The Four of Hearts (7 page)

‘Nice figure,' muttered young Mr. Royle again, casting another stone.

‘Well!' gasped Bonnie. And her hand did dart to her hair and begin poking with those expert pokings so meaningless to the male eye.

‘So,' continued the young man irrelevantly, ‘we'll be friends. Until the wedding, I mean? Hey?'

Mr. Queen at this psychological moment struggled to suppress a cough. But the cough insisted on erupting.

They both jumped as if he had shot off a revolver. Ty got red all over his face and scrambled to his feet. Bonnie looked guilty and then bit her lip and then opened her bag and then closed it and then said icily: ‘That's not the bargain. Oh, hello, Mr. Queen. I'd sooner get chummy with a polecat. No dice, my fine-feathered friend. I know
your
intentions with women. I just won't fight with you in public until mother and your father are married.'

‘Hello, Queen. Say, did you ever see a more disagreeable woman in your life?' Ty was busy brushing himself off. ‘Not a kind word in several million. All right, have it your way. I was just thinking of dad, that's all.'

‘And I wouldn't do a thing like this for anyone else in the world but mother. Help me up, please, Mr. Queen.'

‘Here, I'll –'

‘Mr. Queen?' cooed Bonnie.

Mr. Queen silently helped her up. Ty worked his powerful shoulders up and down several times, like a pugilist loosening his muscles. He glared at her.

‘All right, damn it,' growled Ty. ‘Till the wedding.'

‘You're
so
chivalrous, you great big beautiful man.'

‘Can I help it if I was born handsome?' yelled Ty.

And they stalked off in opposite directions.

Mr. Ellery Queen gazed after them, mouth open. It was all too much for his simple brain.

CHAPTER 5

GONE WITH THE WIND

Paula Paris's column gave the news to a palpitating world on Saturday morning, and on Saturday afternoon the Magna Studios doubled the guards at the main gate. The hounds were baying outside Jack Royle's mansion in Beverly Hills; Blythe had shut herself up in her mosque of a house in Glendale, its door defended by the loose-chested, tight-lipped Clotilde; and Ty and Bonnie, playing their strange roles, granted a joint interview to the puzzled press in which they said nice things about each other and were photographed smiling into each other's eyes.

‘It's all set,' said Sam Vix to Ellery at the end of a furious day. He wiped his face. ‘But, boy, oh, boy – tomorrow!'

‘Isn't Bonnie going along?' asked Ellery.

‘She wanted to, but I discouraged her. I was afraid that when Ty flew her back from Reed Island, they'd strangle each other in midair.'

‘It's wonderful how co-operative Jack and Blythe have been,' beamed the Boy Wonder. ‘And with Ty piloting ‘em – is that a story, Sam?'

‘Sweet mama,' grinned Lew Bascom. ‘Gimme that bottle.'

‘Boys will handle the jamboree tomorrow at the field, Butch,' said the publicity man. ‘I'm hopping off for Reed Island to direct the preparations for the reception. See you tomorrow night.'

‘Not me,' said Butcher hastily. ‘I hate these Hollywood shindigs. I've told Jack and Blythe my doctor advised a rest, and Bonnie understands. Driving out to Palm Springs tomorrow morning for a day in the sun. Conference Monday morning.'

At noon on Sunday Ellery and Lew Bascom drove out to the airport in Ellery's coupé. Los Feliz Boulevard was jammed with cars crawling bumper to bumper. They wasted an hour getting to the turn-off at Riverside and another along the Los Angeles River drive through Griffith Park to the field. After fifteen minutes of trying to park his car, Ellery abandoned it and they shouldered their way through the mob.

‘Too late,' groaned Lew. ‘There's Erminius doing his stuff!'

Ty's brilliant red-and-gold cabin monoplane, gleaming in the sun, was surrounded by a cordon of cursing police. The Royles and the Stuarts, arms locked about one another, bowed and smiled in the vortex of a maelstrom of photographers, radio men, and friends screaming above the blare of a brass band. Dr. Erminius, his sleek black whiskers flowing fluently in the wind, beamed on everyone over his prayer-book and sidled closer to the crowded spot on which the cameras were trained.

‘Swell work, Doc!' shouted someone.

‘Boy, was that a ceremony?'

‘Neat, neat. How about a snifter, Doc Erminius?'

‘He'll never marry
me!
'

‘It's like the Judgement Day,' grinned Lew. ‘Hey, lemme through here! Come on, Queen. Jack! Blythe!'

The band stopped playing
Here Comes the Bride
and swung into
California, Here I Come.

‘Lew! Mr. Queen! It's all right, officer!'

‘Bonnie – Bonnie Stuart! This way, please. Smile at Ty!'

‘Won't you say a few words to the radio audience, Jack?'

‘Dr. Erminius, how about a few shots?'

‘Yes, my son,' said the good man hastily, and stepped in front of Jack Royle.

‘Jack! Blythe! Let's take a shot of clasped hands showing those wedding rings!'

