The Four of Hearts (5 page)

Lew came back after a long absence. ‘What a night! It's a conspiracy, damn it, to keep me from cleanin' up the joint. Just when I was goin' good!'

‘I trust,' sighed Ellery, ‘all's well that ends well? Nobody's murdered anybody?'

‘Damn near. Bumped into Ty Royle outside, just comin' in. Alec's guerillas told him what happened and he tried to make Park take some dough. That kid gives away more dough to broken-down actors than half the relief-agencies in Hollywood. The old guy took it, all right. They're all outside now, raisin' hell.'

‘Then it wasn't a put-up job?'

‘Hell, no. Though I'll bet Jack's sorry he didn't think of it.'

‘I doubt that,' said Ellery dryly, glancing at Royle. The actor was sitting at the bar before a row of six cocktail glasses filled with Sidecars, his broad back humped.

‘Park's got cancer or somepin', hasn't had more'n extra-work for two-three years. What'd he want to come around here for?' Lew made a face. ‘Spoiled my whole evening. Stiff old devil! I took him around the corner and bought him a couple. He wouldn't take Jack's dough, though.'

‘Curious ethics. And I can't say Blythe Stuart's spent a very enjoyable evening, either.'

‘That wacky dame! Sucker for every phony in the fortune-telling racket. She won't even take a part till she's read the tea-leaves.'

Bonnie came stalking back, her face stormy. The Boy Wonder clutched her arm, looking harassed. He was talking earnestly to her; but she paid no attention, tapping the rug with her toe, glancing about. She caught sight of Jack Royle sitting Buddha-like at the bar and took a step forward.

‘Hold it, me proud beauty,' drawled a voice, and she stopped as if she had stepped on an electric wire.

A tall young man in evening clothes, surrounded by four beautiful young women, loomed in Alessandro's doorway. Alessandro looked positively unhappy, Ellery thought.

‘You again?' said Bonnie with such colossal contempt that, had Ellery been in the young man's shoes, he would have made for the nearest crack in the wall. ‘You can spare that alcoholic breath of yours. He's got it coming to him, and he's going to get it.'

‘If this is going to be a scrap,' said Ty Royle in a cold voice, ‘how about mixing it with me? I'm closer to your age, and dad's getting on.'

Bonnie looked him up and down. ‘At that,' she said sweetly, ‘he's a better man than you are. At least he doesn't flaunt
his
harem in decent people's faces.'

The four young ladies surrounding Ty gasped, and for a moment Ellery thought there would be a general engagement in which the destruction of expensive coiffures would be the least of the damage.

‘Ty. Bonnie,' said the Boy Wonder hurriedly, stepping between them. ‘Not here, for the love of Mike. Here –' he glanced about desperately. ‘Queen! What luck. Darling, this is Ellery Queen. Queen – will you?' and Butcher dragged Ty Royle aside.

‘If Butch thinks I'm going to let that conceited housemaid's hero,' said Bonnie, her magnificent eyes smoking, ‘talk me out of giving his father a piece of my mind –'

‘But would it be wise?' said Ellery hastily. ‘I mean –'

‘Poor mother's positively
ashamed
! Of course, it's her fault for listening to every charlatan in a Hindu make-up, but a decent person wouldn't expose her that way in front of all the people she knows. She's really the dearest, sweetest thing, Mr. Queen. Only she isn't very practical, and if I didn't watch her like a nursemaid she'd get into all sorts of trouble. Especially with those detestable Royles just
watching
for a chance to humiliate her!'

‘Not Tyler Royle, surely? He seems like a nice boy.'

‘Nice! He's loathsome! Although I'll admit he doesn't pester mother – he goes after
my
hide, and I can handle
him.
But Jack Royle … Oh, I'm sure mother will cry herself to sleep tonight. I'll probably be up until dawn putting vinegar compresses on her head.'

‘Then don't you think,' said Ellery cunningly, ‘that perhaps you'd better go home now? I mean, after all –'

‘Oh, no,' said Bonnie fiercely, glaring about. ‘I've got some unfinished business, Mr. Queen.'

