The Four of Hearts (20 page)

‘All your life?' said Paula tenderly.
‘All
your life?'

And she went slowly up to him and stood so close that the sweet odour of her filled his nose, and his head began to swim, and he began to back away like a dog sniffing danger.

‘All your life?' she whispered. ‘Oh, Ellery …'

One of the telephones on her desk rang.

‘Damn!' cried Paula, stamping her foot; and she ran to the desk.

Mr. Queen wiped his damp cheeks with his handkerchief.

‘Yes?' said Paula impatiently into the telephone. And then she said nothing at all. As she listened everything live went out of her face, leaving it as blank and set as a papier mâché mask. She hung up in the same odd silence.

‘Paula, what's the matter?'

She sank into the Cape Cod chair. ‘I knew your
modus operandi
was wrong, and I was sure Bonnie saw through your transparent masculine tactics. But I never thought –'

‘Bonnie?' Ellery stiffened. ‘What's happened?'

‘My dear Mr. Know-It-All, prepare for a shock.' Paula smiled vaguely. ‘You've been trying to keep Bonnie and Ty at each other's throats. Why? You've got to tell me.'

‘So that a – certain person should see, believe, and be content.' Ellery gnawed his lip. ‘Paula, for heaven's sake. Don't torment me. Who was that, and what did he say?'

‘That was a friend of mine, a U.P. man. I'm afraid your certain person, unless afflicted by total paralysis, including eyes and ears, will in a matter of minutes learn the awful truth.'

‘What awful truth?' asked Ellery hoarsely.

‘An hour ago Bonnie Stuart, hanging on to Ty Royle's neck as if she were afraid he'd fly away, gave an interview to the press – called ‘em all in to her house in Glendale – in which she made a certain announcement to the world.'

‘Announcement?' Ellery said feebly. ‘What announcement?'

‘To the effect that tomorrow, Sunday the twenty-fourth, she, Bonita Stuart, intended to become Mrs. Tyler Royle.'

‘My God!' howled Ellery, and he dived for the door.

CHAPTER 18

THE SORCERER'S
APPRENTICES

Ellery, scraping the fender of his coupé in his haste to park outside Bonnie's house in Glendale, caught sight of three men, patently detectives, speaking to a tall familiar figure who had just descended from a police car.

‘Glücke! Is anything – has anything –'

‘What brings you here?'

‘I just heard the news. Is she still alive? There's been no attack on her?'

‘Attack? Alive? Who you talking about?'

‘Bonnie Stuart.'

‘Of course not.' The Inspector grunted. ‘Say, what's the matter with you? I just got the flash myself.'

‘Thank the Lord.' Ellery swabbed his neck. ‘Glücke, you'll have to put a cordon around this house. As many men as you can scrape up.'

‘Cordon? But I've got three men –'

‘Not enough. I want the place surrounded. I want it so well guarded that not even a mouse will get through. But it mustn't be obvious. The men are to stay out of sight. Get those flatfeet off this sidewalk!'

‘Sure, but –'

‘But nothing.' Ellery raced for the gate.

Inspector Glücke ran back to the police car, rasped something, and pounded the pavement to the gate again. The police car shot away, and the three detectives strolled off.

Glücke caught up with Ellery, puffing. ‘What's this all about?'

‘Something's wrong somewhere. Of all the idiotic stunts!'

The buxom, mousy Clotilde admitted them, her woman's black eyes sparkling with romantic excitement.

‘Oh, but
Messieurs
, they cannot be –'

‘Oh, but
Ma'm' selle
, they can, and they shall be,' said Ellery rudely. ‘Ty! Bonnie!'

A muffled noise came from the nearest room, and he and the Inspector hurried towards its source. They burst into the drawing-room to find young Mr. Royle and his fiancée, considerably dishevelled, disengaging themselves from each other's arms. Mr. Royle's mouth looked as if it were bleeding all round. But it was only Bonnie's lip-rouge.

‘So here you are,' said Ellery. ‘What the devil's the idea?'

‘Oh, it's you,' said Mr. Royle, in a grim tone, removing his lady's hands from about his neck.

‘Hell of a mess,' said Ellery, glaring at them. ‘Can't you two keep out of each other's hair for so much as two consecutive days? And if you can't, can't you at least keep your pretty mouths shut? Did you have to shout your goo-goo to the whole damned world?'

Mr. Royle rose purposefully from the sofa.

‘Ty, your mouth,' said Bonnie. ‘Oh, there's the Inspector. Inspector Glücke, I
demand
–'

‘I think,' said Ty in the same grim tone, ‘I know how to handle the situation.'

‘Oh, you do,' said Ellery bitterly. ‘That's what comes of dealing with a couple of empty-headed kids who –'

A bomb exploded against his chin. It exploded, and little coloured stars all gold and blue and scarlet, dancing like mad, filled the range of his vision, and the world swam languidly, and the next thing he knew it was a long long time after and he was lying on the floor blinking up at the chandelier and wondering when the war had broken out. The ceiling was insubstantial, too, heaving and rippling like a spread sail in a gale.

And he heard Ty blowing on his knuckles and saying in a hot, faraway voice: ‘There's your man, Inspector!'

