest and that I’m upset by what’s happened ... as indeed I am . . . and that you’ve been authorized to speak for me.”
“What’ll I say?”
“Nothing.” She smiled. “What else can you say? That Mildred was my niece; that I was very fond of her; that she’d been ill (I think you’d better make some point of that) and her strength wasn’t equal to the undertow.”
“They’ve taken it . . . her, the body I mean, to the morgue, haven’t they?” The doctor and Brexton had carried her in to the house and I hadn’t seen the corpse again.
“I don’t know. The doctor took it away in an ambulance. I’ve already made arrangements for the undertakers to look after everything . . . they’re in touch with the doctor who is an old friend of mine.” She paused thoughtfully, fiddling with the pile of papers on her desk. I was surprised by the rapid change in her mood. I attributed this to her peculiar habits. Most alcoholics I knew were the same: gregarious, kindly, emotional people, quite irresponsible in every way and unpredictable. I had sat next to her at lunch and what had seemed to be a tumbler full of ice water was, I’d noticed on closer examination, a glass full of gin. At the end of lunch the glass was empty.
Then she said: “I would appreciate it, Peter, if nothing were said about the . . . the misunderstanding last night." “You mean the screams?"
She nodded. “It could do me a great deal of harm socially if people were to get . . . well, the wrong idea about Brexton and Mildred. He was devoted to her and stayed at her side all through that terrible breakdown. I don’t want there to be any misunderstandings about that.”
“Are there apt to be any? The poor woman went swimming and drowned; we all saw it happen and that’s that.”
“I know. Even so, you know what gossips people are. I shouldn’t like one of the newspapermen, one of those awful columnists, to start suggesting things.”
“I’ll see to it,” I said with more authority than was strictly accurate under the circumstances.
“That's why I want you to handle the press for me . . . and another thing,” she paused; then: “Keep the others away from the newspapermen.”
I was startled by this request. “Why? I mean what difference does it make? We all saw the same thing. The police have our testimonies.”
“The police will keep their own counsel. Just do as I ask and I’ll be very grateful to you.”
I shrugged. “If I can, I will, but what’s to stop one of your guests from talking to the press?”
“You, I hope.” She changed the subject. "I’ve had the nicest chat with Alma Edderdale who wishes to be remembered to you. She checked in at the Sea Spray this morning.”
"That’s nice.”
“I'd hoped to have her over tomorrow but since this . . . well, 1 don’t quite know how to act.”
“As usual, I’d say. It’s a terrible tragedy but . . .”
“But she was my niece and very close to me ... it wasn’t as if she were, well, only a guest.” I realized that I was expendable. “Perhaps we can just have a few people over . . . friends of the family. I’m sure that’d be proper."
“I have an invitation,” I said boldly, “to go to the Yacht Club dance tonight and I wondered, if you weren’t going, whether I might . . .”
“Why certainly, go by all means. But please, please don’t talk to anyone about what has happened. I can’t possibly go and I’m not sure the others would want to either since they were all more or less connected with Mildred. You of course have no reason not to." And, feeling like a servant being given Thursday afternoon off, I was dismissed while Mrs. Veering took off for her bedroom and, no doubt, a jug of the stuff which banishes care.
An hour later, I had the drawing room all to myself, which was fortunate because the butler advanced upon me with a member of the press, a chinless youth from one of the News-Services.
I waved him into a chair grandly.
“I want to speak with Mrs. Rose Clayton Veering and Mr. Paul Brexton,” said the newshawk firmly, acicnoidally.
“You must be satisfied with me.”
“I came here to talk with Mrs. Rose . . .”
"And now you must talk to me,” I said more sharply. “I am authorized to speak for Mrs. Veering.”
“Who are you?”
“Peter Cutler Sargeant II.”