Ellery thought with desperation of some diversion. ‘I'm afraid I rather feel like an innocent Christian martyr thrown to a particularly lovely young lioness.'

‘
What?
' said Bonnie, looking at Ellery really for the first time.

‘I talk that way sometimes,' said Ellery.

She stared at him, and then burst out laughing. ‘Where've you
been
, Mr. Queen? That's the nicest thing I've ever been told outside a set. You must be a writer.'

‘I am. Hasn't Butch mentioned my name?'

‘Probably.' Her mouth curved and she took his arm. Ellery blushed a little. Her body felt terribly soft where it touched him, and she smelled delicious. Not quite so delicious as Paula Paris, of course, but still delicious enough to make him wonder whether he wasn't turning into a positive lecher. ‘I like you. You may take me over to the roulette table.'

‘Delighted.'

‘Oh, I know! You're the man who was with Alan Clark yesterday.'

‘So you remember!'

‘Indeed I do. I thought you were an insurance agent. Did anyone ever tell you you look like an insurance agent?'

‘To the wheel!' groaned Ellery, ‘before I remind you of something you saw in your last nightmare.'

He found a chair for her at the table. Butcher hurried over, looking warm but successful, and dumped two handfuls of chips before Bonnie. He winked at Ellery, wiped his face, bent over Bonnie, and kissed the nape of her neck.

Ellery, thinking instantly of a lady named Paris, sighed. Damn it, she would have to be a female hermit!

He saw Tyler Royle go over to the bar, put his arm about his father's shoulders, and say something with a cheerful expression. Jack Royle turned his head a little, and Ellery saw him smile briefly. Ty pounded his father's back affectionately and came back to herd his adoring feminine entourage over to the roulette table, opposite Bonnie. He ignored her elaborately, saying something in an undertone to his companions, who giggled.

Bonnie pursed her lips; but then she laughed and looked up at Butcher, whispering something; and Butcher laughed, not too gaily, while she turned back to place a bet. Young Mr. Royle, gazing quizzically at the board, also placed a bet. Miss Stuart smiled. Mr. Royle frowned. Miss Stuart frowned. Mr. Royle frowned. Miss Stuart frowned. Mr. Royle smiled.

The croupier droned on. The wheel spun. Chips made hollow, clicking sounds. Jack Royle sat imbibing Sidecars at the bar, gazing in silence at his handsome reflection in the mirror. Bonnie seemed absorbed in the play. Ty Royle placed bets carelessly.

Ellery was just beginning to feel relieved when a bray offended his left ear, and he turned to find Lew Bascom, grinning like a pot-bellied Pan, beside him.

‘'Stoo peaceful,' murmured Lew. ‘Watch this.'

Ellery felt a premonition. The glint in Lew's bleared eye promised no advancement of the cause of peace.

The players were distributing their bets. Bonnie had pushed a stack of blue chips on to number 19 and, scarcely paying attention, Ty shoved a similar stack on the same number. At this moment Alessandro ushered into the room a very famous lady of the screen who had just married Prince Youssov, whose royal line was reputed to stand close to the Heavenly Throne; the Prince was with her, in full panoply; and everyone turned his attention from the table, including the croupier, to admire the gorgeous pair.

Lew calmly picked up Bonnie's stack and moved it from number 19 to number 9.

‘My God,' groaned Mr. Queen to himself. ‘If 19 should win …'

‘Nineteen,' announced the croupier, and the hands of Bonnie and Ty stretched from opposite sides of the tables to meet on the pile of chips shoved forward by the croupier. Bonnie did not remove her hand.

‘Will somebody,' she said in an ice-in-glass voice, ‘inform the gentleman that this is my stack?'

Ty kept his hand on hers. ‘Far be it from me to argue with a lady, but will somebody wise her up that it's mine?'

‘The gentleman is trying to be cute. It's mine.'

‘The lady couldn't be if she tried. It's mine.'

‘Butch! You saw me cover nineteen, didn't you?'