‘Don't be a jackass,' said the Inspector's voice remotely. ‘Come on, Queen, get up. You'll dirty your nice pants.'

‘Where am I?' murmured Mr. Queen.

‘He is, too!' shrieked Bonnie. ‘Sock him again, Ty. The sneaky devil!' Squinting for better visibility, Mr. Queen received a wavering impression of two slim ankles, a billowing skirt like a smaller sail, and a tiny stamping alligator. No, it was an alligator shoe. ‘I
knew
there was something wrong! When he took me to Ty's dressing-room … oh, it was so
pat
! That typewriter, and his smart “deductions”, and Ty would
never
have sent me that warning against himself if he were the one, and then I saw with my own eyes how that b and d and t were
filed
down, so I knew Ty wouldn't do that if he really sent them, and everything.' Bonnie paused for breath, but not for long. ‘You see? He was lying all the time! And so I went right to Ty, that's what I did, and –'

It went on and on, and Mr. Queen lay there surveying the ceiling. Why did it shift and sway so? He had it. It was an earthquake, a tremblor. California was doing the Big Apple!

‘Yes,' growled Ty, ‘and we compared notes – should have done it a long time ago – and, Inspector, you'd be amazed at the things this fellow told us separately. Why, he actually tried to get each one of us to believe the other was a killer!'

‘Yes, he told
me
–'

‘The damned murderer told
me
–'

It went on and on and on. Somebody was making a fuss about something, Mr. Queen decided, but for the life of him he could not make out what it was. He groaned, trying to rise.

‘Come on, come on,' said Glücke in the most unfeeling way. ‘It was just a clout on the whiskers. Not that you don't deserve it, you lone wolf, you.' And the detestable creature actually chuckled as he hauled Mr. Queen to a sitting position. ‘How you feeling? Terrible, I hope.'

‘My jaw is broken,' mumbled Mr. Queen, waggling the organ in question. ‘Ooh, my head.' He struggled to his feet.

‘Try to tell Bonnie I sent those notes, hey?' snarled Ty, cocking his fist again.

‘Why would he do that,' cried Bonnie triumphantly, linking her arms about her hero's neck, ‘if he didn't send them himself? Answer that one!'

‘Well, I had a reason,' said Ellery shortly. ‘Where's a mirror?'

He wobbled to the mirror in the hall and examined his physiognomy. As he tenderly surveyed the damage, which was concentrated in a rapidly swelling heliotrope lump at the point of his chin, the doorbell rang and Clotilde hurried past him to admit two men. To Ellery's foggy gaze one was slow and grim and the other quick and excited. He rubbed his eyes and leaned against the wall, dizzy.

‘Let ‘em through,' he muttered. ‘Glücke, didn't I tell you –'

Apparently the Inspector had the same notion, for he hurried out to talk to his men.

The slow one went slowly past Ellery, with no sign of recognition, into the drawing-room; and the quick one went quickly. Mr. Queen, satisfied that his jaw was still in one piece, tottered to the drawing-room doorway and closed his eyes.

The slow one stood just inside the room, looking at Bonnie. Looking. There was a sort of permanent flush under the topmost layer of his skin.

‘It's Butch,' said Bonnie faintly.

‘Oh, say, Butch,' began Ty in a defiant mutter. ‘We were going to tell you, call you, sort of –'

‘The hell with that!' yelled the quick one. ‘I don't care a hoot about how you two bedbugs conduct your private lives, but I'll be damned if I see why you played such a dirty trick on your own studio!'

‘Lay off, you,' said Ty. ‘Butch, we really owe you –'

‘Lay off?' Sam Vix glared out of his one eye. ‘He says lay off. Listen, me fine bucko, you haven't
got
a private life, see? You're a piece of property, like this house. You belong to Magna Studios, see? When Magna says jump –'

‘Oh, go away, Sam,' said Bonnie. She took one step towards the Boy Wonder, who stood exactly where he had stopped on entering the room and was still regarding her with the fixed and awful sadness of a man who sees the coffin-lid being screwed down over the face of his child, or mother, or sweetheart.

‘Butch dear.' Bonnie pinched her dress. ‘We were both so excited … You know, I think, how I've always felt towards you. I never really told you I loved you, did I Butch? Oh, I know I've treated you shamefully, and you've been a perfect angel about everything. But something happened today … Ty is the only man I'll ever love, Butch, and I'm going to marry him just as quickly as I can.'

Jacques Butcher took off his hat, looked around, put on his hat, and then sat down. He did not cross his legs, but sat stiffly, like a ventriloquist's dummy; and as he began to talk the only part of his face that moved was his lips.

‘I'm sorry to have to intrude at such a time,' he said, and stopped. Then he started again. ‘I wouldn't have come at all. Only Louis Selvin asked me to. Louis is – well, a little put out. Especially by you, Ty.'

‘Oh, Butch –' began Bonnie, but she stopped helplessly.

‘By me?' said Ty.

Butcher cleared his throat. ‘Damn it all, I wouldn't – I've got to talk to you not as myself but as vice-president of Magna, Ty. I've just come from a long talk with Selvin. As president of Magna he feels it his duty to warn you – not to get married.'

