There is always love (19 page)

"Well, you're darn near having them now. Your nerves are shot. What are you doing here? Loosen up, gal, and—" A discordant screech spUt the air, dwindled into a prolonged hiss—s—s.

"GoshI So are mine! What in thunder was that? My hair's standing on end! A signal, I'll bet. Listen!" He caught her arm. "Hear that scrunch? Someone's coming." He dashed for the light switch. Blackout.

"Lindy! Come here!"

She followed his whisper. Chimes again. Time was marching on. It must be eleven-thirty.

He seized her shoulder. Drew her into the closet. Closed the door. Scrunch! Scrunch! Someone was stepping cautiously on the porch.

"Leave it open a crack so we can see," Linda whispered.

"No. Don't move."

A knob turning. They stood rigid. Whoever had come had flicked on the light. Silence. Spooky, terrifying silence.

"Why doesn't he move?" Linda whispered close against Grant's ear.

Her movement tumbled the racquets to the floor. The crash brought action. Running footsteps.

"Hands up," growled a voice. The door was yanked open.

XXI

THAT morning Gregory Merton had thoughtfully paced the floor of his office, hands in his pockets. His hunt last night after his aunt and Linda had gone upstairs had amounted to nothing. Snow had covered all tracks. In the early morning he had called on the nearest physician and the two adjacent hospitals. No one with a bullet wound had been treated. He had hated to come away without even a hint as to the midnight marauder but he had to keep his date in the city.

He had disposed of that matter satisfactorily, had arranged with his head salesman to take over for the rest of the week and, if inquiries were made as to his whereabouts, to say that he was making a quick trip to the Coast. Better not have it known that he was at The Castle. Staying there wasn't disappearing into the wilderness. He could be reached by telephone and could be back at the office in an hour. He was uneasy about his aunt and he might as well face it, about Lindy's safety. It had taken only the possibility of danger to her to make bim acknowledge that his 108

distrust of her was a big bluff, that he was madly in love with her.

He stopped his pacing and visualized her proud head, her sturdy chin; her clear, glowing brown eyes as they had flashed last night when he had told her to wait till he asked her to love him. What demon had possessed him to crack at her like that? Since Alix Crane at the Brazilian Pavilion had declared that Keith Sanders had Linda fascinated his heart had been raw; it had needed only the man's repetition of her declaration that she couldn't love Greg Merton to—

"Heyl In a trance? What's happened? Got a line on your sister's bracelet yet?" The sepulchral voice came from the ruddy face protruding round the partially open door and shattered the apology he was formulating in his mind.

"Come in. Skid." As Grant perched on the comer of the desk, Greg added, "I wish I had a clairvoyant power to locate missing articles. I'd find a man, darn quick. I wouldn't waste it on a bracelet."

"What man?"

Merton told him. Added that he had arranged his business to spend the remainder of the week at The Castle; concluded:

"I'm uneasy about Linda. I told her to keep out of the mess but something tells me that she'll get into it up to her neck if I'm not there to stop her."

"You've guessed it. If you think you can stop her doing what she thinks she should do you're an optimist."

"I don't see any 'should' about it. She wasn't hired to hunt criminals."

"She'll consider whatever Madam Steele asks her to do as part of her job. I don't care what she does so long as it keeps her from stepping out with that guy Sanders."

"Is she with him often?" Would Skid notice the strain in his voice?

"I hear she is. She comes to the city at least two nights a week for fun. Evidently she considers him four-star entertainment. I haven't been able to date her since Thanksgiving. When Linda loves, her man will own all the earth and a good-sized chunk of heaven. I know now I won't be the lucky guy. Signing-off on Lindy. Hasn't Jim Shaw traced your sister's bracelet yet, Greg?"

"Not so much as a sparkle of it. Our idea that its disappearance was linked up with the theft of your mother's jewels wasn't so hot."

"I'm not so sure of that. I see light! A blinding light! Madam Steele has jewels. That house of hers is a small diamond mine, isn't it? Til bet a hat the man she took a shot at was one of the same gang."

"There may be something in what you say." Greg caught the contagion of his excitement. "No. Nothing doing, it doesn't sound reasonable. One man wouldn't tackle the job alone—"

"Unless he had inside help."

