The Bamboo Blonde (21 page)

She was controlled now. "Do you think the major killed him, Kew?"

"I
don't know what to think," he said slowly. "Sergei told me at lunch he was going to meet a woman," Griselda said. "That I didn't know her. Maybe it was true. Maybe he was meeting her last night again. But why the Village?"

"I think he was passing through." He began to walk up and down again. "The killer was following and let him have it because it was safer there than on the Pike." He was scowling. "It I could only see Con." He went to the door. "Dinner tonight?"

"I'm not going out.'' She didn't add to it; he understood.

He said, "I'll drop by and help amuse you, if you'd like."

She preferred to be alone if Con came. But if anyone else came, she would welcome his assistance.

He asked, "You do believe he'll come?"

"Yes," she answered almost hopelessly. "He'll come." It was a part of the blueprint. Nothing in this whole affair, save the actual killings, had been a surprise to Con. He had even known he would be arrested, would escape. That was why they came to Long Beach, why she had to promise to remain in this cottage. It had been planned this way. She still didn't know why.

CHAPTER 7

She was restless; she knew how Con must have left the night that Barjon Garth left, the night that things were scheduled to begin. She couldn't sit quietly, although every step creaking the floor stretched her already tight nerves. She drank a glass of milk; the thought of food was leaden. Slow gray covered the nervous sea. The knock came. Her mouth was dusty as she hurried through the unlighted room.

It wasn't Con in the dusk outside. She wasn't quite certain who it was until he entered, closed the door after him. And then she saw with wonderment the uniform, the tired face of Walker Travis above it.

"Is Con here yet?" he asked.

She said, "No," and the weariness changed to anxiety.

"He isn't?" Surely he knew. "He told me to come
h
ere."

"When did he tell you that? When did you see him?"

He seemed sorry to disappoint her eagerness, "He didn't actually tell me. He sent a message.”

"When?"

"Yesterday. Yesterday afternoon. I was to come here at seven-fifteen exactly and bring him this." He fumbled the thick brown envelope from an inner pocket.

"Did he say he'd be here?" She couldn't believe it.

"He said, 'Bring it to me,' but—" Again he seemed sorry to disappoint her. "I was to leave it if he wasn't here."

"Oh." There was no assurance then that he would come.

Lieutenant Travis said, "I guess I'd better leave it." He laid it uncertainly on the table. "I'd hoped to see him. Tell him I'd like to see him, will you?" He stood fingering his cap. He said without expression, "I suppose he knows they've found Mannie."

"No!"

"They called me to identify him last night." He swallowed. "It was hard to do."

Her voice was hoarse. "What happened to him?"

"They think he was caught in a riptide." He swallowed again as if there was an obstruction in his throat.

Her hand pointed to the shape of the envelope. "These are—his papers?"

"No. These are just some notes Con wanted."

She withdrew her hand as from a licking flame. The information the major was after, the knowledge of the poor fish. She didn't want it threatening here.

He said awkwardly, "I guess I'd better go. I haven't seen my wife yet. She doesn't even know I'm ashore.
I
came straight here from the landing. You tell Con I'll be in town all day tomorrow and I'd like to see him. He can reach me at the hotel. Any time tomorrow."

He managed to open the door. "Good night and thank you. Mrs. Satterlee."

She watched him across the tracks, rolling up the street past the bay toward where the trolleys and busses ran, hurrying to Kathie, to Kathie whose eyes hungered for Kew. She heard the creak that meant footfalls and swung around. Chang was across the room watching her. She pushed back closer to the door; she could get away if she could open it quickly. But she had no breath; her heart was racing noisily, her whole body weighted.

And then her eyes jumped to the table. Even in the deepening dusk, the outline of the envelope was not there. She moved and lighted the floor lamp in one rapid motion. The envelope was not there.

She forgot fear. "You took Con's envelope. Put it back."

He was polite as always. "I didn't take anything, Mrs. Satterlee. Is this what you mean?" He stooped behind the table, raised up with the envelope in his hands.

She crossed and snatched it from him. And then fear returned and again she backed from him toward the door. "How did you get in?"

