The Devil To Pay (16 page)

You didn’t forget anything, Mr. Ruhig, thought Mr. King. And you don’t want Inspector Glücke to know even now. You’re bluffing.

“No,” said Val quickly. “Please don’t. Just keep it to yourself for a while, Mr. Ruhig.”

“But it’s a criminal offense!” protested Mr. Ruhig.

“I know, but it may come in handy in the defense if—when pop goes to trial. Don’t you see? They couldn’t be so sure, then, that he was the
only
one—”

“You’d make a persuasive advocate,” beamed Mr. Ruhig. “I’ll think it over…. No, I shan’t, either! Friendship is friendship. I won’t talk until you give the word.”

Well done, friend.

“Thank you,” said Val, rising. “Uh… Hilary, let’s go.”

“Why not?” said Ellery-Hilary, and he uncoiled his legs from under Mr. Ruhig’s uncomfortable chair.

He had scarcely got out of it when Ruhig’s office-door flew open and Walter Spaeth strode in, hatless and panting, as if he had run all the way from Spring Street. “What’s this,” he demanded of Ruhig, “about you and Winni?”

“Ah, Walter!”

Walter’s right fist smashed down on Ruhig’s desk. “So that’s the game,” he said in a hard voice. “All right, Ruhig, I’ll get into it, too.”

“What are you talking about?” asked the lawyer brusquely.

“You aren’t satisfied with the hundreds of thousands you collected from my father in fees in that crooked Ohippi operation. Now that he’s dead you want the big money—the millions. And you’re marrying that damned empty-headed fool of a woman to get them!”

“Get out,” said Ruhig. “Get out of here.”

“I’ve been thinking it over for some time. Ruhig, there’s something rotten about that will!”

“You will find,” said Mr. Ruhig with a dangerous softness, “that your father had full testamentary capacity.”

“I’ll spike your little scheme. I’m getting a lawyer to file a protest. I’ll break that will, Ruhig. You’ll never live to see it probated.”

“Your father,” snapped Ruhig like a tormented little badger, “was entirely able to comprehend the nature and extent of his property, his relationship to the natural objects of his bounty, and the scope and effects of the contents of his will. Will you get out, or do I have to have my clerks put you out?”

Walter actually smiled. “So it’s a fight, is it? By God, Ruhig, I’ve been itching for one.” And he strode out with no more than a passing glance at Val and Mr. King—an absent glance that sharpened momentarily and then grew absent again.

“Goodbye,” said Val in a small voice.

They left Mr. Ruhig sitting still behind his desk, no longer smiling. In fact, Mr. Ruhig was immersed in thought—half-drowned in it, Mr. King would have said.

“T
HERE
’
S
that man again,” said Ellery, as they walked down the street.

“Where?”

“Somewhere behind us. I’m psychic about these things. Where’s your car parked?”

“N-near Hill.”

“Head for it and I’ll drop behind. Let’s see if we can’t bag this squirrel.”

Val stepped off the curb and nervously crossed the street. She was just mounting the sidewalk on the other side when she heard an outcry behind her. She whirled about. Mr. Hilary King was struggling with a medium-sized, broad-shouldered man whose bellow could be heard as far as City Hall. “Stop!” cried Val, racing back across the street. She yanked Ellery’s arm, which was engaged in a futile-seeming maneuver that looked like ju-jutsu, and was, and then shook the other man, who had just caught Ellery flush on the nose with his freckled fist. “
Pink!
” she screamed. “Mr. King, stop! It’s Pink!”

“I’m ready to call it quits,” panted Mr. King, feeling his nose with his free sleeve, “if this wildcat is.”

“Who is this guy?” stormed Pink. “I spotted him for a ringer right away! Did he force you, Val? I’ll tear his gizzard out!”

“Don’t be an ass,” said Val irritably. “Come on, they’ll have the riot squad out in a minute.” And indeed Old Faithful, the black sedan, had stopped and its two occupants were hastily getting out.

The three of them looked at the sedan, the gaping crowd about them, the approaching detectives, and ran. They ran all the way to Hill Street, pursued, grabbed Val’s car, and shot away into the late afternoon traffic. “There’s one consolation,” said Mr. King, still caressing his nose. “We’ve lost our escort.” Pink slumped back in the rear, trying to compress himself into the smallest possible space.

“You’re an idiot,” snapped Val, driving furiously. “Was it you who was following us? Pink, if you don’t stop wet-nursing me—”

“How should I know?” whined Pink. “This guy looked like a phony to me. And Rhys told me to take care of you.”

“That’s no excuse. This is Mr. King, a—an old school chum. He’s helping me on my job.”

