In the Teeth of Adversity (7 page)

“Disgraceful!” Sir Malcolm snarled. “A young man like you – why aren't you in uniform?”

“I thought I was,” Gerry said. “We can't all be in the pinstripe-and-bowler brigade, you know.”

“What brigade?” General Sir Malcolm snapped to attention, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “I don't know them. Are they part of the regular army?”

“No, just regular civilians,” Gerry said. He looked from me to Penny and back again. “What
is
this, anyway?”

“Ah, tea!” Endicott Zayle entered, rubbing his hands together in unconscious imitation of his father. “Just what I need right now. Very strong, no sugar, please.”

“What about your patients?” I asked.

“Oh, they won't want any,” he chuckled. “Neither of them could close their lips over the rim of a cup at this moment – Oh, oh, I see what you mean. No, they're all right. Just relaxing while the procaine takes effect. They'll never miss me for a few minutes. Each one will think I'm with the other.” He gnawed into a chicken sandwich with zest, accepting the cup of tea Penny had poured for him.

“By the way,” he said to her. “You might take a tray along to my wife, if you would. Just leave it outside her door, knock, and go away.” It sounded as though it were a regular routine. “She'll take it in when she's ready.”

“Locked her in her room again, have you?” Sir Malcolm stopped brooding over Gerry, transferring his attention to his son. “Best place for her. Stop her from running after that other fella. And in your own house, too. I always said your Cynthia needed a strong hand – stronger than you have.”

“Father,” Endicott Zayle said, in some anguish, “Cynthia was my mother.”

“No need to talk like that, m'boy.” Sir Malcolm stiffened in offence. “She
is
your wife, you know. I thought she was a bit long in the tooth when you married her, but you made her Mrs. Zayle. Bite the bullet, m'boy, and live with it, but we won't have that sort of remark around here. Gentlemen don't speak about ladies in that manner, especially their wives.”

“
Adele
is my wife,” Zayle said feebly, as though conscious he was fighting the rearguard action to a losing battle.

“Flighty little piece.” Sir Malcolm slipped smoothly from one reputation to another. “Always running after that fella. Mistake to have him in the house – I always said so.”

Wisely, Penny disappeared with a tray. It would be nice if I could do the same, but duty forbade. “Have the police come back yet?” I asked.

“Police?” Sir Malcolm whirled to face me. “What police?”

“You remember, Father,” Endicott said wearily. “They were here yesterday.”

“About that blackout curtain again, eh? I warned you it wasn't secure enough. Have the whole damned blitzkrieg around our necks, if you aren't careful.”

I noted with interest that he had slipped from one war to another, mixing them as easily as he had mixed the ladies in his past. He was, perhaps, even more confused than I had bargained for. It was pointless then to read up on World War I, as I had intended doing if we were to spend much time in the Zayle ménage. Obviously, the only thing to do was to try to follow General Sir Malcolm Zayle – at a respectful distance – through whichever time belt he was straying at any given moment. A skimming knowledge of history, plus a generous dollop of child psychology, might be all that was necessary. The main thing was to swim with the tide, rather than try to struggle against it, as Endicott Zayle was doing right now.

“Father,” he said urgently, “you
must
remember – it was only yesterday –”

Sir Malcolm looked at him coldly. “I have an excellent memory,” he stated.

I agreed with him there. It was one of the best memories I had ever encountered, although a bit too selective for practicality. I was glad it was Endicott's problem, and not mine.

“They came about Tyler, Father.”

“Tyler? Tyler – who?”

Endicott groaned, and I couldn't blame him. He inhaled deeply and seemed about to pursue the subject further when the door opened.

“Look who's here!” Penny popped her head inside, announcing the newcomer with more enthusiasm than formality. She skipped to one side, with a flourish of her hand, like the conjurer's assistant in a magic act.

I could have done without the cute little trick she had conjured up. Our old acquaintance, the ailurophobe policeman, walked through the doorway and stopped short at seeing Gerry and me. It was obvious that the sight of us had given him pause – and a very nasty pause, at that.