He nodded his head toward the bay window opening on the sea wall. "I climbed up. Used to be a 'cat' once when I was younger."

"Why did you break in here?" If he'd come to steal the envelope, why had he given it up to her?

"I wasn't breaking in, Mrs. Satterlee. I haven't done anything like that for years. Con can tell you. I'm honest."

"Why are you here?" Ignorance and suspicion made her panicky.

"I came to see Con."

"He isn't here. I don't know where he is." She frowned. "That's no excuse for coming through a window," She must remember to keep them locked.

"Yes it is. I wanted to see him private, not with the coppers."

She looked at him under her lashes. "The coppers will be checking who comes in or out. And you don't want to be checked?"'

"No'm, I don't. I've got a criminal record, Mrs. Satterlee. I wouldn't want them to fingerprint me. They might find out and think I had a hand in these murders."

She was suspicious. "I suppose you know nothing of them?"

"Not a thing except what I've read in the papers."

"Is that why you hid out this morning when Captain Thusby was looking for you?"

He asked in mild surprise, "Was he looking for me? I didn't know. I had to get some groceries for my niece. She and her husband have come to pay me a visit. What did Captain Thusby want, if you'd be so good to tell me?"

"He wanted to ask questions about Sergei Vironova's murder."

He shook his head. "I wouldn't have been any help. I never met that Mr. Vironova, so far as I know. Why would he want to ask me about it?"

She told him, "Because he knows you're mixed up in this some way. You're always somewhere around when these people are together—even at Catalina." And she asked with sudden idea, "Did you help Con escape? Were you the one waiting to see him yesterday?"

"I saw him yesterday. Mrs. Satterlee. I dropped in to find out if I could do anything for him. But I didn't help him escape. I was working last night." His face suddenly listened. He said, "You're about to have company. I'd better go."

Before she could speak he was at the windows, had flung himself over the sill and vanished. She restrained the desire to run over and watch the descent. He must be experienced to negotiate the sheer drop. And what was Con doing with a second-story man?

She faced the door with resignation, wondering who this one was to be. She saw his bulk through the pane, momentarily held the knob fast. He knew she was there", he could see through into the lighted room better than she could out into the dark. She was terrified. But she could not refuse to admit him; if he wanted to enter, the rickety catch would not restrain him. Appeasement might be a weak game but it was better to play at it, try to keep him neutral, until she had the defense of Con in back of her again.

She opened the door. "Major Pembrooke?" she queried. "I couldn't be certain. We've no porch light and without my glasses I don't see well." She led him into the living room, went on talking, making her voice natural as if she were calm, "I didn't expect you." She realized then that she still held Lieutenant Travis's brown envelope. There was no way to hide it; she was not a sleight-of-hand artist. "Won't you sit down?"

But he stood there, his mouth curved up at the corners, no smile on it. "You did expect someone? Con?"

"No indeed." If she could be seated her trembling wouldn't be so noticeable. But she could move with more rapidity standing. "No. Con certainly won't come here with the police watching the house." Warn him.

"Are they watching the house?" The curve widened. "Captain Thusby is on his way to visit the
Antarctica
with Admiral Swales. The boy is being amused in Mrs. Crandall's apartment. To be sure they may have delegated a watcher, with their 'unlimited funds,' one who doesn't know one of us from the other." He was amused. There was no use keeping up pretense; he wasn't disguising himself as a lamb tonight. She waited warily, holding the envelope against her.

"Just whom were you expecting, may I ask?"

"Kew." She repeated with emphatic truth, "Kew is coming."

"Then I must be quick. I want no trouble. Mr. Brent is not busy tonight. Lieutenant Travis is in town." His hands were in the pockets of his tweed topcoat. His hands and a gun?

She stood without moving. It he had come to kill her too, she could do nothing.

"Give me that package."

She didn't know what to do. If only the police, or Kew, or someone would come now. She asked brokenly, "You mean this envelope?"

"Yes." He put out one hand to take it but she pressed it closer to her. His eyes burned at her but otherwise he controlled his anger at her refusal. He kept his hand outstretched. "I came for that. I have been waiting for the authorities to make just such a stupid mistake. Give it to me."

