Bonnie noticed, too. “Do you suppose grandfather’s flown off somewhere? I’d always understood he rarely left the estate.”
“More likely it’s Dr. Junius. I imagine the good leech has to do the shopping for cabbages and such. Picture yourself running a household up here!”
“And flying down to the grocer’s for a bottle of olives,” giggled Bonnie nervously.
The tree-canopied path was deserted. And when they emerged into the clearing where the house stood they saw that the front doors were shut.
Ellery knocked; there was no answer. He knocked again. Finally, he tried the knob. It turned.
“The obvious,” he chuckled, “has a way of eluding me. Enter, Bonnie. The house, at least, won’t bite you.”
Bonnie looked doubtful; but she squared her boyish shoulders and preceded him bravely into the dim interior.
“Grandfather?” she called.
The syllables tumbled back, smothered and mocking.
“Mr. Stuart!” roared Ellery. The echo had a sneer in it. “Damn. That old man’s exasperating. Do you mind if I shake some life into him?”
“Mind?” Bonnie looked angry. “I’d like to do some shaking myself!”
“Well,” said Ellery cheerfully, “we’ll have to find him first,” and he led the way.
The living-room was empty. The kitchen, although there were bread-crumbs on the porcelain-topped table and the odor of freshly brewed tea, was also empty; so Ellery took Bonnie with him to the staircase, looking grim.
“He’s up there sulking again, I’ll bet a million. Mr. Stuart!”
No answer.
“Let me go first,” said Bonnie firmly, and she ran up the stairs.
They found the old man lying in bed, the table by his side loaded with pill-boxes, medicine bottles, atomizers, and iron-stained spoons. His toothless jaws were doggedly munching on a cold meat sandwich, and he was gulping iced tea as he glared at them quite without surprise.
“Grandfather!” cried Bonnie. “Didn’t you hear us?”
He glowered at her from under his hairy gray brows munching without a sign he had heard her.
“Grandfather!” Bonnie looked scared. “Can’t you hear me? Are you deaf?”
He stopped munching long enough to growclass="underline" “Go away,” and then he took another swallow of tea and another bite of the white bread.
Bonnie looked relieved and furious. “How can you treat me this way? Aren’t you human? What’s the matter with you?”
The hair on his cheeks and chin stopped wiggling as his jaws suddenly clamped together. Then they wiggled again as he said curtly: “What d’ye want?”
Bonnie sat down. “I want,” she said in a low voice, “a little of the affection you never gave my mother.”
Studying that aged, bitter physiognomy, Ellery was astonished to see a soft expression creep into the veined and rheumy eyes. Then the expression vanished. The old man said gruffly: “Too late now. I’m an old man. Blythe should have thought of that years ago. She never was a daughter to me.” The lisp grew more pronounced as his voice rose. “I don’t want anybody! Go away and let me alone. If that fool Junius wouldn’t hop in and out like a jack rabbit, blast him, maybe I’d get some privacy!”
Bonnie made two tight little fists of her gloves. “You don’t scare me one bit with your bellowing,” she said evenly. “You know the fault was yours, not mother’s. You never gave her the love she had a right to expect from you.”
The old man banged down his glass and hurled the remains of the sandwich from him. “You say that to me?” he howled. “What do you know about it? Did she ever bring you to me? Did she ever—”
“Did you ever show her you wanted her to?”
The bony arms wavered, then fell to the coverlet with a curious weakness. “I’m not going to argue with a snip of a girl. You’re after my money. I know what you want. My money. That’s all children and grandchildren ever want!”
“Grandfather,” gasped Bonnie, rising. “How can you say such a thing?”
“Get out, get out,” he said. “That fool Junius! Going off to Los Angeles and letting this house become a Wayside Inn. Lord knows what germs you’ve brought in here, you and this fellow. I’m a sick old man. I’m—”
“Goodbye,” said Bonnie. And she made for the door blindly.
“Wait,” said Ellery. She waited, her lips trembling. Ellery faced the old man grimly. “Your life is your own to lead as you see fit, Mr. Stuart, but a capital crime has been committed and you can’t shut yourself away from that. You’re going to answer some questions.”
“Who are you?” demanded the old man sourly.
“Never mind who I am. A week ago Wednesday — that’s nine days ago — your daughter and John Royle paid you a visit. Why?”
It seemed to him that for an instant the old man showed astonishment; but only for an instant. “So you found that out, too, did you? You must be from the police, like that idiot Glücke who was up here early in the week. Police!”
“I asked you, Mr. Stuart—”
“You want to know why they came here, hey? All right, I’ll tell you,” said the old man unexpectedly, hitching himself up in bed. “Because they wanted money, that’s why! That’s all anybody ever wants.”
“Mother asked you for money?” said Bonnie. “I don’t believe it!”
“Call me a liar, do you?” said the old man venomously. “I say she asked me for money. Not for herself, I admit. But she asked me. For the good-for-nothing Royle!”
Bonnie looked at Ellery, and Ellery looked at Bonnie. So that was it. Blythe had come to her father against all her instincts — not for herself, but for the man she loved. Bonnie looked away, staring out the window at the cold sky.
“I see,” said Ellery slowly. “And you gave it to her?”
“I must have been out of my mind that day,” grumbled the old man. “I gave Royle a check for a hundred and ten thousand dollars and I told Blythe not to bother me again. Good-for-nothing! Something about gambling debts. She wanted to marry a gambler. Well, that was her hard luck.”
“Oh, grandfather,” sobbed Bonnie, “you’re an old fraud.” She took a step toward him.
“Don’t come near me!” said the old man hastily. “You’re not sterile. Full of germs!”
“You did love her. You wanted her to be happy.”
“I wanted her to let me alone.”
“You just pretend to be hard—”
“It was the only way I could get rid of her. Why can’t people let me alone? Blythe said it would be her money some day, anyway, and all she asked was part of it before...” His hairy lips quivered. “Get out and don’t come back.”
And Bonnie hardened. “You know,” she whispered, “I believe you did give it to her just to get rid of her. Don’t worry, grandfather. I’ll get out and I’ll never come back. I’ll never speak to you again as long as you live.”
The old man waved his arms again, his sallow face livid. “I won’t die for a long time!” he yelled. “Don’t worry about that! Get out, the two of you!”
“Not yet,” said Ellery. He glanced at Bonnie. “Bonnie, would you mind going back to the plane? I’ll join you in a few minutes. I’d like to talk to your grandfather alone.”
“I can’t get away from here fast enough.” Bonnie stumbled out. Ellery heard her running down the stairs as if some one were after her.
He did not speak until the front door slammed. Then he said to the glowering old man: “Now, Mr. Stuart, answer one question.”