‘I wasn't watching. Look, dear –'

‘Croupier!' said Ty Royle. ‘Didn't you see me cover number nineteen?'

The croupier looked baffled. ‘I'm afraid I didn't see –'

‘It's Ty's!' said one of his companions.

‘No, it vuss Bonnie's. I see her put it there,' said the Russian director.

‘But I tell you I saw Ty –'

‘Bonnie –

The table was in an uproar. Ty and Bonnie glared nakedly at each other. The Boy Wonder looked angry. Alessandro ran up.

‘Ladies, gentlemen. Please! You're disturbing the other players. What's the trouble?'

Ty and Bonnie both tried to explain.

‘That's not true,' stormed Bonnie. ‘You let my hand go!'

‘I'm sorry,' barked Ty, ‘but I don't see why I should. If it were anybody else I might accept her word –'

‘How dare you!'

‘Oh, stop mugging. You're not doing the big scene now. It's a cheap stunt.'

‘Mugging, am I?' cried Bonnie. ‘You –
comedian!
'

Ty applauded. ‘Keep it up, sister; you're going great.'

‘Pretty boy!'

That stung him. ‘I ought to slap your face –'

‘You took the words right out of my mouth!' And Bonnie whacked his cheek resoundingly.

Ty went pale. Bonnie's bosom heaved. The Boy Wonder whispered sharply in her ear. Alessandro said something to Ty in a curt undertone.

‘I don't give a damn. If she thinks she can maul me and get away with it –' said Ty, his nostrils quivering.

‘Insulting pup!' raged Bonnie. ‘Accuse
me
of cheating –

‘I'll pay you back for that smack if it's the last thing I do!' shouted Ty across Alessandro's fat shoulders.

‘There's more where that came from, Ty Royle!'

‘Please!' thundered Alessandro. ‘I'll credit each of your accounts with the winnings on that bet. Now I'll have to ask you, Miss Stuart and Mr. Royle, either to quiet down or leave.'

‘Leave?' shrieked Bonnie. ‘I can't get away from the contaminated air surrounding that fake old lady's delight soon enough!'

And she wrenched herself from the Boy Wonder's grasp and flew to the door. Ty shook Alessandro off and ran after her. The Boy Wonder dived after both.

They all disappeared to the accompaniment of screams and bellows.

‘That,' said Ellery to Lew Bascom, ‘was one damfool trick, my playful friend.'

‘Ain't it the truth?' sighed Lew. ‘C'mon, toots, let's watch the wind-up of this bout.' And he dragged his brunette companion away from the wheel and hurried her after the vanished trio.

Something made Ellery turn and look at Jack Royle. The actor still sat at the bar, motionless, as if he had not heard a word of the quarrel behind him.

But in the mirror Ellery caught a glimpse of his lips. They were twisted into a bitter smile.

CHAPTER 4

BATTLE ROYLE

The seven days following that quiet evening at Alessandro's whistled by Mr. Ellery Queen's ears with the terrifying intimacy of bullets; it was like being caught out in No Man's Land between two blasting armies. By the end of the week he had not only collected a smoking mass of notes but several lesions of the nervous system as well.

He was entangled in a mass of old Royle-Stuart clippings in the studio library, trying to unsnarl his notes, when he was summoned by page to Jacques Butcher's office.

The Boy Wonder looked gaunt, but triumphant. ‘
Mirabile dictu.
We're sitting on top of the world.'

‘Peace, it's wonderful,' grinned Lew. ‘It sure is.'

‘They've agreed?' asked Ellery incredulously.

‘Absolutely.'

‘I refuse to believe it. What did you use – hypnosis?'

‘Appeal to their vanity. I knew they'd fall.'

‘Blythe put up a battle,' said Lew, ‘but when I told her Jack didn't want her but was holding out for Cornell, she got tongue tied trying to say yes.'

‘How about Jaunty Jack?'

‘A pushover.' Lew frowned. ‘It was hooey about Cornell, of course. Looked to me almost as if he
wanted
to play opposite Blythe.'

