The Four of Hearts (6 page)

‘– won't stand for it,' moaned Bonnie to her mother.

‘Darling,
you
won't stand for it?'

‘– hell of a note,' said Ty. ‘Dad, are you out of your mind? It's – it's treason!'

‘Just coming to my senses, Ty. Blythe, I love you.'

‘I love you, Jack.'

‘Mother!'

‘Dad!'

‘Oh, it's impossible!'

‘– even make me set
foot
in this house,' cried Bonnie. Blythe rose from the piano bench and drifted dreamy-eyed towards her fiancé. Bonnie jumped down and began to follow her. ‘Even that's a concession. Oh, mother darling. But I wouldn't, only Clotilde said you'd come
here
to visit that – that man, and –'

‘Do you have to marry her?' pleaded Ty. ‘After so many years? Look at all the women you could have had!'

‘Blythe dear.' Jack Royle rose, too, and his son began a second chase. Ellery, watching unobserved and wide-eyed, thought they would soon need someone to direct traffic. They were weaving in and out without hand-signals, and it was a miracle no collisions occurred.

‘– old enough to lead my own life, Ty!'

‘Of all the women in the world –'

‘The only one for me.' Jack took Blythe in his arms. ‘Two against the world, eh, darling?'

‘Jack, I'm so happy.'

‘Oh, my God.'

‘– after all the things you
said
about him, mother, I should think you'd be
ashamed
–'

‘Bonnie, Bonnie. We've made up our minds. We've been fools –'

‘Been?' Bonnie appealed to the beamed ceiling. ‘Fools, fools!'

‘Who's a fool?'

‘Oh, so the shoe fits!'

‘You keep out of this!'

‘She's my mother, and I love her, and I
won't
see her throw her life away on the father of a useless, pretty-faced, contemptible
Turk!
'

‘
You
should talk, with your weakness for Argentine polo players!'

‘Ty Royle, I'll slap that hateful face of yours again!'

‘Try it and I swear I'll tan your beautiful hide – yes, and where you sit, too!'

‘Ty –'

‘Bonnie, sweet child –'

‘Oh, hello, Queen,' said Jack Royle. ‘Have a ringside seat. Ty, you've got to cut this out. I'm old enough to know what I'm doing. Blythe and I were made for each other –'

‘Page ninety-five of the script,' growled Ty. ‘We're shooting the clinch tomorrow. For the love of Pete, dad!'

‘Who
is
that man?' murmured Blythe, glancing at Ellery. ‘Now, Bonnie, I think you've said enough. And you need some lipstick.'

‘Hang the lipstick! Oh, mother, mother, how
can
you?'

‘Jack darling, a Martini. Extra dry. I'm parched.'

‘Mr. Queen,' wailed Bonnie, ‘isn't this
disgraceful?
They're actually making up! Mother, I simply will not allow it. Do you hear? If you insist on going through with this impossible marriage –'

‘Whose marriage is this, anyway?' giggled Blythe.

‘I'll – I'll disown you, that's what I'll do. I
won't
have this leering, pop-eyed, celluloid stuffed shirt for a stepbrother!'

‘Disown
me
? Bonnie, you silly child.'

‘That's the only sane thing I've ever heard this blondined, arrow-chinned, lopsided female Gorgonzola say!' shouted Ty to his father. ‘Me, too. If you go through with this we're quits, dad … Oh, Queen; sorry. You
are
Queen, aren't you? Help yourself to a drink. Come on, dad, wake up. It's only a bad dream.'

‘Ty, chuck it,' said Jack Royle crisply. ‘Cigars in the humidor, Queen. It's settled, Ty, and if you don't like it I'm afraid you'll have to lump it.'

‘Then I lump it!'

‘Mother,' said Bonnie hollowly, ‘are you going to leave this hateful house with me this minute, or aren't you?'

‘No, dear,' said Blythe sweetly. ‘Now run along, like a sweet baby, and keep that appointment with Zara. Your hair's a fright.'

‘Is it?' asked Bonnie, startled. Then she said in a tragic voice: ‘Mother, this is the
end.
Goodbye, and I hope he doesn't beat you, although I know he will. Remember, you'll always be able to come back to me, because I
really
love you. Oh, mother!' And, bursting into tears, Bonnie made blindly for the door.

‘Now, it's Sidecars,' said Ty bitterly, ‘but after a year with
her
it'll be absinthe and opium. Dad, goodbye.'

