“We have nothing to explain,” Bingo said coldly. “We own this house and we live in it.”
“So you told me this afternoon,” William Willis said. “You’ll pardon me if I sound a little skeptical.”
Bingo thought things over for a moment. No, he was damned if he was going to explain the whole situation to this intruder, who, for all he might be Lois Lattimer’s brother, was still a stranger. “There are still some formalities to go through,” he said, using up all the dignity he had in the world, “but our lawyer, Mr. Arthur Schlee, assured us that our letter of sale and our receipt are sufficient for the present.” He stressed the “Mr. Arthur Schlee” just a trifle.
William Willis made no comment.
“Now,” Bingo said, “you explain what you’re doing trespassing on — prowling around — our property in the middle of the night.”
“I—” William Willis paused.
Bingo looked at him with a sudden rush of sympathy. Their visitor looked pale, extremely tired, and more than a little disturbed. Bingo had a lot of questions to ask, but he decided to let them go until Handsome came back with the coffee. William Willis, he thought, didn’t look like the brother of a woman who had murdered her husband. If Julien Lattimer had been murdered. He looked right now like a weary man, approaching old age, who trained birds for a living and rented out reptiles of all kinds.
A cup of coffee later, everybody felt better. There was even a little color in William Willis’ sallow face. He put down his coffee cup and accepted a cigarette.
“Those papers you mentioned,” he said, scowling. “Was Julien’s signature on them?”
“Yes. But he’s supposed to be dead,” Bingo said, feeling his way with care.
“If he isn’t,” William Willis said, a twisted smile on his thin mouth, “he will be in two more years.”
It took a minute or so for Bingo to figure that one out. Sure. Seven years. Julien Lattimer would be legally dead. “Your sister—” he began.
“My sister,” William Willis said, “will at that time inherit everything. And, it is considerable, I assure you.”
“But your sister can’t inherit if—” Bingo paused again.
Again there was the wry, crooked smile. “My sister can’t inherit the estate if she murdered Julien. But you forget, that remains to be proved.”
Bingo thought that over. True, if Julien Lattimer or his body stayed lost until the seven years were up, it would be a damned difficult thing to prove that his wife had murdered him.
Handsome said earnestly, “I remember a story in a Sunday supplement about a wealthy millionaire and his wife. It was June 5, 1949, the day before prohibition was repealed in Kansas after sixty-nine years. There was a story in the main news section about that, too.”
“Were this wealthy millionaire and his wife in Kansas?” William Willis said, looking a little bewildered.
“Uh-uh,” Handsome said. “Long Island. It was on a right-hand page and there were pictures of both of them and their house. Neither of them was very good-looking, and I didn’t think much of the house.” He added, “Right across was an article about why people walk in circles when they get lost. Do you know it’s because practically everybody has one leg longer than the other?”
By now William Willis looked thoroughly confused and a little apprehensive. He looked anxiously at Bingo.
“It’s all right,” Bingo assured him. “My partner remembers everything. And that’s the way he remembers it.” He gave Handsome a stern look and said, “What about these millionaires?”
“Oh,” Handsome said. “They shot each other. And then his relatives and her relatives both wanted to inherit all the money. So it was a question of who shot who first. And who died first. And if the one who died last shot in self-defense, so it wouldn’t be murder. It was kind of a problem because it looked like they both shot at about the same time.”
“How did it come out?” Bingo asked, fascinated in spite of himself, and forgetting his own troubles for the moment.
“Well,” Handsome said, “it turned out there wasn’t any money anyway because it seemed he had invested all of it in a tin mine somewhere where there wasn’t any tin. So it didn’t really matter.”
“But this does matter,” William Willis said. “I loved my sister very much. But I’ve got to think of myself, too. If Julien Lattimer is dead, and then if anything would happen to Lois—” His voice faded away.
“You’d be able to buy a lot of birdseed,” Bingo said, “and food for those rentable reptiles.” He counted to ten and said, “Where is your sister now?”
The look on William Willis’ face simply said that he was not going to answer that. Whether or not he knew where she was hiding was another question.
“A little more coffee,” Bingo said. He felt another rush of sympathy for their visitor. “Mr. Willis,” he said warmly, “I’m beginning to think we’ll all get a little further if we’re friends.” He looked at the man who had so obviously been up all night, who must have been through a bad few years. He was glad to see Handsome bring some warmed up coffee cake along with the pot of coffee.
The smile he gave William Willis came from his heart. “You were prowling around what may or may not be our house. We don’t care, and I speak for my partner as well as myself.” He felt the smile widening. “Maybe if you’d tell us why you were trying to get in the house, and what you were looking for, we could help you find it.”
William Willis looked up at him with anguished eyes.
Handsome brought some butter to put on the coffee cake and said, apologetically, “I wish we had some jam. Or some eggs.” He set the butter on the coffee table, produced a handful of paper napkins he’d found somewhere, and said, “Like in that story, Mr. Willis. I mean, if Mr. Julien Lattimer is dead but if your sister didn’t kill him, then she inherits this house and almost everything else, and then if anything happened to her this would be your house, so in a way you could consider us trespassers.” He handed William Willis the sugar. “But if you look at it this way, if Julien Lattimer is alive, and if he did sign those papers, why then we practically own this house and you are a trespasser.”
Bingo had a sudden and fleeting thought that maybe Handsome should have been a lawyer instead of a photographer.
Handsome handed William Willis the cream and said, “But it’s nicer to have you as our guest.”
“That’s exactly what I mean,” Bingo said. “So drink your coffee, and then let’s us all go looking for what you came here to find.”
“I don’t know what I’m looking for. Believe me, I’m telling the truth. It just seems to me that there must be something—” He paused. “I never was able to get into the house before. There was the caretaker guarding it. Last night I thought I could break in. I had no idea you would be here. I thought the house would be empty. That I could get in and dig around and look around—” He paused. “I don’t know what I expected to find, or where I expected to find it. Believe me, believe me, it was just that I wanted to search the house, by myself.”
Bingo said gently, “The police have done everything but tear down the walls.”
William Willis said, “I loved my sister very much.” He lifted his head and suddenly he didn’t look quite as tired, quite as defeated. “She was beautiful. She could have gone a long way in show business, if she hadn’t married that horrible, really horrible man for his money. She did, and it was a terrible mistake.” He stopped himself suddenly and said, “Look, I can’t possibly tell you all about it right now. Only it wasn’t just because of Julien Lattimer’s money. She was very frail, very delicate, her heart wasn’t too good. This Julien Lattimer offered her what seemed to be a snug harbor, a secure refuge. She didn’t realize—” He paused, bit his lip, and said, “She was an artist, a real artist. She did a slack-wire act—” His eyes suddenly looked into faraway and unseen places, as though he were seeing his little sister perform on the stage. For just an instant, Bingo could see her too, a dream image as April Robin was a dream image, frail, delicate, lovely, floating over space on a slack wire—