“It’s the hard way to prove you’re honest.”
Howell smiled slightly, looking out over the pool. His daughter, Sheila, had appeared at the poolside in a bathing-suit. She was beautifully made, but the fact seemed to give her no pleasure. She sat by herself, with a pale closed look, undergoing the growing pains of womanhood. Howell’s glance rested on her briefly, and a curious woodenness possessed his face.
The waiter brought our drinks, and we ordered lunch. When the waiter was out of hearing, Howell said:
“It’s the boy’s story that bothers me. I understand you were the first to hear it. What do you think about it?”
“Sable and I gave him quite a going-over. He took it well, and his story stood up. I made notes on it the same night. I’ve gone over the notes since I talked to you this morning, and couldn’t find any self-contradictions.”
“The story may have been carefully prepared. Remember that the stakes are very high. You may be interested to know that Maria is planning to change her will in his favor.”
“Already?”
“Already. She may already have done. Gordon wouldn’t agree to it, so she called in another attorney to draw up a will. Maria’s half out of her mind – she’s pent up her generous feelings for so long, that she’s intoxicated with them.”
“Is she incompetent?”
“By no means,” he said hastily. “I don’t mean to overstate the case. And I concede her perfect right to do what she wants to do with her own money. On the other hand, we can’t let her be defrauded by a – confidence man.”
“How much money is involved?”
He raised his eyes over my head as if he could see a mountain of gold in the distance. “I couldn’t estimate. Something like the national debt of a medium-sized European country. I know Henry left her oil property that brings in a weekly income in the thousands. And she has hundreds of thousands in securities.”
“Where does it all go if it doesn’t go to the boy?”
Howell smiled mirthlessly. “I’m not supposed to know that. It happens that I do, but I’m certainly not supposed to tell.”
“You’ve been frank with me,” I said. “I’ll be frank with you. I’m wondering if you have an interest in the estate.”
He scratched at his jaw, violently, but gave no other sign of discomposure. “I have, yes, in several senses. Mrs. Galton named me executor in her original will. I assure you personal considerations are not influencing my judgment. I think I know my own motives well enough to say that.”
It’s a lucky man who does, I thought. I said: “Apart from the amount of money involved, what exactly is bothering you?”
“The young man’s story. As he tells it, it doesn’t really start till age sixteen. There’s no way to go beyond that to his origins, whatever they may be. I tried, and came up against a stone wall.”
“I’m afraid I don’t follow you. The way John tells it, he was in an orphanage until he ran away at the age of sixteen. The Crystal Springs Home, in Ohio.”
“I’ve been in touch with a man I know in Cleveland – chap I went to medical school with. The Crystal Springs Home burned to the ground three years ago.”
“That doesn’t make John a liar. He says he left there five and a half years ago.”
“It doesn’t make him a liar, no. But if he is, it leaves us with no way to prove that he is. The records of the Home were completely destroyed in the fire. The staff was scattered.”
“The Superintendent should be traceable. What was his name – Merriweather?”
“Merriweather died in the fire of a heart attack. All of this, suggests the possibility – I’d say probability – that John provided himself with a story ex post facto. Or was provided with one. He or his backers looked around for a foolproof background to equip him with – one that was uncheckable. Crystal Springs was it – a large institution which no longer existed, which had no surviving records. Who knows if John Brown ever spent a day there?”
“You’ve been doing a lot of thinking about this.”
“I have, and I haven’t told you all of it. There’s the question of his speech, for instance. He represents himself as an American, born and raised in the United States.”
“You’re not suggesting he’s a foreigner?”
“I am, though. National differences in speech have always interested me, and it happens I’ve spent some time in central Canada. Have you ever listened to a Canadian pronounce the word ‘about’?”
“If I did, I never noticed. ‘About’?”
“You say aba-oot, more or less. A Canadian pronounces the word more like ‘aboat.’ And that’s the way John Brown pronounces it.”
“Are you certain?”
“Of course I’m certain.”
“About the theory, I mean?”
“It isn’t a theory. It’s a fact. I’ve taken it up with specialists in the subject.”
“In the last two weeks?”
“In the last two days,” he said. “I hadn’t meant to bring this up, but my daughter, Sheila is – ah – interested in the boy. If he’s a criminal, as I suspect–” Howell broke off, almost choking on the words.
Both our glances wandered to the poolside. Sheila was still alone, sitting on the edge and paddling her feet in the water. She turned to look toward the entrance twice while I watched her. Her neck and body were stiff with expectancy.
The waiter brought our food, and we ate in silence for a few minutes. Our end of the dining-room was slowly filling up with people in sports clothes. Slice and sand-trap seemed to be the passwords. Dr. Howell glanced around independently from time to time, as if to let the golfers know that he resented their intrusion on his privacy.
“What do you intend to do, Doctor?”
“I propose to employ you myself. I understand that Gordon has terminated your services.”
“So far as I know. Have you taken it up with him?”
“Naturally I have. He’s just as keen as I am that there should be further investigation. Unfortunately Maria won’t hear of it, and as her attorney he can’t very well proceed on his own. I can.”
“Have you discussed it with Mrs. Galton?”
“I’ve tried to.” Howell grimaced. “She won’t listen to a word against the blessed youth. It’s frustrating, to say the least, but I can understand why she has to believe in him. The fact of her son Anthony’s death came as a great shock to her. She had to hold on to something, and there was Anthony’s putative son, ready and willing. Perhaps it was planned that way. At any rate, she’s clinging to the boy as if her life depended on it.”
“What will the consequences be if we prove he’s crooked?”
“Naturally we’ll put him in prison where he belongs.”
“I mean the consequences to Mrs. Galton’s health. You told me yourself that any great shock might kill her.”
“That’s true, I did.”
“Aren’t you concerned about that?”
His face slowly, reddened, in blotches. “Of course I’m concerned. But there are ethical priorities in life. We can’t sit still for a criminal conspiracy, merely because the victim has diseases. The longer we permit it to go on, the worse it will be in the long run for Maria.”
“You’re probably right. Anyway, her health is your responsibility. I’m willing to undertake the investigation. When do I begin?”
“Now.”
“I’ll probably have to go to Michigan, for a start. That will cost money.”
“I understand that. How much?”
“Five hundred.”
Howell didn’t blink. He produced a checkbook and a fountain pen. While he was making out the check, he said:
“It might be a good idea if you talked to the boy first. That is, if you can do it without arousing suspicion.”
“I think I can do that. I got an invitation from him this morning.”