After a second, he moved forward again. “I thought she looked familiar,” he said, “but a young girl like that might have changed her job.”
She,
his tone implied, was young enough to reform.

“Hello,” I said. It was very original, but I doubted that he would appreciate sterling wit. Not from me, certainly – and he didn't look enthusiastic about anyone else in the room, either.

He walked over to me, frowned, and reaching out, removed a couple of short shining hairs from my shoulder. “Still got that cat, I see,” he observed.

“I'll give her your love,” I said.

He grunted and turned away. This brought him face-to-face with Gerry, which he evidently didn't consider any improvement. He nodded and turned again. This time he was in front of Sir Malcolm; he seemed to feel he could face him. Unfortunately, it wasn't mutual.

“Young man.” Sir Malcolm rose, giving the impression of towering over him. “Why aren't you in uniform?”

“I'm plainclothes – C.I.D. If you'd like to see my warrant card –”

“Young slackers!” Sir Malcolm looked to his son. “Why must we have these people in the house? They're a disgrace to King and Country!”

“Please, Father.” Endicott Zayle started forward. “Why don't you go up to your quarters? This has nothing to do with you –”

“It has everything to do with me, if you're encouraging slackers and –”

Endicott had his father by one arm. I closed in and took the other arm. Together, we managed to extract him from the room without actually using force and get him upstairs to the austere bachelor quarters he occupied at the top of the house.

When we returned to the sitting room, we found that the gentleman from the C.I.D. had made a start on his case by questioning Gerry. Since Gerry hadn't been present yesterday, this hadn't improved the shining hour very much, and both were in a rather disgruntled state.

“
You
were here at the time,” he greeted me accusingly.

“Not at the time, no,” I disclaimed heartily. “I arrived afterwards. He was dead when we found him.”

“Do you know when he died?”

“No.”

“Then how do you know you arrived afterwards?”

It was a question I would rather not think about. In fact, I knew from past experience, he wasn't going to ask me many questions I would be happy to think about. It was unfortunate that our past experience wasn't farther back in the past. He obviously hadn't had time to take a philosophical view of it.

“You don't need me right now, do you?” Endicott Zayle asked. “I have patients waiting.” He backed hopefully toward the door, without waiting for a reply.

“I'll want to see you later. As soon as my sergeant gets the car parked, we'll want to go over a few points from yesterday.”

“Yesterday ...?” Endicott Zayle said weakly, giving the impression that yesterday was more remote to him than the distant world his father lived in. I couldn't blame him. I'd be just as glad to forget yesterday myself.

“Meanwhile, I believe you said your wife was returning from a holiday last night. I'd like to speak to her now, if I might. That is,” he added, as Endicott looked stricken, “if she's here.”

“Oh, oh, yes, she's here. But I don't know – I mean, she's not feeling very well – I don't think –” Considering that his wife was the guilty party, Endicott was putting on a performance that would have made lesser mortals than a policeman immediately suspicious. “She's unavailable,” he ended up, with sudden firmness.

“Perhaps, if we wait awhile, she'll become available. We have plenty of time.”
Time enough to dig up the cellar, if necessary,
his tone implied. For a detective, he ran as nasty a line in innuendos as an undertipped headwaiter.

“Oh. Yes. No. Yes.” Endicott jittered, catching some of the drift. “I'll call her.” He glanced toward the door and his nerve faltered. “You call her,” he said to me.

I wasn't any too pleased at the thought of encountering that redheaded temper again myself. Everyone was looking at me, however – Gerry with more sympathy than the others – and I decided to get out of sight before the inspector remembered he had been asking me questions when he got sidetracked. I'd do practically anything to keep him sidetracked, and fetching Adele ought to take care of it.

The tea tray, which had been standing outside the door, was gone. Taken inside while the coast was clear, I presumed.

“Mrs Zayle.” I tapped lightly on the door. “Mrs. Zayle?”