“Job!” Pink goggled.

Val told him about the events of the day, concluding with the Ruhig incident. “Say!” exclaimed Pink. “I know why Ruhig admitted being at
San Susie
Monday at five-fifteen.”

“You do?”

“I’ve been doin’ a little snooping myself,” said Pink proudly. “I got to thinking about this Ruhig menace, and I says maybe he’s hiding something, so I goes up to his office this morning and I get palsy with the switchboard gal and pretty soon she spills. Ruhig and two of his gorillas left the office Monday a little past four-thirty in Ruhig’s car!”

“Pink, I retract the arm-lock,” said Ellery warmly. “A good job. Ruhig discovered the girl had been talking, assumed you told Valerie, and therefore came out with the truth the instant she questioned him.”

“I think,” murmured Val, “we’ve got something.” She frowned, examining the road behind her in the mirror. Then she swung off the boulevard and headed the car northwest.

“Where you going now?” demanded Pink.

“To
Sans Souci
. I want to talk to Frank, and I simply must interview dear, dear Winni—the damned
Pooh!
” And she stepped viciously on the accelerator.

A detective sat dozing in the pillbox, while Frank crouched disconsolately on an empty orange-crate near the gate. The detective opened one eye at the sound of Val’s klaxon, then quickly got up and came out to the gate. “Can’t go in,” he said, waving his hand. “Orders.”

“Oh, dear,” said Val. “Look, Lieutenant, we’re not—”

“I ain’t, but you can’t come in.”

Ellery nudged her. “Have you forgotten? You represent the massed power of the press.”

“Dag my nab, yes,” said Val. “Here, Captain, look at this. Press. Newspaper. Reporter.”

She waggled her press card. He examined it suspiciously through the grille. “All right, you come in. But the two men stay here.”

“Time,” said Mr. King. “I, too, gather the news.” And he exhibited his credentials. “It looks as if you’re stuck, Pink.”

“Not me. Where she goes, I go!”

“No, you don’t,” said the detective sourly; and Pink found himself back on the curb, where he had sat Monday night, glaring at the iron gate.

“Frank, come here,” said Val. The one-armed gateman looked startled; the detective scowled. “Interview,” said Val with a bewitching smile. The two men were properly bewitched, and Frank followed Val some little distance from the pillbox, Ellery ambling behind lazily. But his eyes were sweeping the terrain. The place looked deserted. “Frank,” said Val sternly, when they were out of earshot of the gate, “You deliberately lied Monday night!”

The gateman paled. “Me, Miss Jardin? I didn’t lie.”

“Oh, didn’t you? Didn’t you tell Glücke no one but Miss Moon and a man wearing my father’s coat entered the grounds between the time the auction ended and the time Walewski came on?”

“Sure I said that. It’s the God’s honest truth.”

“You’re a blaspheming, wicked old man!” said Val. “You
weren’t
at that gate all Monday afternoon, and you know it!”

The one-armed man grew even paler. “I—I wasn’t?” he faltered. Then, fearing he had given himself away, he said loudly: “I was so!”

“Come, come,” sneered Val. “Where were you at a quarter past five?”

The man started. He crouched a little and peered anxiously at the detective in the distance. “Not so loud, Miss Jardin. I didn’t mean nothing wrong. I just—”

“Speak up,” said Ellery in an authoritative voice. “Were you at that gate, or weren’t you?”

“I just sneaked down the hill a ways to Jim’s Diner for a cup of coffee. I was getting awful hungry—I always do late afternoons—I got something wrong with me….”

“What time was this, Frank?” asked Val excitedly.

“You won’t tell nobody? I went down the hill a little after five. Maybe eight, ten after. I was back just about half-past five. Just about.”

“Did you leave the gate locked?” demanded Ellery.

“Yes sir, I did, sir. I wouldn’t go away and leave—”

“Twenty minutes,” breathed Val, her eyes shining. “That means
any one
could have… Frank, not a word about this, do you understand?”

“Oh, no, ma’am, not me. I won’t say anything. If the people at the bank found out I’d lose my job. I only been on it a couple of months. I’m a poor man, Miss Jardin—”

“Let’s go, babe,” said “Scoop” King,
bravura
. And he linked Val’s arm in his and marched her up the drive toward the Spaeth house.

Val hurried along, trying to match his long stride. “That man Ruhig is a
liar
” she panted. “He got here at five-fifteen, he says, couldn’t get in, went away. And came back a few minutes past six. That’s simply unbelievable. If you knew Solly Spaeth. He didn’t like to be kept waiting. And Spaeth had said it was urgent. Oh, Ruhig didn’t go away!” Ellery strode on, head down, silent. “Do you know what I think?” whispered Val.

