“A day that should come in short order,” Ehrengraf said.
“That’s your department,” Evelyn Throop said, and smiled serenely.
Ehrengraf smiled now, recalling her smile, and made a little tent of his fingertips on the desk top. An exceptional woman, he told himself, and one on whose behalf it would be an honor to extend himself.
It was difficult, of course. Shot with the woman’s own gun, and a witness to swear that she’d shot him. Difficult, certainly, but scarcely impossible.
The little lawyer leaned back, closed his eyes, and considered alternatives.
Some days later, Ehrengraf was seated at his desk reading the poems of William Ernest Henley, who had written so confidently of being the master of one’s fate and the captain of one’s soul. The telephone rang. Ehrengraf set his book down, located the instrument amid the desk top clutter, and answered it.
“Ehrengraf,” said Ehrengraf.
He listened for a moment, spoke briefly in reply, and replaced the receiver. Smiling brightly, he started for the door, then paused to check his appearance in a mirror.
His tie was navy blue, with a demure below-the-knot pattern of embroidered rams’ heads. For a moment Ehrengraf thought of stopping at his house and changing it for his Caedmon Society necktie, one he’d taken to wearing on triumphal occasions. He glanced at his watch and decided not to squander the time.
Later, recalling the decision, he wondered if it hinted at prescience.
“Quite remarkable,” Evelyn Throop said. “Although I suppose I should have at least considered the possibility that Mrs. Keppner was lying. After all, I knew for a fact that she was testifying to something that didn’t happen to be true. But for some reason I assumed it was an honest mistake on her part.”
“One hesitates to believe the worst of people,” Ehrengraf said.
“That’s exactly it, of course. Besides, I rather took her for granted.”
“So, it appears, did Mr. Bierstadt.”
“And that was his mistake, wasn’t it?” Evelyn Throop sighed. “Dora Keppner had been with him for years. Who would have guessed she’d been in love with him? Although I gather their relationship was physical at one point.”
“There was a suggestion to that effect in the note she left.”
“And I understand he wanted to get rid of her — to discharge her.”
“The note seems to have indicated considerable mental disturbance,” Ehrengraf said. “There were other jottings in a notebook found in Mrs. Keppner’s attic bedroom. The impression seems to be that either she and her employer had been intimate in the past or that she entertained a fantasy to that effect. Her attitude in recent weeks apparently became less and less the sort proper to a servant, and either Mr. Bierstadt intended to let her go or she feared that he did and — well, we know what happened.”
“She shot him.” Evelyn Throop frowned. “She must have been in the room when he went to freshen the drinks. I thought he’d put the gun in his pocket but perhaps he still had it in his hand. He would have set it down when he made the drinks and she could have snatched it up and shot him and been out of the room before I got there.” The gray eyes moved to encounter Ehrengraf’s. “She didn’t leave any fingerprints on the gun.”
“She seems to have worn gloves. She was wearing a pair when she took her own life. A test indicated nitrite particles in the right glove.”
“Couldn’t they have gotten there when she committed suicide?”
“It’s unlikely,” Ehrengraf said. “She didn’t shoot herself, you see. She took poison.”
“How awful,” Evelyn Throop said. “I hope it was quick.”
“Mercifully so,” said Ehrengraf. Clearly this woman was the captain of her soul, he thought, not to mention master of her fate. Or ought it to be mistress of her fate?
And yet, he realized abruptly, she was not entirely at ease.
“I’ve been released,” she said, “as is of course quite obvious. All charges have been dropped. A man from the District Attorney’s Office explained everything to me.”
“That was considerate of him.”
“He didn’t seem altogether happy. I had the feeling he didn’t really believe I was innocent after all.”
“People believe what they wish to believe,” Ehrengraf said smoothly. “The state’s whole case collapses without their star witness, and after that witness has confessed to the crime herself and taken her life in the bargain, well, what does it matter what a stubborn district attorney chooses to believe?
“The important thing,” Ehrengraf said, “is that you’ve been set free. You’re innocent of all charges.”
“Yes.”
His eyes searched hers. “Is there a problem, Miss Throop?”
“There is, Mr. Ehrengraf.”
“Dear lady,” he began, “if you could just tell me—”
“The problem concerns your fee.”
Ehrengraf’s heart sank. Why did so many clients disappoint him in precisely this fashion? At the onset, with the sword of justice hanging over their throats, they agreed eagerly to whatever he proposed. Remove the sword and their agreeability went with it.
But that was not it at all.
“The most extraordinary thing,” Evelyn Throop was saying. “I told you the terms of Howard’s will. The paintings to Leona, a few thousand dollars here and there to various charities, a modest bequest to Mrs. Keppner — I suppose she won’t get that now, will she?”
“Hardly.”
“Well, that’s something. Though it doesn’t amount to much. At any rate, the balance is to go to me. The residue, after the bequests have been made and all debts settled and the state and federal taxes been paid, all that remains comes to me.”
“So you explained.”
“I intended to pay you out of what I received, Mr. Ehrengraf. Well, you’re more than welcome to every cent I get. You can buy yourself a couple of hamburgers and a milkshake.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s the damned paintings,” Evelyn Throop said. “They’re worth an absolute fortune. I didn’t realize how much he spent on them in the first place or how rapidly they appreciated in value. Nor did I have any idea how deeply mortgaged everything else he owned was. He had some investment reversals over the past few months and he’d taken out a second mortgage on his home and sold off stocks and other holdings. There’s a little cash and a certain amount of equity in the real estate, but it’ll take all of that to pay the estate taxes on the several million dollars’ worth of paintings that go free and clear to that bitch Leona.”
“You have to pay the taxes?”
“No question about it,” she said bitterly. “The estate pays the taxes and settles the debts. Then all the paintings go straight to America’s favorite cook. I hope she chokes on them.” Evelyn Throop sighed heavily, collected herself. “Please forgive the dramatics, Mr. Ehrengraf.”
“They’re quite understandable, dear lady.”
“I didn’t intend to lose control of myself in that fashion. But I feel this deeply. I know Howard had no intention of disinheriting me and having that woman get everything. It was his unmistakable intention to leave me the greater portion, and a cruel trick of fate has thwarted him in that purpose. Mr. Ehrengraf, I owe you one hundred thousand dollars. That was our agreement and I consider myself bound by it.”
Ehrengraf made no reply.
“But I don’t know how I can possibly pay you. Oh, I’ll pay what I can, as I can, but I’m a woman of modest means. I couldn’t honestly expect to discharge the debt in full within my lifetime.”