She couldn't defy him but she did, brazenly. "You can't have it. It's for Con."

Their eyes held and she didn't falter at the cold decision she read in his. Then he spoke, softly, between his teeth, "I said I wanted no trouble." Without warning he took one long step to her and slapped her across the face. The sound was a thunderclap. He picked up the envelope from the floor, put it in his pocket. Her glazed eyes watched him, one empty hand held to a throbbing bruise.

He spoke without inflection. "I do not expect you to mention my visit or its purpose to anyone. I have ways of dealing with those who make trouble for me.' You do not wish to be hurt. Nor do you wish your foolish husband to be hurt. And just in case you or he should consider offering yourselves as sacrifice, let me say it will be of no value. I am safe from such irritations. Do you understand?"

He waited for her response and she whispered, "Yes." He was safe; powerful, mechanized governments were protecting him with false papers and a last ship and an available plane. He could move more swiftly than she. Kew and Con had both warned her that he was out of her class; he was. Nails were pounding into her head. She closed her eyes for a moment. If he would only go.

He said, "I believe you do," and then both heard the voices and footsteps. It mustn't be Con; dear God, not at this moment.

Major Pembrooke spoke quickly, stonily, "There has been no trouble."

She let him open the door: when she saw Dare and Kew she sank weakly to the couch. They had been in high spirits; the major only slightly dampened them.

Dare greeted, "What are you doing here, Albert George? Looking for Con like everyone else?" She and Kew were stowing paper sacks and paper cartons on the table. "Griselda wouldn't dine with us so we've come to dine with her."

The major said. "I'm sorry I can't join you. But I've been delayed as it is." His eyes warned Griselda again while hers tried to convey her frantic promise. "Good-night, Mrs. Satterlee. Don't bother to get up."

She watched him go, watched Dare close the door after him. Then together the two looked at her; they had noticed; it was too much to hope that they would not.

Dare's voice was tense, "Griselda, what happened to your face?"

She put her hand up and away, looking at the palm as if there would be blood on it. She tried hard to smile, to say. "A wave knocked—"

Kew came toward her, his deep voice sick with shock, "Griselda, my dear."

She ran into his arms, hiding her face against his coat, sobbing without sound. He meant nothing to her but he was comfort and strength at this moment. His hand smoothed her hair.

Dare's words were flippant, "Am I necessary?" But there was tension underlying them.

Griselda fought for control. She must stop the terrible silent tremors that were tearing her apart. Kew asked quietly, "What happened, Griselda?" The fear that froze her made her steady. She mustn't point any hint at Major Pembrooke, nothing that Dare could carry back to him. She stepped away uncertainly. "I'm sorry. My nerves just went all at once, I guess. The strain's been too much." She pushed back her hair, tried for natural words. "Let me wash my face and I'll join you. I didn't know I was hungry but it smells good. You're angels to remember me. I didn't have a chance to market." She went into the bedroom. She didn't care what they'd say of her behind her back. She wouldn't change her explanation.

One side of her face was mottled red; it must fade before Con came. He wouldn't accept any explanatory lie about a wave knocking her down.

She didn't expect to find food edible but it was more than that. It was worth increasing the ache in her jaw. With the coffee courage returned. She could ask, "What's the latest? I haven't had the radio on nor seen a paper."

"No news," Kew replied. "No sign of Con. The papers are saying unofficially that he's left this neighborhood, maybe gone
into
Mexico."

"The papers are silly." Dare was blunt. "He's not leaving till he sweeps up. Con wouldn't."

That was true. He hadn't run away. Not when he'd told Griselda to keep a candle burning here. He would come at his first opportunity. She didn't know how much was safe to say; she didn't know where Dare fitted in. Dare was seldom the wholesome, well-fed, and relaxed young woman she appeared now. The real Dare was thin as a snake with a sharp face and wise emerald eyes. She knew Major Pembrooke too well.

She asked, "Was Vinnie Thusby at your apartment this evening, Dare?"

"Yes." Dare wondered. "Why and how? Oh. Albert George, of course. He dropped in to talk about doing over his salon but as soon as Vinnie appeared, he skipped."