‘He has looked peaked this week,' said Ellery thoughtfully.

‘Hell, he ain't had a drink in five days. That would poop up any guy. I tell you something's happened to Jack!'

‘Let's not pry too deeply into the ways of Providence,' said the Boy Wonder piously. ‘The point is – they're in.'

‘I shouldn't imagine, Butch, you had quite so smooth a time winning the youngsters over.'

The producer shuddered. ‘Please … Ty finally gave in because I convinced him his public was demanding a real-life role from him – biography's the vogue, following the Muni hits – and what could Ty Royle's public like better than Ty Royle's own life on the screen? Know what he said? “I'll show ‘em real life,” he said, “when I get my hands around your fiancée's lily-white throat.”'

‘Sounds bad,' said Ellery.

‘Doesn't sound good,' chortled Lew.

‘Bonnie,' said the Boy Wonder sadly, ‘Bonnie was even worse. The only condition on which she'd give in was that the script must include at least one scene in which she had to slap, scratch, and punch Ty into insensibility.'

‘Who's directing?' asked Lew.

‘Probably Corsi. Swell Broadway background. And you know what he did last year with the human-interest situations in
Glory Road.
Why?'

‘I was thinking,' said Lew dreamily; ‘it's going to be a lot of fun. Corsi's the most finicky retake artist in pictures. After two-three days of slapping Ty around to Corsi's satisfaction for that one scene Bonnie'll have had Ty's pound of flesh – under her fingernails.'

The historic ceremony of the Great Signing took place on the 11th, which was the following Monday. From the preparations he heard and witnessed in the office adjoining his, Ellery thought whimsically of a landing-field, with a crippled plane circling above, and fire apparatus and ambulances scurrying about below in readiness for the inevitable crack-up.

But, all things considered, the contracts were signed without the blazing wreckage the Boy Wonder apparently anticipated. Peace was achieved by a simple expedient: the signatories did not open their mouths. Jack Royle, dressed even more carefully than usual, stared out of Butcher's windows until his turn came to sign; then he signed, smiled for the photographers, and quietly walked out. Blythe, eye-filling in a silver fox-trimmed suit, preserved a queenly silence. Bonnie, it was true, stared steadily at Ty's throat throughout the ceremony, as if contemplating assault. But Ty, to whose better nature Butch had appealed beforehand, ignored the challenge in her eyes.

The trade-paper reporters and photographers were plainly disappointed.

‘For gossakes,' said Lew disgustedly, when they had all left, ‘that's a hell of a way to build up the conflict angle. Look at the chance we muffed, Butch!'

‘Until they signed,' said the producer calmly, ‘I couldn't risk one of them blowing up the whole business by backing out. You don't fumble when you're playing catch with dynamite, Lew.'

‘Then it's okay to shoot the works now, Butch?' asked Sam Vix.

‘We're rolling, Sam.'

Vix proceeded to roll. Exactly how it occurred Ellery did not discover – he suspected a conspiracy between the publicity man and Lew Bascom – but on Monday night Bonnie and Ty collided at the bar of the
Clover Club.
Lew, conveniently present, tried with suspicious gravity to effect a reconciliation ‘for dear old Magna'. Bonnie, who was escorted by a wealthy Argentine gentleman, flared up; Ty flared back; the Argentine gentleman resented Ty's tone; Ty resented the Argentine gentleman's tone; the Argentine gentleman pulled Ty's nose vigorously; and Ty threw the Argentine gentleman over the bartender's head into the bar mirror, which did not stand up under the strain. Whereupon Bonnie had Ty arrested for assault. Bailed out in the early hours of Tuesday morning by his father, Ty swore vengeance in the presence of half the newspapermen in Hollywood.

The Tuesday papers made Sam Vix look content. ‘Even Goldwyn,' he told Ellery modestly, ‘would be satisfied with that one.'

But Mr. Vix did not look so content on Friday. The very patch over his eye was quivering when he burst into the Boy Wonder's office, where Lew and Ellery were shouting at each other in a ‘story conference', while Butcher listened in silence.

