Evidence of Things Seen (25 page)

Hunter said stiffly: “Why should I have tapped our telephone?”

“To listen in on Fanny's talks with Craye. Alvira Radford had told you that they were meeting privately, I suppose in the course of Fanny's hospital trips to and from Stratfield. Alvira would not spread the story after having done her duty by you, but she could not resist hinting at Craye's affair with a blond married woman. Her friends in Stratfield misinterpreted the hints; they thought she referred not to Fanny, but to the Baroness von Stermi. But I could see that Craye was indifferent to the unearthly charms of his refugee. Since the gossip spread he has been in agony. He was afraid that Fanny would hear the gossip, know it applied to herself, and drop him; or that you would hear of it and take it out on her. I don't think she has heard of it; but it was because she felt your unexpressed jealousy that she didn't tell you she was seeing Craye alone; and I may say that that jealousy most abominably obscured your judgment. Otherwise you would never have allowed yourself to recite that malice-inspired couplet, for Craye is not only an intelligent man, but a man of feeling. It was that couplet that betrayed your jealousy to me.”

Hunter said: “Heroic fellow, Craye, no doubt.”

“There are potentialities of heroism in him. He would almost rather have died than mention the gossip to me, but he was coming to confide it to me this afternoon in order to preserve, as he thought, the best interests of his refugees. But your conduct has fallen short of heroism; you were afraid that Fanny couldn't face comparative poverty with you; you were afraid of losing her to Craye, who worships her, and is a very rich man. Your happiness was more important to you than hers, than the lives of others; and I'm sure that in you I have met the supreme egotist at last.”

Hunter slowly rose; supporting himself with his hands on the edge of the table, he said with a half smile: “But I'm to be a hero now, it seems; and it seems that you don't imagine yourself to be running any risk in confiding these matters to me.”

“You would hardly have another try at me with three people, one of them Fanny, in the house; but perhaps I'd better warn you that it would do you no good. I sent a telegram to Macloud tonight, informing him quite openly that you are his man.”

“In that case I'd better go—now. I'll call Fanny.”

“Leave her with us, Hunter.”

“Surely you don't imagine that I mean to—er—take her away with me? I shall merely drive her home.”

“Leave her here. She'll be best with Clara.”

“What, no farewells? No last word with the cause of all my woe?” He stood, swaying a little, and then said in a tone of one who argues a simple and self-evident question: “You don't quite realize what my position was, Gamadge. You don't quite understand. That thing I was backing—it was only held up for a few years, until after the war. It would have made me a fortune. But meanwhile I couldn't go on paying the Radford woman the annual four thousand I promised her, and I didn't think Fanny would be able to stand—er—adversity. Of course she is loyal, but she doesn't—never did love me. Well, I'll say good-bye. Look after her.”

He went out into the dark; Gamadge saw the glow of his cigarette, and then heard him start the big car and drive away.

Clara and Fanny Hunter were sitting on the sofa upstairs, chatting in a lively manner. At sight of Gamadge, Fanny sprang up: “Are you going?” Her bright earrings twinkled like dragonflies.

“Hunter is called away.”

“Without me?” she looked frightened.

“He wants you to stay with us tonight. I have bad news, Fanny; Clara, stand by.”

G
ILBERT CRAYE, HIS
left arm in a sling and his freckles startling on the pallor of his smiling face, waved a greeting as Madame Fouret ushered two guests into the big bedroom. He sat up against pillows in his ancestral four-poster, at the foot of which one of the Medos children sat cross-legged, reading aloud to him in a penetrating treble. The other child crawled on the floor; it had made a train out of tortoise-shell toilet articles, and was supplying appropriate noises.

“Gamadge, hello.” Craye made himself heard with some effort. “That Mr. Macloud? Hello. Come in and sit down. Madame Fouret will you get these gnomes out of here?”

“Ow, they're always so ‘appy with you, Mr. Craye.”

“All I ask is, get them out of this.”

Madame Fouret got them out and closed the door. Gamadge and Macloud took chairs, and Macloud remarked that it was quite evident the Medos children belonged to an Underground Movement; they looked as though they had lived underground most of their lives.