I hadn't really expected anything but silence on the first few attempts. After about five minutes of steady effort, she responded.

“Go away!”

I would have loved to. “Mrs. Zayle,” I said. “The police are here.”

“Police?”

“About Tyler Meredith,” I said. “They want to speak to you.”

The door opened abruptly. “And
I
want to speak to
them
!” She swept past me. I noted that, although she was dressed in black, she had taken enough time at some point in the day to apply full makeup.

I followed her, arriving in the doorway just behind her. I saw that the sergeant was there now, having evidently parked the car successfully, but that Endicott Zayle hadn't yet succeeded in getting away to his waiting patients.

“Dear, are you ... feeling better?” Zayle inquired tentatively. “This is Detective Chief Inspector Rennolds. He'd like to talk to you for a minute, ask you a few questions. I told him you weren't really up to it, but he insisted. Inspector, my wife, Adele.”

“How do you do?” she said perfunctorily. “Arrest that man!”

Not surprisingly, the inspector goggled. She was pointing at her husband.

“I was afraid she was still upset,” Endicott said, to no one in particular.

“Why?” Inspector Rennolds asked, showing that practical streak of his again.

“Because he killed Tyler Meredith.”

“Did you see him do it?” It occurred to me that the inspector had encountered redheads before.

“No, of course not. I've been out of town.”

“Did he confess to you that he'd done it?”

“No!” she stamped her foot impatiently. “Why are you wasting time with all these silly questions? Why don't you arrest him? He had everything – motive, means, and opportunity. What more do you want?”

“Juries like proof,” the inspector said. He glanced at Endicott Zayle with some sympathy. “You can go back to your patients now. They'll be wondering what's happened to you.”

“Yes, but Adele –”

“She'll be all right. We're just going to have a little discussion.” He looked over at Gerry and me. “You can go, too, but don't go far. I'll want to talk to you again later.”

“We'll be downstairs in the waiting room,” I said. As we left the room, I heard Adele begin to explain that she and Tyler Meredith were engaged, that she had intended to divorce her husband and marry Tyler. I caught the slightly glazed expression on Inspector Rennolds's face just before the door closed behind us. He looked like a man who had heard it all before.

Everyone in the waiting room looked up as we entered, then looked away again, dissatisfied. Some of them had been waiting an inordinately long time. Even the appearance of the receptionist to say “You're next” would have been welcome.

“You were here yesterday!” Until the Hon. Edytha Cale-Cunningham spoke to me suddenly, I hadn't recognized her. Now I was shocked. Yesterday she had just appeared nervous and highly strung; today she was haggard and hagridden. There were dark shadows under her eyes, and a protective layer of flesh had disappeared between bones and skin, leaving her gaunt.

“Have you heard what happened?” She came over to me, clutching my arm urgently with a hand that was little more than a claw. “Do you
know
?”

I didn't feel like admitting how much I did know – especially to her. “I've ... er ... heard that Endicott Zayle ... lost his ... partner,” I evaded.

“I shall never believe it was suicide!” The claw tightened on my arm. “Never!”

I met Gerry's look and we tacitly agreed that we wanted to get the hell out of here. The question was how to pry myself loose before those tourniquet fingers cut off my circulation.

“You don't believe it” – the shadowed eyes gazed up at me beseechingly – “do you?”

“I hardly knew the man,” I said quickly. “I was always one of Zayle's patients.” It had been a great mistake to come down here. We should have gone upstairs and joined Sir Malcolm – at least I had learned how to cope with him adequately. A couple of hours lurching down Memory Lane after him would have been child's play compared to this.

“
I
knew him,” she said. “That's why I know he would never have committed suicide. I knew him very well. We” – her voice lowered confidentially – “we were engaged. We were going to be married.”

That threw me. “Congratulations,” I said, then realized that wasn't the right thing to say. “I mean – I'm sorry,” I said hastily, but that didn't sound right, either. I looked to Gerry for help.

He was carefully looking in another direction. Which meant it had thrown him, too.