‘Get those people away from that plane, damn it!'

‘Miss Blythe! Miss Blythe!' shrieked a feminine voice, and a primly attired French lady of middle age elbowed her way through to the wall of police, waving an envelope frantically.

‘Clotilde!' screamed Blythe. She was radiant, her arms full of flowers, her hat askew on her head. She ran over; and as she saw the envelope she gasped aloud, going pale. Then she snatched it from Clotilde's hand over a policeman's shoulder and tore it open. Ellery saw her close her eyes, crumple the envelope convulsively. She hurled it away.

Then she put on a smile and returned to the group before the plane.

Ellery picked his way through the fruit and flower baskets littering the ground and managed to pick up the envelope unnoticed. It was another of the post-office-written envelopes, this time sent by special delivery. Inside were the torn halves of a horseshoe-backed playing-card, the eight of spades.

Torn in half. Blythe had not torn it, Ellery was certain. Queer … He frowned and pocketed the envelope, looking about. The Frenchwoman had vanished in the mob.

‘Ty! Kiss Bonnie for the newsreel!'

‘Jack! Jack! Go into a clinch with the blushing bride!'

‘What's this?' yelled someone, holding aloft a handsome wicker hamper.

‘Somebody sent it!' roared Jack Royle.

‘Open it!'

Bonnie straightened up with two enormous thermos bottles from the hamper. ‘Look what I found, people!'

‘Sidecars!' bellowed Jack, unscrewing the cap of one of the bottles and sniffing. ‘Thanks, anonymous friend. How'd you know my weakness?'

‘And mine? Martinis!' screamed Blythe over the other bottle. ‘Isn't that the loveliest going-away gift!'

‘Toast to the bride and groom!'

The thermos bottles were hurled from hand to hand, for a few moments they were all laughing and struggling for a drink. Lew battled desperately with a large stout lady, rescued both bottles, and poured out another round in a nest of paper-cups which appeared from somewhere magically.

‘Hey, save some for us,' growled Jack.

‘Can't you get drunk on love?'

‘An old buck like you – d'ye need a
stimulant?
'

‘Love – Marches –
ON
!'

‘I said save some!' howled Jack, laughing.

Lew reluctantly dropped the thermos bottles into the hamper, screwing on the caps. The hamper lay beside a pile of luggage near the plane.

Lew and Ellery were squeezed, pummelled, pushed, and mauled, stumbling over the luggage. Ellery sat down on the hamper and sighed: ‘No wonder Butch went to Palm Springs.'

‘Who swiped my helmet?' yelled Ty Royle. ‘Mac! Rev ‘em while I get another!' And he darted into the crowd, fighting towards the nearby hangar.

‘What's going on here, the Revolution?' panted a voice. Ellery, trying to save his hat from being crushed, turned to find Alan Clark, his agent, grinning down at him.

‘Just a quiet Sunday in Hollywood, Alan. They're almost ready to take off.'

‘I gotta kiss the bride, for gossakes,' shouted Lew frantically. He grabbed at Blythe, caught her, and bussed her heartily while Jack Royle, grinning, began to toss things into the cabin of the plane. Bonnie, heart-stopping in a knee-length leopard coat and Russian leopard hat, was obviously his next victim, but just then a man ran up.

‘Miss Bonnie Stuart! Mr. Tyler Royle wants to see you in the hangar.'

Bonnie made a face, smiled for the benefit of the staring public, and slipped after him.

Bonnie looked around inside the hangar. It seemed empty. She turned to question the man who had brought Ty's message, but he was gone.

‘Ty?' she called, puzzled. Her voice echoed from the high roof.

‘Here I am!' She followed the sound of Ty's voice and found him behind a tarpaulined biplane, rummaging in a steel locker.

Ty stared at her. ‘What do
you
want, pest?'

‘What do
I
want! What do
you
want?'

‘Me? Not a thing – from you.'

‘Look here, Ty Royle, I've stood enough from you today without playing puss-in-the-corner. You just sent a messenger to me. What do you want?'

‘I sent a messenger? The hell I did.'

‘Ty Royle, don't stand there and be cute!'

Ty clenched his hands. ‘Oh, God, if only you weren't a woman.'

‘You seemed thankful enough just now that I was a woman,' said Bonnie coldly. ‘That was quite a kiss you gave me.'

‘The cameraman asked for it!'

‘Since when do you follow a cameraman's orders?'

‘Listen!' yelled Ty. ‘I wouldn't kiss you of my own free will if I hadn't seen a woman for five years. Your lips tasted like two hunks of rouged rubber. How your leading men can keep kissing you in front of the camera … They ought to get medals for exceptional heroism in line of duty!'

Bonnie went white. ‘You – You –' she began in a fury.

Someone coughed behind them. They both turned around. They both blinked.

A tall figure in heavy flying clothes, wearing a helmet and goggles, hands gloved in fur, stood there wide-legged and still. One hand pointed a revolver at them.