“They practically have, poor little devils. I never know which is the girl and which is the boy. Did you notice poor old Fouret? You wouldn't believe it, but she's one of the best agents we have; she's got wonderful contacts in France, through her husband. Her name isn't Fouret, of course.”

“And Mr. Medos isn't really Mr. Medos?”

“Of course not. He's invaluable. Absolutely trusted by our friends in six countries.”

“Mrs. Star's family is interned, I believe?”

“And von Stermi wouldn't lift a finger. He and she have been separated for years.”

Gamadge said: “I rather thought, from her reactions on Saturday evening at the hospital, that she must have faced a tribunal at some time.”

“Yes, and got off by the skin of her teeth. She's rather hipped on the subject of espionage, naturally, poor thing, and she was convinced that enemy agents had got on our trail, and that I was the first victim of a general massacre. Besides, they're always terrified on account of the people they've left behind them in Europe. They'll all have to be moving on pretty soon—doesn't do for them to stay in one place too long. People get to talking. I hope that when my new lot comes there won't be any juniors, though.”

Gamadge said: “I suppose when you mentioned Schenck to Clara a fortnight ago that you were trying to find out whether he'd told us about your underground agency.”

“He wanted to tell you, and so did I, when you got home. I thought if Mrs. Gamadge knew, she might have a better impression of Leda Star. Get along better with her. She's a good sort, but being so jittery makes her seem stiff; she's had to repress her feelings too much.”

“I'm sure,” said Gamadge.

“But I'd sworn not to reveal anything without her permission. Leda finally let me call you up on Saturday and arrange that rendezvous; sporting of her, but she thought you were out for my blood, and I'd made up my mind I'd better tell you that Alvira Radford had seen Fanny and me together a couple of times, and spread some kind of story. It got to me, and I was afraid it would get to Fanny. I suppose you've told Macloud all about everything?” He turned his thin face from Gamadge to Macloud. That gentleman's saturnine face remained serious, even glum. He said: “I know all.”

“Well, I'd better explain—from Fanny's and my point of view. It's all because Fanny's so awfully kind.”

“Kindness itself,” agreed Gamadge.

“And I was often so awfully low. I got to depend on her for sympathy, and all that kind of thing. And then Hunter seemed rather tired of me, used to be a little sarcastic about my never doing anything useful. She was driving back and forth to the hospital, and we used to—we had our talks away from the farm. She wanted to be nice to me, and I got a sort of an idea that though she was fond of him, she was a little afraid of Hunter.”

“She may well have been,” said Gamadge.

“When I heard that gossip was going around, you can imagine what a state I was in. I cut out the meetings by the roadside, and finally I went and saw the old woman herself. She denied having said a thing, but she got off some cracks about Mrs. Star. That put me in a worse hole than ever. I had to confide in Leda. And what do you think she said?”

“Said she didn't care, and that it would be a fine cover-up for her Underground activities,” murmured Gamadge.

“Yes, and that it didn't matter, since she was to go before long. So I used to drive her around, instead. Did Hunter actually listen in on Fanny and me?”

“Yes.”

“But never said a word to Fanny? Thank goodness for that. She might have dropped me.”

“Hunter wouldn't risk putting ideas into her head; he was too subtle a being to disturb their relationship in any way. But if he had really thought he was going to lose her, that would have been another matter. She never would have got away from him alive.”

Craye said: “Scares you to think of. I hope she'll never know.”

“She never will. Hunter kept her out of it—well out of it.”

“Kept her out of it?” Craye was surprised.

“When he left me that night he went directly home, removed all signs that the telephone wires had been tampered with, got the receipt for the Radford securities—and other business papers—out of his safe; took his rifle down from the wall, and walked into the woods—where he was found next morning.”

“Yes, I know. But—”

“The papers, and the Radford receipt, gave Ledwell the clear motive he wanted. They did more. The fact that Hunter didn't even try to save that seventy thousand for Fanny separates Fanny from the case almost as effectively as though she hadn't been married to him at all. People won't say she was the cause of it all.”