"Inside help? You've said it! Annie with the attack of migraine!" He told of the maid's alleged illness, that when Linda went to her room she was gone.

"Perhaps she had skipped out to meet the wounded hero."

"Looks like it. I'm going back to The Castle tonight. I'll arrive too late for dinner; then Annie, who assists the butler in the dining room, won't know I'm in the house. Come along with me. That's an idea. Aunt Jane likes you—considers you 'brilliant'—she must enjoy your ribbing of her guests. We can work on different angles of the case and compare notes."

"Sounds dam exciting but I'm on another job. I've been getting fratty with the suave Senor Pedro Lorillo. If he isn't a bad boy I'll eat my hat. Gosh, when he looks at me with those white eyes of his, so help me, my spine curls up like a gelatin film in heat."

"Ghoulish, I calls 'em. I have a hunch that the Brazilian business at the Fair was a front. Now that the World of Tomorrow has shut up shop, why is he still hanging round New York?"

"He isn't. Gone back to Brazil, Alix reports. She left town at the same time to fill a night-club engagement."

"Still sure that bracelet she sported is your mother's?"

"Sure as shootin'. The diamonds in that figure 8 flashed me a wicked wink, that night at the Brazilian Pavilion. I'll swear they knew what I was thinking. I believe the girl was honest when she said she'd bought it 'off' a friend. But later, she wouldn't give me a hint as to the friend's name. I didn't dare urge it. If Lorillo knew where it came from— I'm sure he did—he wasn't taking any chances of my getting wise. He watched me as a dog watches a nice juicy chop just out of reach. At times I wondered if he was on to the fact that my name isn't Sterling. Now they've both lighted out and the girl's taken the bracelet with her.'*

"I wish you'd give Jim Shaw a look-in on the case, Skid."

"He's in. You sold him to me. He knew who I was, knew all about me that night at your sister's. He was putting on an act for reasons he won't give at present. I decided that the Lorillo-Crane jaxis was getting too hot for me to handle alone. I've turned the girl angle over to him while I concentrate on the Senor. I'm making plans to fly to Brazil. If you pick up the trail of Madam Steele's burglar here in the city before I leave I'll bet a grand our paths will cross. 110

When you're after an international ring look for links in the most unexpected places. Happy landings!"

As that evening Greg Merton watched Linda mounting the stairs he thought of the conviction in Grant's voice. She had been startled at his unexpected appearance in the library, had betrayed an eagerness to escape to her room. Guilty conscience? Was she mixing into the business of running down the missing man? There had been a mischievous challenge in her "Good night, Mr. Merton."

Back in the library he sank into his aunt's favorite chair, lighted a cigarette and stared at the glowing logs above the bed of red and gray ashes. The suspicion that Annie was implicated in the presence of the unknown man in the library had assumed immense importance. Had she hidden him somewhere? In between business appointments, during the afternoon, he had planned a campaign. The maid, if she were going to the wounded man, wouldn't leave the house until she was sure everyone was asleep, which, in this establishment where early hours were the rule, would be between eleven and twelve. He would be where he could watch the door of the servants' cottage at that time.

"O Mr. Greg, Mr. Greg!" The butler sent his hushed voice ahead of him as he hurried forward. The man's excitement brought Merton to his feet.

"What is it, Buff? What has happened?"

"It's one of the men from our garage, sir. He said to tell you that a man with a bullet wound in his shoulder has been reported to be at a cottage just outside the village. It may be our burglar, sir."

"A man from The Castle garage? How long as he been employed here?"

*T O.K.ed him for the job last September, Mr. Greg."

"Where is he? Bring him in. I want his story first hand."

"He went away. He acted kind of frightened. Perhaps he was afraid of reprisals in case it was discovered he had squealed."

"You seem to have all the gangster terms at the end of your tongue. Buff."

The butler coughed behind his hand.

"I'm like many of the great men of the country, Mr. Greg—I prefer detective stories for my reading and I go to the movies."

"That does educate—in a way. Did this man tell you how to reach that cottage?"

"Yes, Mr. Greg. And to be sure we'd make no mistakes, I wrote it down." He offered a slip of white paper.