Ty blinked. ‘You don't mean to tell me he's going to hold me to that ridiculous marriage clause in my contract!'

‘Marriage clause?' Bonnie stared. ‘Ty! What marriage clause?'

‘Oh, Selvin stuck an anti-marriage clause into my contract the last time,' said Ty disgustedly. ‘Prevents me from getting married.'

‘Sure, why not?' said Vix. ‘Great lover. You don't think the studio's going to build you up into a national fem-killer and let you spoil it by getting hitched!'

‘I didn't know that, Ty,' said Bonnie, distressed. ‘You didn't tell me.'

‘Forgot all about it. Anyway, it doesn't make any difference. Louis X. Selvin isn't going to tell me how to run my life!'

‘Selvin asked me to point out,' said Butcher in his cold flat voice, ‘that you'll breach your contract if you marry Bonnie.'

‘The hell with Selvin! There are plenty of other studios in Hollywood.'

‘All Hollywood studios respect one another's star-contracts,' said Butcher drearily. ‘If you breach a Magna contract you're through, Ty.'

‘Then I'm through!' Ty waved his arms angrily.

‘But, Ty,' cried Bonnie, ‘you
can't
! I won't let you throw away your career. We can wait. Maybe when you sign your next contract –'

‘I don't want to wait. I've waited long enough. I'm marrying you tomorrow, and if Selvin doesn't like it he can go to hell.'

‘No, Ty!'

‘No more arguments.' Ty turned away with a stubborn, final gesture.

‘All right, then,' said Butcher in the same dreary way. ‘Louis anticipated that you might be stubborn. He could break you, Ty, but he admits you're too valuable a piece of property. So he's prepared to dicker.'

‘Oh, he is, is he?'

‘But he warns you that his proposal is final. Take it or leave it.'

‘What proposal?' said Ty abruptly.

‘If you insist on being married to Bonnie, he's willing to waive the anti-marriage clause. But only on the following conditions. First, you are to let Magna handle the details of your wedding. Second, after your wedding you and Bonnie are to co-star in a picture biography of Jack and Blythe, taking the roles of your parents.'

‘Wait a minute, wait a minute,' said Ty. ‘Does that wedding stunt mean a lot of this noisy publicity?'

‘It means whatever Magna want to do.'

‘And the picture – does that mean the murders, too?' asked Bonnie, looking ill at the very thought.

‘The story,' said Butcher, ‘is entirely up to me. You will have nothing to say about it.'

‘Oh, yes, we have,' shouted Ty. ‘We say no – right now!'

Butcher rose. ‘I'm sorry. I'll tell Selvin.'

‘No – wait, Butch,' cried Bonnie. She ran over to Ty and shook him. ‘Ty, please. You can't throw everything away like this. If – if you're stubborn I won't marry you!'

‘Let ‘em make monkeys out of us with one of those studio weddings?' growled Ty. ‘Make us put Dad and Blythe on the screen in God knows what? Nothing doing.'

‘Ty, you've
got
to. I don't like it any more than you do; you know that. I'm fed up with – with all this. But we've got to look to the future, darling. Neither of us has anything. You can't throw up the only thing we've got. It won't be so bad. The wedding won't take long, and then we'll go away somewhere by ourselves –'

Ty glowered at the rug. He lifted his head and said sharply to Butcher: ‘If we go through with this, do we get a rest? A vacation? A honeymoon without brass bands?'

‘Hell, no,' said Vix quickly. ‘We can use that honeymoon swell. We can –'

‘Please, Sam,' said Butcher. Vix fell silent. ‘Yes, I can promise you that, Ty. Our wedding, your honeymoon. We realize that you're both upset, not yourselves, won't be able to do your best work immediately. So you may have as long for your honeymoon as you feel you need.'

‘And privacy!'

‘And privacy.'

Ty looked at Bonnie, and Bonnie looked pleadingly at Ty. Finally Ty said: ‘All right. It's a deal.'

The Boy Wonder said: ‘Revised contracts will be in your hands in the morning. Sam here will handle all the details of the wedding.' He turned on his heels and quietly went to the door. At the door he hesitated; then he turned around. ‘I'll convey my congratulations – tomorrow.' And he walked out.

‘Swell,' said Sam Vix briskly. ‘Now look. You want to tie the knot tomorrow?'

‘Yes,' sighed Ty, sitting down. ‘Anything. Just get out of here.'

‘I've figured it all out on the way down. Here's the angle. We use the Jack-Blythe marriage as a model, see?'

‘Oh,' began Bonnie. Then she said: ‘Yes.'

‘Only we smear it on, see? Go the whole hog. You won't be married on the field. You'll –'

‘You mean another aeroplane shindig?' growled Ty.

‘Yeah, sure. Only we'll get old Doc Erminius to hitch you
in
your plane. Get it? Wedding
over
the field. In the air. Microphones for everybody in the plane. Broadcast through a radio telephone hook-up via the field station right to the thousands on the field as the plane circles it. Do it right, and with that Jack-Blythe background it'll be the biggest stunt this or any other town ever saw!'