‘All right, I'll bite,' said Ty. ‘What's the gag?'

The revolver waved a little, with an unmistakable meaning: Silence. Ty and Bonnie drew sharp breaths simultaneously.

The figure sent a chair skittering across the hangar floor. The revolver pointed to Ty, to the chair. Ty sat down in the chair. Bonnie stood very still.

A bundle of ropes, cut in short lengths, came flying through the air from the tall figure and struck Bonnie's legs. The revolver pointed to Ty.

Ty jumped out of the chair, snarling. The revolver covered him instantly, trained on his chest.

‘Ty,' said Bonnie. ‘Please. Don't.'

‘You can't hope to get away with this stunt,' said Ty in a thick voice. ‘What do you want, money? Here –'

But the weapon's weaving eye stopped him. Bonnie quickly stooped, picked up the ropes, and began to bind Ty to the back and legs of the chair.

‘I see,' said Ty bitterly. ‘I see the whole thing now. One of your little jokes. This time, by God, you've gone too far. I'll put you in clink for this.'

‘That revolver's no joke,' whispered Bonnie, ‘and I may play rough, but not with guns. Can't you see he means business? I won't bind you tightly –'

The revolver poked her between the shoulder-blades. Bonnie bit her lip and bound Ty tightly. A prepared gag materialized in one gloved hand. She gagged Ty.

Things blurred. It was absurd – this deadly silence, this tongueless figure, the menace of the revolver. She opened her mouth and screamed. Only the echo answered.

The figure was upon her instantly, however. Glove over her mouth, she was forced into another chair. She fought back, kicking, biting. But soon she was strapped to the chair, as gagged and helpless as Ty; and the figure was stooping over Ty, tightening his bonds, adding others.

And then, still without a word, the figure pocketed the revolver, raised one arm in a mocking salute, and darted out of sight behind the tarpaulined biplane.

Ty's eyes were savage above the gag; he struggled against the ropes, rocking the chair. But he succeeded only in upsetting himself. He fell backwards, striking his head against the stone floor with a meaty
thunk
! that turned Bonnie's stomach.

He lay still, his eyes closed.

‘Here he comes!' shouted Jack, his arm about Blythe as they stood on the movable steps of the plane. ‘Ty! Come on!'

‘Where's Bonnie?' screamed Blythe. ‘Bon-
NIE
!'

‘Crowd's got her. Ty!'

The tall goggled figure shoved his way through the mob and began to toss the remaining luggage into the cabin. Ellery stood up, helpfully handing him the hamper. He waved Blythe and Jack into the plane, raised the hamper in a farewell to the crowd, and vaulted into the cabin. The door slapped shut.

‘Happy landings!' roared Lew.

Blythe and Jack pressed their faces to one of the windows, and the band struck up the
Wedding March
from
Lohengrin
.

Everybody sang.

Bonnie looked frantically about. And then she caught her breath. Through the hangar window nearest her she saw the tall goggled figure running towards Ty's plane; and for the first time Bonnie realized that the figure was dressed in a flying suit identical with Ty's. Jack … Blythe … waving shouting … The brassy sounds of the band came faintly through the hangar walls.

And then, before her distended eyes, the red-and-gold plane began to move, taxiing down the field, rising … rising …

The last thing Bonnie saw before everything went black was her mother's handkerchief signalling a farewell in the cabin window.

Bonnie opened her eyes aeons later to a blank world; slowly it filled in. She was lying on her side, on the floor. A few feet away lay Ty, looking very pale, looking … dead. Ty!

She stirred, and thousands of needles began to shoot into her numb flesh. With the pain came full awareness. Blythe … Blythe was gone.

She had fallen sideways when she fainted. How long ago? What – what time was it?

Blythe. Blythe was gone. Like smoke in thin air.

In her fall the gag had been dislodged from her mouth.

And Ty was dead.

Mother …

Bonnie screamed. Her own screams came screaming back at her, lying on the cold floor of the hangar behind the concealing plane.

Ty moaned.

Bonnie inched her way painfully the few feet across the floor towards him, dragging the chair to which she was bound. He opened his bloodshot eyes.

‘Ty,' she gasped. ‘They've been kidnapped! Jack – my mother … That man – he flew them off the field, pretending to be you!'

Ty closed his eyes. When he opened them again Bonnie was shocked by their unnatural red colour. The gag over his lips worked spasmodically, as if he were trying to speak. She could see the cords of his neck distend.

She bared her teeth, face pressed to his, gnawing at his gag like a mouse, tugging, worrying it. His cheek felt cold.

‘Bonnie.' His voice was unrecognizable. ‘Loosen these ropes.'

For an instant their breaths mingled and their eyes locked. Then Bonnie looked away and Ty turned over, and with a little cry she bent her head to his bound, straining hands.

Luckily Ellery and his two companions had not left the field. Ellery had looked once at the thousands milling about the parked cars and wisely suggested procrastination. So he and Lew and Alan Clark went over to the airport restaurant for sandwiches and coffee.