Any Shape or Form (19 page)

“I only know that I never in my life heard anybody else talk so much about money, and I never knew anybody to want it so.”

“She was brought up to depend on it, and misses it now.”

“And she's frightfully annoyed with Drummond for not making it, and for hanging on to that place of theirs next door.”

“I accept the theory provisionally. Now as to this evidence that Blanche expects to use against your sister.”

“It's been planted—I think.”

“What is it?”

“Mr. Gamadge, I shouldn't provide you with evidence against Cora even if I were sure you'd conceal it. I wouldn't trust my own judgment or anybody else's conscience where Cora is concerned. I don't think you
would
conspire to conceal evidence that for all you know mightn't have been planted at all. And I'm pretty sure that if you speak to Mrs. Drummond, that clue will never be found.”

“This rather promises to cramp my style in dealing with Blanche.”

“I shouldn't expect everybody to be able to tackle the job.”

“She'll draw attention to this thing, whatever it is, before you're taken off to jail?”

“That's what I'm afraid of.”

“Well, let's revert to the premise; that she killed your stepmother. No evidence against her, you say.”

“None whatever. But think how easily she could have managed it! She told me herself this afternoon, while we were in the orchard, that Miss Ryder had said she was going to take that walk around the Loop. She thought Cora and Drummond were in the flower garden. I was off to the swimming pool. She had her gloves on, she'd just fired the rifle—an excellent shot. Of course she only spent a minute or two in the greenhouse. She came across the road with those pinks—Redfield was out of sight behind his sunflowers.”

“What was it she actually said to you while you were hanging up the crows?”

“Suggested going down to the swimming pool—we used to go there. I said what I've been saying all summer—that it wouldn't do.”

Gamadge rose, and stood looking down at the young man. “In your position, Mr. Malcolm, if you're innocent, your ancestor with the stone implement would have been laying about him by this time and frothing at the mouth.”

“It wouldn't do Cora much good if I frothed at the mouth.”

“You seem to have what it takes, anyhow.”

Gamadge went out and along the corridor, nodded to Stromer as he passed him, and entered the south wing. He had been wondering how to get a word with Blanche Drummond, but that problem was solved for him. Her door was open a crack and Tilly's eye was applied to the crack.

She whispered: “Meester Gamadge.”

“Hello.”

“We've been waiting and waiting for you. Meeses Drummond wants to see you.”

“H
OW IS SHE?”
whispered Gamadge.

“Kvite vell now. Poor lady—to find a body!”

“Terrible shock.”

“But she is kvite vell now. I go to bed.”

“That's right.”

Tilly flung the door wide, allowed Gamadge to pass her, and then trotted off. Gamadge stood looking into this most luxurious guest room of the new wing. It was all done in the palest pastel shades of rose, with furniture of some pale wood that glowed in the light like amber. Blanche sat up in the canopied bed, her hands lying on the folded edge of a rosy linen sheet. Long-fingered white hands, large for a woman; but Griggs had not been interested in Blanche Drummond's hands.

Her fair skin looked greenish, and there was blue under her eyes that had not been put there; it gave the eyes a brilliant but a sunken look.

He came over to the bed, drew up a padded chair, and sat down. “Well, Blanche.”

“Henry, I want you to telephone Abby Ryder for me the first thing in the morning.”

“What do you want me to say to her?”

“I want her to put me up for a few days. I'm not going home. I'm leaving Walter.”

Gamadge was silent.

“I'll go to New York as soon as I can,” she went on. “I have plenty of friends there.”

“What has decided you?”

“Walter hints that I murdered those two women. He doesn't believe it, but that's what he implies.”

“He's been fighting tooth and nail for you.”

“He wouldn't quite dare to come out with it to the police. But he won't tell them what I say—that that girl committed the murders.”

“You seem very sure of it, Blanche.”

“Henry, I didn't think
you
were a mush of sentiment.”