“I did wonder why he fixed it so that she'd have to reimburse the Grobys.”

“Phineas Hunter did nothing without good reason.”

“But won't she be left very badly off?”

Macloud said in his gloomiest tone: “People who look like Fanny Hunter never are badly off for long.”

Craye seemed to be made slightly restive by this remark. He took a cigarette from a box, thanked Gamadge for lighting it for him, and said after a moment: “I suppose she won't want to see any of us just yet. Remind her of the tragedy.”

“She won't have a chance to see us,” said Gamadge. “I told you she's with her people in New York. I took her down on Sunday.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Ledwell was very nice, didn't even make her wait for the inquest.”

“How—how did she seem, Gamadge?”

“Oh—shattered. But she has a lot of pluck; and—” Gamadge coughed—“I have reason to think that she never loved Hunter. Not what you and I mean by love, you know.”

“It struck me that way,” said Craye, repressing eagerness.

“She's very affectionate, you know,” continued Gamadge, “and very pliant. She'll soon want to see her best friends.”

“I'm to get up tomorrow,” said Craye.

Mrs. Star came in with a tray of iced drinks. Macloud was introduced, blinked at sight of her pale beauty, and thereafter seemed unable to remove his eyes from her. Gamadge said: “I hope you've forgiven me, Mrs. Star, for letting you worry yourself half to death last Saturday night.”

“Yes, I forgive you.” She added, as she allowed him to take the tray from her. “And I hope you will forgive me for being so rude.”

Gamadge looked unsmilingly at her across the tinkling glasses. “There were extenuating circumstances for us both.”

“But I still say that you are a bad enemy.”

“I don't particularly resent injuries to myself.”

On the drive home Macloud was still glum. He said: “Fanny Hunter will marry him in a year.”

“Why not? I don't want her to wear mourning for one unnecessary day. She won't take him for his money, Bob; she didn't marry Hunter for his money. It's not her fault that money seeks her out.”

“I suppose it's not Craye's, or any man's fault, if he can't recognize the real thing when he sees it. That lovely creature worships him.”

“He wants to worship Fanny.”

Clara was on the porch waiting for them. Macloud, sinking down on the step and getting out his pipe, said that he didn't pity Gamadge for having to buy the place.

“Oh, the Grobys will let me off buying it now.” Gamadge sat on the bench beside Clara. “Mrs. Groby called up to tell me so.”

“I shouldn't want to be let off. Why don't you stay? Mountain Ridge is a long way off, and you'll have delightful friends at Stratfield.”

“Macloud thinks Fanny will be there,” Gamadge told his wife.

“I hope she will be.” But Clara looked rather sadly at the tall trees opposite; behind them the hum of the waterfall was broken by small chucklings as its overflow of streamlets plunged into the pool.

“Clara wouldn't be happy here,” said Gamadge.

“I would if you would.”

Eli came along the road. When he stopped at the foot of the path his Pharaoh smile was broader than usual. “Too bad,” he said.

Gamadge took his cigarette out of his mouth: “What's too bad?”

“Too bad you can't come back.”

“To the cottage? Why can't we come back?”

“The reservation's making an offer for all this land, right down to the highway.” Eli's arm swept in a semicircle from east to west.

Macloud remarked with a sardonic glance at Clara that her problem has been solved. “The tutelary gods have taken over,” he said, “with Eli as their prophet.”

“Yes.” Gamadge leaned back and replaced his cigarette in his mouth. “I thought just now I heard them laughing.”

 

 

All the characters and events portrayed in this work are fictitious.

EVIDENCE OF THINGS SEEN

A Felony & Mayhem “Vintage” mystery

PUBLISHING HISTORY
First U.S. print edition (Farrar & Rinehart): 1943
Felony & Mayhem print edition: 2007
Felony & Mayhem electronic edition: 2012

Copyright © 1943 by Elizabeth Daly
Copyright renewed 1971 by Frances Daly Harris,
Virginia Taylor, Eleanor Boylan, Elizabeth T. Daly, and
Wilfrid Augustin Daly, Jr.