‘We're sunk,' panted Vix. ‘Never trust an actor. They've done it. Paula Paris just tipped me off!'

‘Who done what?' asked Butch sharply.

‘The one thing that blows the Royle-Stuart picture higher than the Rockies. Jack and Blythe have made up!'

He sank into a chair. Lew Bascom, Ellery, goggled at him. Butcher swivelled and stared out his window.

‘Go on,' said Lew in a sick voice. ‘That's like saying Trotsky and Stalin were caught playing pinochle with J. P. Morgan.'

‘It's even worse than that,' groaned Vix. ‘
They're going to be married.
'

‘For gossakes!' yelled Lew, jumping up. ‘That screws everything!'

The Boy Wonder spun around and said into his communicator: ‘Madge, get Paula Paris on the wire.'

‘
Requiescat in pace
,' sighed Ellery. ‘Anybody know the dope on the next train to New York?'

Lew was racing about, declaiming to the ceiling. ‘Wham goes the big idea. Conflict – huh! Feud! Build up a natural for over twenty years and then they go into a clinch and kill the whole thing. They can't do this to me!'

The telephone rang. ‘Paula, Jacques Butcher. Is it true what Sam Vix says you say about Jack and Blythe?'

‘They agreed to forgive and forget Wednesday night,' answered Paula. ‘I heard it late yesterday. It seems Jack saw the light Saturday night at the Horseshoe Club after that fuss over Park, the actor, and he's been brooding over his own cussedness ever since. Seems to be true love, Mr. Butcher. They're rushing plans for the wedding.'

‘What happened?'

‘Your guess is as good as mine.'

‘Well, I'm counting on you to give it a royal send-off in your column, Paula.'

‘Don't worry, Mr. Butcher,' cooed Paula. ‘I shall.'

Lew glared. ‘Is it on the level?'

And Ellery said: ‘Did she – did she mention me?'

‘Yes to you, no to you.' The Boy Wonder sat back comfortably. ‘Now, boys, what's the panic about?'

‘I'm dying,' howled Lew, ‘and he cracks wise!'

‘It's a cinch,' argued the publicity man, ‘this marriage knocks the feud for a loop, Butch. Where's your publicity build-up now? If they had to get hitched, blast it, why couldn't they wait till the picture was released?'

‘Look,' said the producer patiently, getting to his feet and beginning to walk around. ‘What's our story? The story of four people in a romantic conflict. Jack and Blythe as the central figures. Why?'

‘Because they're crazy,' yelled Lew. ‘This proves it.'

‘Because, you simpleton, they're deeply in love. You're doing a love story, gentlemen, although neither of you seems aware of it. They love, they break off, they become bitter enemies, and after twenty years they suddenly fall into a clinch.'

‘It's illogical,' complained Ellery.

‘And yet,' smiled the Boy Wonder, ‘it's just happened. Don't you see what you've got? The natural wind-up of your picture! It follows real life like a photostat. After a generation of clawing at each other's throats,
they've made up.
'

‘Yes, but why?'

‘How should I know the motivation? That's your job, and Lew's. You're writers, aren't you? What's the gag? What's the answer to this romantic mystery? What do you think you men are being paid for?'

‘Wow,' said Vix, staring.

‘As for you, Sam, you've got an even bigger publicity angle now than the feud.'

‘They've made up,' said Vix reverently.

‘Yes,' snapped Butcher, ‘and every movie fan within arm's-length of a newspaper or fan mag will wonder why the hell they did. There's your line, Sam – crack down on it!'

The publicity man slapped the desk. ‘Sure – why did they clinch after twenty years scrapping around?
See the picture and find out!
'

‘Now you've got it. You talk about holding up their marriage until the picture's released. Nuts! They're going to be spliced right away, and to the tune of the loudest ballyhoo you've ever blasted out of this studio.'

‘Leave it to me,' said Vix softly, rubbing his hands.

‘We'll make it a super-marriage. Shoot the works. Brass bands, high hats, press associations … It's a colossal break for the production.'