“Certainly.” Ellery lit a cigaret. “You think that when Mr. Ruhig found the gate locked but unguarded, he climbed over the fence and visited Mr. Solly Spaeth per appointment.”

“Yes!”

“I’m inclined,” said Ellery, “to agree.” And he walked on, smoking like a demon.

“In the house. In the house between five-fifteen and five-thirty!”

“That’s only theory,” warned Ellery.

“I’m sure he was! The car could have been parked on the other side of
Sans Souci
so that when he left, nobody—not even Frank—would have seen him. Climbed over the fence again. Got out the way he got in—” She stared at Ellery with a feverish absorption. “That means—that means—”

“Let us,” murmured Mr. King, “interview the glamorous bride-to-be.”

Miss Moon opened the door herself.

“So you’re afraid to hire servants, too,” said Val.

“What do you want?” said Miss Moon. She was flushed with anger.

“We want in, as they say,” said Val, and she slipped by Miss Moon with a winning smile and skipped toward the study. Miss Moon glared at Mr. King, who spread his hands apologetically.

“After you, Miss Moon,” said Mr. King. Miss Moon stamped off to the study.

“What is this, anyway?” she stormed, withering Val with one devastating look. “Can’t a lady have any pwivacy?”

“Mr. King, Miss Moon,” murmured Val, unwithered and undevastated. “We won’t take too much of your time.”

“I don’t talk to murdewews!”

“If I wasn’t a woiking goil,” said Val, “I’d scratch those mascaraed eyes of yours out, dearie. I’m writing for a Los Angeles newspaper, however, and I want to know: Is it true what they say about you and Anatole Ruhig?”

Winni raised her pale plump arms dramatically. “I’ll go mad!” she cried. “I told that nasty little— I
told
Anatole to keep his twap shut! You’re the second one; a reporter was just here fwom the
Independent!
”

“Are you going to marry Anatole?”

“I’ve got nothing to say—especially to you!”

“I wonder what the secret of her success is, Mr. King,” sighed Val. “Would you say it was charm, or manners?”

“Miss Moon,” said “Scoop” King, taking out pencil and paper and pretending to write. “What are you going to do with Solly Spaeth’s fifty million dollars?”

“I’ll talk to
you
,” cooed Miss Moon, calming magically and fussing with her wheat-colored hair. “I’m buying and buying and
buying
. It’s wonderful how the shops give you cwedit when you’re an heiwess, isn’t it?” She swept Val’s neat costume with a scornful glance.

“And is your aunt buying and buying and buying, too?” asked Mr. King, still scribbling doodads.

Miss Moon drew herself up. “My awnt isn’t here any more. My awnt has gone away.”

“When do you expect her back?”

“Nevaw! She deserted me in my hour of distwess, and now she can go lump it.”

“Apparently,” remarked Val, “she didn’t hear about the fifty million soon enough. Well, thank you, dear Miss Moon. I hope your new pearls choke you to death.” And she went out, followed meekly by Mr. King and a female glare that had the glitter of knives in it.

Mr. King grabbed Miss Jardin’s arm and pulled her stealthily into the doorway of a room off the corridor. He kept peering out and back toward the study. “What’s the idea?” whispered Valerie.

He shook his head, watching. So Val watched, too. In a few moments they saw Miss Moon flounce out of the study, lifting her beige hostess-gown and scratching her naked left thigh in an inelegant manner, and mumbling crankily to herself. She clumped up the stairs, her hips rising and falling like a watery horizon in a monsoon. Ellery took Val by the hand and tiptoed back to the study. “There,” he said, closing the study door. “Now we can reconnoiter a bit, unknown to the Presence.”

“But why?” asked Val blankly.

“Sheer nosiness. This is where the last rites were administered, isn’t it? Park your pretty carcass in that chair while I snoop a bit.”

“You’re a funny sort of newspaperman,” said Val, frowning.

“I’m beginning to think so myself. Now shut up, darling.”

Val shut up and sat down, watching. What she saw puzzled her. Mr. King lay down on the floor near the ell in which Mr. Solomon Spaeth had been sitting so quietly Monday night. He nosed about like Mickey’s Pluto; Val could almost hear the sniffs. Then he rose and examined the wall of the alcove. After a moment he stood off and looked up at the wall above the fireplace. Then, shaking his head, he went to Solly’s desk and sat down in Solly’s chair and thought and thought and thought. Once he looked at his wrist-watch. “It’s an impressive act,” said Val presently, “but it conveys absolutely nothing to my primitive mind.”