“But even I require evidence before I make such an assertion as that.”

“She was right across the hall from that woman tonight, and she hated her. She hated her a good deal more than David did. And she was up in the tool house this afternoon—she's the one person who
couldn't
have been seen going into the rose garden.”

“That's not enough, you know it isn't.”

“Evidence always comes out if a person's guilty. There'll
be
evidence—you wait and see.”

“She must have known that Mrs. David Malcolm's murder would get her brother into a lot of trouble.”

“She thinks they can't do anything to him because there were so many of us. She's really a stupid girl; reserved people often are. It's their way of hiding it. Walter thinks she's wonderful—that type always attracts men like Walter.”

“Well,” protested Gamadge, “not always. He married you.”

“I mean older men. He is perfectly willing to sacrifice me to her. He implies that I could commit murder, and she couldn't.”

“He hasn't actually accused you?”

“He asked me why I asked David's wife to stay, and why I went to her room tonight. He asked me why I stayed so long in the greenhouse. I always know what he means, I know him pretty well.”

“What motive could he advance for such a theory, Blanche?”

She was silent for a long time; then she said: “Walter thought I was going off with him.”

“With David Malcolm?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“And were you?”

“How could we, when we shouldn't have had enough money to live decently on?”

“Then why did Walter think you would go?”

“He thought I'd go anyway; we haven't enough money as it is, he will keep up the place here instead of letting it go for taxes. I have to stay up here all spring and summer and autumn because we can't afford New York for more than a few months, and we can't afford to go South. I've wanted a divorce for years. The only reason I didn't insist on one was because I shouldn't have had enough alimony to be comfortable on. Walter was against it because he thought I didn't know my own mind. He wouldn't”—she smiled bitterly—“be against it now.”

“And he hints that you murdered Mrs. Archibald Malcolm so David Malcolm should have money to support you on?”

“Yes. But he doesn't dare come out with it—hint it to the police—because that girl would marry him tomorrow if she could, and he's insane about her, and he wouldn't like me to come out with
that
!”

“He's protecting Miss Malcolm and himself?”

After a long pause she said: “Yes.”

“But without further evidence it might be fair to assume that you are protecting yourself and David Malcolm?”

Blanche did not look at him. She said: “I'm sure there'll be evidence.”

“There's a little now, Blanche; but not against Walter. Let me assure you that I was staggered when I came back tonight and found that it was you who had persuaded Mrs. David Malcolm to stay.”

A sudden commotion in the house, doors closing, voices, feet on the stairs, caused her to turn her head on the pillow and look at the half-open door. At last she spoke again: “Cora suggested it first.”

“But Malcolm's wife turned that suggestion down. Why did you get her to stay, Blanche? Why did you go into her room afterwards?”

“I was sorry for the poor creature.”

“No, you weren't. Griggs may swallow that theory, though even he chokes on it; but he doesn't know you well enough to
know
that it's false. Didn't you want her to stay so that you could find out whether she'd give Malcolm a divorce now that he was going to have money? She was probably waiting for big alimony too, you know. You'd understand all about that.”

Blanche met his eyes. “It wasn't just the money. I wanted him to be free. She'd taken a frightful advantage of him—poor, inexperienced, unworldly boy! Not that I ought to call him a boy; he's mature intellectually. He never was young, except in experience. But he's incapable of killing anybody for money.”

“Does Walter say she told you she preferred to stay married to Malcolm, and that you solved the problem by murder, and then waited and pretended to find her body afterwards?”

“Henry, you don't think that.”

Gamadge, knowing what Malcolm thought, or at least said he thought, felt in spite of himself a grudging pity. “Whatever you do, Blanche, or whatever happens,” he said, “don't count on Malcolm. He's too young. He was always too young. You've pursued a shadow.”

But her expression told him that it was useless to argue with a human being obsessed. He rose, went out into the corridor, and shut the door behind him.

