"He lives in Oakland now," said the chaplain, "He has a radio-TV repair shop. If you could get this George Rush to say, without fear or pressure, whether Dick Bartee was really there in his room at the school that night . . ."
"I don't see how any roommate could guarantee . . .'' Johnny felt sorry for both these men.
"He might," said the chaplain. "He might be able to convince us. It's worth trying. If he could, it would settle everything."
"If you can't find him," said McCauley anxiously, "ask Mr. Charles Copeland."
"Copeland, the lawyer? Nan's boss, you mean?"
"Yes. Yes. He knows. He was my sister's lawyer, and he was the go-between. He'll know where Kate is, too. Kate CaUahan—if you wanted to talk to her."
"Go-between whom?" asked Johrmy.
"Between Edith-Emily and the Bartees. He took care of the money."
"What money?"
"The money old man Bartee sent every year for the baby," McCauley said. "The old man insisted when he and Emily made the agreement. He felt responsible, I suppose."
"You mean old Bartee supported Emily?"
"No, no," said McCauley. "Emily never touched it."
''Then where is it now?"
''It's a fund," the prisoner said.
''A fund! For seventeen years!"
"1 think it was five thousand dollars every year," McCauley said. "It belongs to my daughter."
"But ..." Johnny got up. "Look," he said with a bursting feehng. "Emily is gone. What happens about that money? Won't Nan have to know now?"
"Oh, my sister had that all arranged," McCauley said. "Nobody will know where it really came from."
"I went to see Geroge Rush myself, five years ago." said Father Klein, "but he wouldn't talk at all. I approached him directly and it didn't work. I'm afraid I have no guile."
"Too right," muttered Johnny Sims. "No guile." He stared at them.
Then he said abruptly, "111 see what I can do. I'll be in touch. I can call you on the phone. Father Klein?"
Johnny went away.
Five thousand a year for seventeen years, funded, perhaps invested, at least compounded! For heaven's sake, couldn't they see! When Dick Bartee met Nan Padgett and rushed her off her feet tvhUe Emily was out of the way
it might not have been a coincidence at all. It might have been a plan.
Johnny felt very grim and shaken. Lawyer Copeland ought to be shot. Copeland knew. But Copeland had introduced them. Was Copeland in on this?
On what?
CHAPTER 6
JoHisTNY PULLED UP in front of the building where the girls lived, just as another car pulled up ahead of him. Dorothy, then Nan, and finally a big blond man got out. Dorothy saw him first and hurried toward him.
Johnny saw her face and quickly put both arms around her. "Been to see about the funeral," she said miserably against his coat-
"Dick," Nan said, "this is Johnny Sims." Her face was solemn and strained.
Johnny did not shake the blond man's hand because he was holding Dorothy. "Glad to meet you," Johnny said, "although not under these circurhstances. Where's "Ma?"
"Upstairs," murmured Dorothy. "She's been wonder . . .''
Nan broke in. "Jolmny, will you please tell us something?"
Johnny marveled that Nan took the lead. It was usually Dorothy. He braced himself. He knew what was coming.
It crossed his mind that Dick Bartee could have inspired this attacking question. But Bartee was just waiting, just hstening. He was good looking, all right, a man with a stiong animal ptesence. His gray eyes watched, neither warm nor cold.
"The hospital says Aunt Emily called for you last night." Nan's brown eyes were cold. "Why haven't you told us?"
Johnny's arms tightened around Dorothy as his heart jumped. "I was ashamed to tell you," he said flatly, "because I'm sorry—I never did make it."
'DidTi't make iti You mean you didn't go when she asked!" Nan flared.
"I haven't got an excuse, Nan. I am just ashamed," Johnny said. "Only that the doctor and the nurse seemed to think she needed a night of quiet and I guessed this morning would do."
Nan's chin hfted. "I thought you were so fond of Emily." She looked away from him. She started towards the door.
Dorothy was also drawing away from him. He looked down. "I sure wish I had gone," he murmured. Dorothy gave him a troubled, searching look. Then she followed Nan.
Johnny stood beside Dick Bartee. He was out to discover whether this blond man, now looking at him speculatively with those gray eyes, was or was not a wrong one, phony, murderer. Johnny couldn't handicap himself before he started by announcing what he was up to. (Also, he had promised.)
Johrmy said, "What do you make of Emily's reaction to your name?" He made himself look with very blunt curiosity into those eyes.
Bartee smiled. His carved lips drew back from perfect teeth. "Misunderstanding is my guess," he said. "Over a transcontinental telephone, what else can you expect? I don't suppose we'll ever know what she thought Nan had said."
"Too bad," said Johimy Sims. "So you can't imagine what it might be, eh?"
Dick Bartee said easily, "Now see here. I've knocked around the world a bit and you know as well as I do evert/thing I ve done wouldn't necessarily dehght a maiden aunt. There is, just the same, no reason I know why Nan shouldn't marry me." His gaze was perfectly open and direct.
"That's good," said Johnny glumly.
"I never heard of a woman named Emily Padgett," said Bartee, "until I met Nan, of course."
Johimy realized with a tiny shock that if the man was innocent this could be true. I changed all the names—I had to, Emily had said. Johnny turned for the door.
Bartee said, "I never met her. I'm afraid I can't be altogether sorry she's left Nan and me alone in the world together. There's a confession for you."
He clapped Johnny on the back and then he followed Johnny up the stairs.
Johnny went up, seething. Either the man was innocent and super-honest. Or he was bold. He was very bold.
Upstairs Johnny's mother had everything under control. Food was at hand for the condolers who were coming and going. At least four of these were Dorothy's young men. Nan was in the big back room and Bartee went to her. Something about the way she stood then, with the big blond man behind her, where Johnny had so often stood himself, made him feel angry.
In a little while he ambled through the dining room into the kitchen. "Ma, I'm leaving. You O.K.?"
His mother said, "Go about your business, do," She looked sharp. "You were bom with brains, John Sims. Remember?"
"And thanky ma'am," said Johnny. "I try to use them." He knew he'd just been scolded for evasion or, to put it bluntly, lying about having been to see Emily. He couldn't help it.
He went back through the little pantry and there was Dorothy fiercely spreading crackers. Something about the bend of her fair neck made a sudden lump come into Jolmny's throat. "Ah, Dotty," he said, "couldn't you rest?" ^ "No," she s^d belligerently. "I'd rather do something.' "Me too," said Johnny sadly. He wasn't happy with his secret, that alienated him here. "You don't need me, I guess," he said gloomily.
"Nan's all right," she replied distantly. Johrmy went through to the big back room. Nan said, "Wait, we'll come to the door. I want to say something . , ."
So Nan, with Dick Bartee at her back, stood in the little hall and said, "I'm sorry if I sounded too cross dowoistairs, Johnny. Dick says I did."
Johrmy's eyes flicked up to the big man's face. "I only said you undoubtedly felt pretty terrible about not going when Emily called. No use to hit a man when he's down." The big man was smiUng.
'"That's right," stammered Johnny. "I do ... I do feel
pretty terrible." He slid out of the door, got away awkwardly.