Thus it came about that the prince and princess of the royal families endeavoured to make their dramatic exits simultaneously, and in so endeavouring bumped their royal young heads royally at the door.

‘Lout!' said Bonnie through the tears.

‘Why don't you watch where you're going?'

‘Such a gentleman. Where did you get your manners – from Jem Royle, the celebrated horse-thief of Sussex?'

‘Well, this is my house, and you'll oblige me by getting out of it as quickly as those Number Eights of yours can carry you,' said Ty coldly.

‘
Your
house! I thought you'd just renounced it forever. As a matter of fact, Tyler Royle, you're probably behind this absurd idea of mother's. You've manipulated it some way, you – you Machiavelli!'

‘I? I'd rather see my dad playing off-stage voice at Minsky's than tied up to your family! If you ask me, the whole thing is
your
doing.'

‘Mine? Ha, ha! And why should I engineer it, please?'

‘Because you and Blythe are on the skids. While in our last picture –'

‘Yes, I read those rave exhibitor reports in the
Motion Picture Herald.
And weren't those
Variety
box-office figures encouraging!'

‘Ah, I see you're one of the Royle public.'

‘What public?'

‘Mugger!'

‘Camera hog!'

At this breathless moment, as Ty and Bonnie glared sadistically at each other in the doorway, and Jack and Blythe wrapped their famous arms defiantly about each other near the fireplace, and Mr. Queen sighed over a hooker of aged brandy, Louderback coughed and marched stately in bearing a salver.

‘Beg pawdon,' said Louderback, regarding the Fragonard on the opposite wall. ‘A French person has just delivered this lettah for Miss Blythe Stuart. The person says it has just arrived at Miss Stuart's domicile in the last post, and that it is marked “important”.'

‘Clotilde!' cried Bonnie, reaching for the envelope on the salver. ‘Delivering your mail
here
? Mother, haven't you any shame?'

‘Bonnie, my child,' said Blythe calmly, taking the envelope. ‘Since when do you read your mother's mail? I thought you were leaving me forever.'

‘And you, Ty,' chuckled Jack Royle, sauntering over. ‘Have you changed your mind, too?'

Blythe Stuart said: ‘Oh,' faintly.

She was staring at the contents of the envelope. There were two pieces of coloured pasteboard in her hand, and with the other she was shaking the envelope, but nothing else came out.

She said: ‘Oh,' again, even more faintly, and turned her back.

Mr. Queen, forgotten, approached quietly and peeped. The two pieces of pasteboard were, as far as he could see, ordinary playing-cards. One was a deuce of clubs, the other a ten of spades. As Blythe turned the cards slowly over he saw that their backs were blue and were decorated with a golden horseshoe.

‘What's the matter, mother?' cried Bonnie.

Blythe turned around. She was smiling. ‘Nothing, silly. Somebody's idea of a joke. Are you really so concerned about your poor old mummy, whom you've just renounced for ever?'

‘Oh, mother, don't be tedious,' said Bonnie, tossing her golden curls; and with a sniff at Mr. Tyler Royle she flounced out.

‘See you later, dad,' said Ty glumly, and he followed.

‘That's that,' said Jack with relief. He took Blythe in his arms. ‘It wasn't so bad, was it, darling? Those crazy kids! Kiss me.'

‘Jack! We've quite forgotten Mr. Queen.' Blythe turned her magnificent smile on Ellery. ‘What must you think of us, Mr. Queen! And I don't believe we've been introduced. But Jack has mentioned you, and so has Butch –'

‘Sorry,' said the actor. ‘My dear, this is Ellery Queen, who's going to work with Lew Bascom on our picture. Well, what do you think of us, Queen? A little
meshugeh
, eh?'

‘I think,' smiled Ellery, ‘that you lead horribly interesting lives. Queer idea of humour. May I see them, Miss Stuart?'

‘Really, it's nothing –' began Blythe, but somehow the cards and envelope managed to pass from her hand to Mr. Queen's; and before she could protest he was examining all three intently.

‘The Horseshoe Club, of course,' murmured Ellery. ‘I noticed that distinctive design on their cards the other night. And your practical joker has been very careful about the envelope. Address block-lettered by pen in that scratchy, wishy-washy blue that's so characteristic of American post-offices. Postmarked this morning. Hmm. Is this the first envelope of its kind you've received, Miss Stuart?'

‘You don't think –' began Jack Royle, glancing at Blythe.

‘I told you …' Blythe tossed her head; Ellery saw where Bonnie had acquired the habit. ‘Really, Mr. Queen, it's nothing at all. People in our profession are always getting the funniest things in our fan-mail.'