Griggs was in the center of a crowd that thronged the main hall. Gamadge joined it, pushed through, and seized the lieutenant by the elbow. “Griggs—come along here a minute. I want to speak to you.”

Griggs looked at him as if they had never met before, then he allowed himself to be urged into the quiet of the north wing. “Well?” he asked.

“Tomorrow morning I want to take the whole lot of them down to the rose garden.”

“Take who?”

“Drummonds, Redfield, Malcolms. Conference on the scene of the first crime.”

Griggs laughed shortly. “I'd like to see you stampede one of this gang.”

“But you mustn't see me. I won't get any results if there's a policeman within earshot of the place.”

“Results! I don't believe in that kind of charade.”

“I've had a little luck—”

“Yes, I know the kind of luck you have. But I oughtn't to turn Malcolm loose like that.”

“Loose! What do you mean, ‘loose'? You can post officers all over the grounds. The garden's an enclosure.”

Griggs reflected, frowning. Then he asked: “What did Malcolm want to see you about?”

“Wants me to look after his sister for him.”

“Cool. Why didn't he ask Redfield?”

“Business matter. He offered me compensation.”

“How much?” Griggs was interested.

“Ten thousand dollars.”

“Ten thou...” Griggs' voice faded.

“But I won't get it,” explained Gamadge.

“You won't?”

“I didn't accept the job.” As Griggs stared, he went on: “Will you send them down to the rose garden tomorrow early, as soon as they've had breakfast? I think I really could get something for you.”

“Ask me in the morning. I'll see.”

“Thanks.” Gamadge went back to the south wing, and opened the door of Redfield's suite. A light burned in the study, the day bed was prepared, and no sound came from the room beyond the bath. But if Redfield slept, Gamadge didn't until dawn.

G
AMADGE SAT DOWN
alone to breakfast in the dining room. Alice, waiting on him in the intervals of laying trays, which Tilly afterwards pattered away with, looked aloof and oppressed. Gamadge dared not imagine Mrs. Debenham's reaction this morning to the news of the second murder, nor could he bear to contemplate the interpretation that would have been put on it in the Islands.

There was a great coming and going of cars in the drive—the Law and the Press. Mosson looked in on him, made a face, lifted his shoulders, said nothing, and went away.

When the clock struck nine Gamadge sought the nearest telephone. He got a party in New York, talked for three minutes, said: “Thanks, Tommy,” and put the receiver back. He went out of the house by way of the terrace.

Griggs accosted him there, looking as though his night on the studio couch had not agreed with him. But he said: “Go to it. Have your damn silly experiment.”

“Lieutenant, this is good of you.”

“It's foolish of
you.
I'd like it better if one of my men could be listening.”

“I'll call the whole thing off if I see anybody within earshot.”

“There's the sheriff's deputy down in the lower garden, and a man up by the tool house, and one in the rockery with a good view of the entrance to the place, and one outside that gate. But the whole enclosure is nothing but a series of exits.”

“Nobody's going to exit unless I say so.”

“That's talking!” Griggs was amused.

“Who's rounding the crowd up?”

“Redfield. He had a little trouble with Mrs. Drummond—she was thinking of spending the morning in bed. But he got her going, and they'll be down there in ten minutes.”

Gamadge walked down to the rockery. He found an officer sitting under the birch at the lower pool, in silent communion with a frog. The frog sat on the pool wall, breathing heavily.

The officer said: “I thought at first it wasn't real.”

“You have to throw a twig to find out.”

“I kind of hated to lose him.”

“I think he's an old friend of mine. He distracted my attention badly once, not so long ago.”

“He won't distract mine.” The officer looked in front of him, down to the lawn and across it. ‘I'll move when they get into that place. Watch the whole front.”

Gamadge, avoiding the frog's side of the pool, went on down. The lawn lay fresh and bright in warm sunshine, crickets had begun their song. When he entered the rose garden he found that a wet and pinkish rose had come out in a corner bed.