‘Wait,' whispered Lew. ‘I've got an idea.' He rubbed his nose viciously.

‘Yes?'

‘Everybody out here puts on the dog the same way when they take the sentence. We've got to do it different. The preacher, the ceremony don't mean nothin'; it's the build-up that gets the headlines. Why not put reverse English on the marriage?'

‘Spill it, you tantalizing slug!'

‘Here's the gag. Offer ‘em the use of Reed Island for the honeymoon.'

‘Reed Island?' frowned Ellery.

‘I've got a place there,' explained Butcher. ‘It's just a hunk of rock in the Pacific – southwest of Catalina – fishing village there. Go on, Lew.'

‘That's it!' cried Lew. ‘You can have ‘em flown down. Just the two of ‘em – turtle-doves flying off into the setting sun, to be alone with lo-o-ove.
But
– before they take off, what happens? They're hitched right on the field! We can use old Doc Erminius, the Marryin' Parson. You'll have a million people at the airport. There's more room on a flying field than in a church.'

‘Hmm,' said the Boy Wonder. ‘It has its merits.'

‘Hell, I'll fly ‘em down in my own crate,' grinned Lew. ‘I've always thought I'd look swell in a g-string and a bow-and-arrow. Or Sam here could do it.'

‘Say,' chuckled Vix, ‘the screwball's got something. Only I got a better idea. How about getting
Ty Royle
to pilot them? Son Forgives Father, Plays Cupid to Famous Film Duo. He can fly like a fool, and that's a sweet ship he's got.'

‘That's it,' said the Boy Wonder thoughtfully. ‘We can really go to town on a stunt like that. Dignified, too. They want to be alone. Going to spend their honeymoon on famous producer's hideaway estate in lonely Pacific, far from the maddening crowd. Newspapers, for God's sake stay away … Yes, they won't! Reed Island will look like Broadway during the Lindy reception. Lew, it's in.'

Lew seized a bottle. ‘To the bride!'

‘Lemme out of here,' muttered Vix, and he scrambled out.

‘Pardon the small still voice,' said Ellery, ‘but aren't you boys being a little optimistic? Suppose our friends the lovebirds refuse to be exploited? Suppose Ty Royle frowns on his eminent father's hatchet-burying ritual?'

‘Leave the details to me,' said Butcher soothingly. ‘It's my job to worry. Yours is to whip that story into shape. I want an adaptation okayed by the time they get back; if possible, the first sequence of the script ready. Get going.'

‘You're the boss,' grinned Ellery. ‘Coming, Lew?'

Lew waved the bottle. ‘Can't you see I'm celebratin' the nup-chu-als?'

So Ellery set out on his quest alone.

After a few telephone calls he headed his rented coupé towards Beverly Hills. He found the Royle estate near the grounds of the Los Angeles Country Club – an enormous castellated pile in the medieval English manner, faithful even unto the moat.

The portals gaped, and flunkeys seemed non-existent; so Ellery followed his ears and soon came to an upper hall from which the raucous noises of a small but brisk riot were emanating. There he found the missing servants, grouped at a door in various attitudes of excited and pleasurable eavesdropping.

Ellery tapped an emaciated English gentleman on the shoulder. ‘Since this seems to be a public performance,' he drawled, ‘do you think there would be any objection to my going in?'

A man gasped, and the Englishman coloured, and they all backed guiltily away. ‘I beg pawdon. Mr. Royle –'

‘Ah, Louderback,' said Ellery. ‘You
are
Louderback?'

‘I am, sir,' said Louderback stiffly.

‘I am happy to note,' said Ellery, ‘that your mastiff quality of loyalty is leavened by the human trait of curiosity. Louderback, stand aside.'

Ellery entered a baronial room, prepared for anything. Nevertheless, he was slightly startled. Bonnie Stuart sat camp-fire fashion on top of a grand piano, gazing tragically into her mother's calm face. On the other side of the room Jack Royle sat sipping a cocktail while his son raced up and down the hearthstone flapping his arms like an agitated penguin.