‘But you
have
received others?'

Blythe frowned at him. He was smiling. She shrugged and went over to the piano; and as she returned with her bag she opened it and extracted another envelope.

‘Blythe, there's something behind this,' muttered Royle.

‘Oh, Jack, it's such a fuss about nothing. I can't understand why you should be so interested, Mr. Queen. I received the first one this past Tuesday, the day after we signed the contracts.'

Ellery eagerly examined it. It was identical with the one Clotilde had just brought, even to the colour of the ink. It was postmarked Monday night and like the second envelope had been stamped by the Hollywood post-office. Inside were two playing-cards with the horseshoe-backed design: the knave and seven of spades.

‘Puzzles and tricks amuse me,' said Ellery. ‘And since you don't ascribe any significance to these doojiggers, surely you won't mind if I appropriate them?' He put them into his pocket. ‘And now,' Ellery went on cheerfully, ‘for the real purpose of my visit. Sam Vix just got the news at the studio of your reconciliation –'

‘So soon?' cried Blythe.

‘But we haven't told a soul,' protested Royle.

‘You know Hollywood. The point is: How come?'

Jack and Blythe exchanged glances. ‘I suppose Butch will be on our heads soon, so we'll have to explain anyway,' said the actor. ‘It's very simple, Queen. Blythe and I decided we've been idiots long enough. We've been in love for over twenty years and it's only pride that's kept us apart. That's all.'

‘When I think of all those beautiful years,' sighed Blythe. ‘Darling, we have messed up our lives, haven't we?'

‘But this isn't good story material,' cried Ellery. ‘I've got to wangle a reason for your burying the hatchet. Plot, good people, plot! Where's the complication? Who's the other man, or woman? You can't leave it at just a temperamental spat!'

‘Oh, yes, we can,' grinned Royle. ‘Ah, there's the phone … Yes, Butch, it's all true. Whoa! Wait a minute … Oh! Thanks, Butch. I'm a little overwhelmed. Wait, Blythe wants to talk to you, too …'

Foiled, Mr. Queen departed.

Mr. Queen emerged from the gloomy great-hall of the Royles' Elizabethan castle and spied, to his astonishment, young Mr. Royle and young Miss Stuart sitting on the drawbridge swinging their legs over the waters of the moat. Like old friends! Well, not quite. He heard Mr. Royle growl deep in his throat and for an instant Mr. Queen felt the impulse to leap forward, thinking that Mr. Royle contemplated drowning his lovely companion among the lilies below.

But then he stopped. Mr. Royle's growl was apparently animated more by disgust with himself than with Miss Stuart.

‘I'm a sucker to do this,' the growl said, ‘but I can't run out on the old man. He's all I've got. Louderback's prissy, and the agent only thinks of money, and if not for me he'd have been like old Park long ago.'

‘Yes, indeed,' said Bonnie, gazing into the water.

‘What d'ye mean? He's got more talent in his left eyebrow than all the rest of those guys in their whole bodies. I mean he's so impractical – he tosses away all his dough.'

‘And you,' murmured Bonnie, ‘you're such a miser. Of course. You've got
millions.
'

‘Leave me out of this,' said Ty, reddening. ‘I mean, he needs me. That's why I've agreed.'

‘You don't have to explain to
me
,' said Bonnie coldly. ‘I'm not interested in you, or your father, or anything about either of you … The only reason
I've
agreed is that I don't want to hurt mother. I couldn't desert her.'

‘Who's explaining now?' jeered Ty.

Bonnie bit her lip. ‘I don't know why I'm sitting here talking to you. I detest you, and –'

‘You've got a run in your stocking,' said Ty.

Bonnie jerked her left leg up and tucked it under her. ‘You nasty
thing
! You would notice such things.'

‘I'm sorry I said that about – I mean, about your Number Eights,' mumbled Ty. ‘You've really got pretty fair legs, and your feet are small for such a big girl.' He threw a pebble into the moat, gazing at the resulting ripples with enormous interest. ‘Nice figure, too – of sorts, I mean.'

Bonnie gaped at him – Ellery noticed how the roses faded from her cheeks, and how suddenly little-girlish and shy she became. He noticed, too, that she furtively wet the tip of one finger and ran it over the run on the tucked-in leg; and that she looked desperately at her bag, as if she wanted more than anything else in the world to open it and take out a mirror and examine her lips –
did
they need lipstick? – and poke at her honey-gold hair and generally act like a normal female.