“First-year social science?”
The color in her cheeks deepened. Her eyes were candid, the color of the sky. “How did you know? Anyway, I’m a sophomore now.” As if this made all the difference between adolescence and maturity.
“I’m a mind reader. You’re interested in John Galton.”
Her pure gaze didn’t waver. “I love John. I think he loves me.”
“Is that what you wanted to say to me?”
“No.” She was suddenly flustered. “I didn’t mean to say it. But it’s true.” Her eyes darkened. “The things that Dad believes aren’t true, though. He’s just a typical patriarch type, full of prejudices against the boy I happen to like. He believes the most awful things against John, or pretends to.”
“What things, Sheila?”
“I wouldn’t even repeat them, so there. Anyway, you’ll be hearing them from him. I know what Dad wants you to do, you see. He let the cat out of the bag last night.”
“What does he want me to do?”
“Please,” she said, “don’t talk to me as if I were a child. I know that tone so well, and I’m so tired of it. Dad uses it on me all the time. He doesn’t realize I’m practically grown up. I’m going to be nineteen on my next birthday.”
“Wow,” I said softly.
“All right, go ahead and patronize me. Maybe I’m not mature. I’m mature enough to know good people from bad people.”
“We all make mistakes about people, no matter how ancient we are.”
“But I couldn’t be mistaken about John. He’s the nicest boy I ever met in my life.”
I said: “I like him, too.”
“I’m so glad.” Her hand touched my arm, like a bird alighting and then taking off again: “John likes you, or I wouldn’t be taking you into our confidence.”
“You wouldn’t be planning on getting married?”
“Not just yet,” she said, as if this was a very conservative approach. “John has a lot of things he wants to do first, and of course I couldn’t go against Father’s wishes.”
“What things does John want to do?”
She answered vaguely: “He wants to make something of himself. He’s very ambitious. And of course the one big thing in his life is finding out who killed his father. It’s all he thinks about.”
“Has he done anything about it?”
“Not yet, but I know he has plans. He doesn’t tell me all he has on his mind. I probably wouldn’t understand, anyway. He’s much more intelligent than I am.”
“I’m glad you realize that. It’s a good thing to bear in mind.”
“What do you mean?” she said in a small voice. But she knew what I meant: “It isn’t true, what Father says, that John is an impostor. It can’t be true!”
“What makes you so sure?”
“I know it here.” Her hand touched her breast, ever so lightly. “He couldn’t be lying to me. And Cassie says he’s the image of his dad. So does Aunt Maria.”
“Does John ever talk about his past to you?”
She regarded me with deepening distrust. “Now you sound just like Father again. You mustn’t ask me questions about John. It wouldn’t be fair to John.”
“Give yourself some thought, too,” I said. “I know it doesn’t seem likely, but if he is an impostor, you could be letting yourself in for a lot of pain and trouble.”
“I don’t even care if he is!” she cried, and burst into tears.
A young man in airline coveralls came out of the terminal and glared at me. I was making a pretty girl cry, and there ought to be a law. I assumed a very legal expression. He went back inside again.
My plane took off with a roar. The roar diminished to a cicada humming in the northern sky. Sheila’s tears passed like a summer shower. She started the engine and drove me into town, very efficiently, like a chauffeur who happened to be a deaf-mute.
John was a very fast worker.
Chapter 20
BEFORE SHE DEPOSITED me in the main lounge of the clubhouse, Sheila apologized for her emotional outburst, as she called it, and said something inarticulate about not telling Daddy. I said that no apology was necessary, and that I wouldn’t.
The windows of the lounge overlooked the golf course. The players were a shifting confetti of color on the greens and fairways. I watched them until Howell came in at five minutes after one.
He shook my hand vigorously. “Good to see you, Archer. I hope you don’t mind eating right away. I have to meet a committee shortly after two.”
He led me into a huge dining-room. Most of the tables were roped off and empty. We took one by a window which looked out across a walled swimming-pool enclosure where young people were romping and splashing. The waiter deferred to Howell as if he was a member of the stewardship committee.
Since I knew nothing about the man, I asked him the first question that occurred to me: “What kind of a committee are you meeting?”
“Aren’t all committees alike? They spend hours making up their collective mind to do something which any one of their members could accomplish in half the time. I’m thinking of setting up a committee to work for the abolition of committees.” His smile was a rapid flash. “As a matter of fact, it’s a Heart Association committee. We’re laying plans for a fund campaign, and I happen to be chairman. Will you have something to drink? I’m going to have a Gibson.”
“That will do for me.”
He ordered two Gibsons from the hovering waiter. “As a medical man, I feel it’s my duty to perpetuate the little saving vices. It’s probably safer to overdrink than it is to overeat. What will you have to eat?”
I consulted the menu.
“If you like sea food,” he said executively, “the lobster Newberg is easy to chew. Gordon Sable told me about your little accident. How’s the jaw?”
“Mending, thanks.”
“What precisely was the trouble about, if you don’t object to the question?”
“It’s a long story, which boils down to something like this: Anthony Galton was killed for his money by a criminal named Nelson who had just escaped from prison. Your original guess was very close to the truth. But there’s more to the case. I believe Tony Galton’s murder and Pete Culligan’s murder are related.”
Howell leaned forward across the table, his short gray hair brisding. “How related?”
“That’s the problem I was trying to solve when I got my jaw broken. Let me ask you a question, Doctor. What’s your impression of John Galton?”
“I was going to ask you the same question. Since you got to it first, I’ll take first turn in answering. The boy seems open and aboveboard. He’s certainly intelligent, and I suppose prepossessing if you like obvious charm. His grand– Mrs. Galton seems to be charmed with him.”
“She doesn’t question his identity?”
“Not in the slightest, she hasn’t from the beginning. For Maria, the boy is practically the reincarnation of her son Tony. Her companion, Miss Hildreth, feels very much the same way. I have to admit myself that the resemblance is striking. But such things can be arranged, when a great deal of money is involved. I suppose there’s no man alive who doesn’t have a double somewhere in the world.”
“You’re suggesting that he was searched out and hired?”
“Hasn’t the possibility occurred to you?”
“Yes, it has. I think it should be explored.”
“I’m glad to hear you say that. I’ll be frank with you. It occurred to me when the boy turned up here, that you might be a part of the conspiracy. But Gordon Sable vouches for you absolutely, and I’ve had other inquiries made.” His gray eyes probed mine. “In addition to which, you have the marks of honesty on your face.”