Before he glanced at it Greg looked sharply at the butler. What was behind that pasty face, with its faded eyes and

drooping mouth? Could he by any chance be the "inside help" which Grant suspected? It was an absurd suspicion. Buff had been at The Castle thirty years and in all that time not so much as a silver fork had disappeared. It was nothing short of cockeyed to suspect the man. Yet—he couldn't rid himself of the feeling that there was something fishy about that address.

"When it comes to an international ring, look for links in the most unexpected places," Skid had warned. There could be no more unexpected link than Buff. He would watch him.

"Know where this cottage is?"

"Yes, Mr. Greg. It's a poor neighborhood, but quite respectable."

"How far away?"

"Not more than five miles. It won't take us long to get there."

" 'Us'? Where do you get that *us,' Buff?"

"Of course I'm going with you, Mr. Greg. There may be danger. If he's the man the Madam hit, he won't allow himself to be taken without a fight. I'm a good shot, sir."

"That shooting might work two ways. Listen, Buff, you're not going with me. I'm going alone."

"But Mr. Greg. I've seen you grow up, you were a little boy when I came here. I couldn't let anything happen to you." His chin quivered. If this was acting, some Hollywood talent scout was missing a sure bet.

"Nothing will happen to me. Stay on the job here. If Madam Steele or Miss Bourne—or—or—any of the maids should inquire for me, I've gone to bed, get it?"

"Why should the maids inquire for you, sir?" The butler drew himself up several inches. "Why should they inquire for the master of the house at this time of night, Mr. Greg?" He was impressive in his indignation.

"While we're on the subject. Buff, get this straight—I'm not 'the master of the house.' I don't know why I dragged in the maids—just to cover everyone I presume. But you get what I mean: No one is to know that I'm not in the house. Say I've gone to bed with a raging headache, toothache, anything so long as they don't know I'm out. Understand?"

"Yes, sir. Will you want your roadster?"

"Yes, I left it m the drive."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Greg, but when the man from the garage was leaving he suggested that he put it up and I told him to take it."

"But you knew I would want the roadster to follow up 112

that address." Had his car been sent to the garage to delay him? Was Buff in on this?

"I—^I—didn't connect the two then, sir. I'm sorry. Very sorry for the mistake. I'll phone at once to have it brought round."

"No. I prefer to go for it Is that clock striking eleven, so soon? I'd better get going.'*

"I'll bring your coat and hat, Mr. Greg."

"I have a cap and a heavy coat in my room. I'll wear those."

He was out of the library and up the stairs before the butler could protest. At his door he listened. Buff crossed the flagged floor of the hall. A door closed. He ran down. Jerked his coat from the closet. Pulled a soft cap from the pocket and drew it low on his head. Noiselessly unlocked the massive door. Squeezed through a narrow opening.

On the terrace he drew a long breath of the cold air. Moonlight made the world almost as bright as day. He had the address Buff had given him in his pocket, but he would try smoking out Annie before he went to the garage for his roadster. He still believed that was his best bet. The wounded man in the cottage five miles away smelt of red herring.

He kept in the shadow. Moved cautiously between the shrubs which banked the terrace. From the security of the purple shadow of a spruce he glanced up at the servants' cottage. Not a splinter of Hght. He could see footprints which trailed away from the door. Someone had gone out since the snow stopped. That couldn't have been very long ago. It had been snowing when he left the city. Not until he reached the gates of The Castle had the moon come from behind the clouds.

He went on, keeping to the trail already made. Small footprints. A woman's. He was right in his suspicion of Annie. He stopped. Someone had fallen into a hole and had thrashed around getting out of it. What was that? Looked like a piece of cloth. He picked up a roll. A strip of bandage. The maid had gone along this trail to the wounded man. He was hidden in the game house, of course. Why hadn't he thought of that before? Because it was too easy?

He plodded on lq the footprints until he reached a huge pine. Someone had paced back and forth here. Waiting? Waiting for whom? For Annie? He could see the outline of the hideous bit of architecture Aunt Jane fondly called the game house against the pyrotechnics of the aurora. He stopped for a second to watch the color shift. Went on to the entrance steps. The place was lighted.

The steps cracked under his feet. Behind him a discordant scream rose to an incredibly high note, dropped, quavered into a long hiss—s—s. Splinters of ice prickled through his veins, tingled at the roots of his hair.