Lady Afraid (23 page)

In the west the morning thunderstorm let loose a crash. It was near now, poised overhead. The interior of the boat grew rapidly darker. Sarah could see it, but she knew there would be a roll cloud overhead, the line squall. Soon it would be on them. Already she could hear its hard breathing in the west, over the city, and the breathing was that of a giant.

“S
ARAH,” SAID MR. ARBOGAST
, “you must go and phone the police.”

“Yes, please do that,” Sarah said quickly.

“I mean,” explained Mr. Arbogast, “that you must go.”

“No. You go,” Sarah said.

Mr. Arbogast’s canine eyes examined her strangely. She had been trying to think what it was that often had eyes like Mr. Arbogast’s eyes, and now it came to her that it was something in the animal kingdom; perhaps large curs frequently had such eyes.

“There are homes near,” said Mr. Arbogast. “There will be someone awake—it’s past daylight. You can ask someone to use the telephone. I’ll stay here…. A man’s protection—the boy needs a man’s protection.”

“No. Oh no!”

There was a sound from the stateroom. Alice Mildred had swung herself off the berth where she had been lying. Now the old lady stood in the stateroom door. Both gnarled hands gripped her robe tightly, over her heart. Sarah looked at the ancient face and saw on it a glassy resolution, composed, determined.

“Sarah,” said Alice Mildred. “Sarah—you must go telephone. You must take Jonnie with you.”

“No.”

“Sarah! Do as I say!”

Sarah’s terror, and it was no small terror, seemed to have its back against a wall, unable to go farther. She said, “No…. No, I can’t leave you alone with him.”

The old lady accepted this and bent her head. “Then you know that he will kill me if he is alone with me.”

Mr. Arbogast jumped. His full-blown small lips suddenly grew shiny with moisture. “What?” He struggled with words. “She’s crazy!” he said thickly. “Insane. Mad. She—I don’t understand what she can mean!”

As if she had not heard him, Alice Mildred said, “I don’t think he would have let you go, Sarah. I think he knew we suspected him. But he might have let you leave, you and the boy. You should have tried…. He has to dispose of us now—perhaps in the same way he did for the man Brill.”

A stillness seemed to fix itself in Sarah, a suspension, a halt called to all normal functions, not only of the capacity for suspense to grow worse, but even of breathing.

“You see,” Alice Mildred added heavily, “he understands now that you know he is a crook. He already knew that I was aware of it. But now he also realizes that you know.”

Mr. Arbogast’s soft arms were hanging straight down before him. He did not look at Sarah, but when he spoke he evidently addressed her. “The old woman is crazy,” he said.

And now Sarah almost got the feeling that he might be right. Alice Mildred, speaking in a flat dull voice, began saying things that seemed childishly repetitive. Alice Mildred stood there telling Mr. Arbogast that he was a crook and mumbling the details, the endless details, of the man’s chicanery. Repeating, it amounted to, the things she had just told Sarah.
But we know this
, Sarah thought tensely.
We know Mr. Arbogast is the one. And this is going to drive him to another murder. The man can’t stand there and listen to it and keep his own composure.

Alice Mildred stared at Mr. Arbogast in a not-too-rational way all the time she spoke. She said, “Mr. Arbogast, you have a key position—no one can get an RFC loan in the Miami RFC Loan Agency District if you do not wish. Your position is that of agency attorney, and you can recommend or advise on whether or not the manager should permit a partial release of security. Your veto power has, I suppose, been very profitable. You have become a wealthy man, haven’t you?… You, of course, are not supposed to accept bonuses, fees, or commissions for the purpose of, or in connection with, obtaining loans. It is strictly prohibited. Isn’t that right, Mr. Arbogast?” Alice Mildred’s eyes were strained wide open, and she paused long enough to get a deep breath, then continued—even more irrationally. “Mr. Arbogast, I quote you from Circular No. 13, Section 5D, of the Reconstruction Finance Corporation Act, as amended: ‘… All such loans shall be, in the opinion of the board of directors, of such sound value, or so secured, as reasonably to assure retirement or repayment….’ That is what the law says, isn’t it, Mr. Arbogast? That’s the lever you used to become wealthy, isn’t it?”

Mr. Arbogast stood there blankly. He probably thought, Sarah decided, that Alice Mildred was really unbalanced. But whatever the fat man thought, it did not show on his face. Sarah, not trusting herself to speak—she knew any sound she might make would probably be grotesque—was silent. Actually she hardly dared breathe, because she had a feeling that Mr. Arbogast was in a kind of poised trance and that almost anything might snap it, and then he would surely try to kill them.

Alice Mildred’s fantastic monologue continued. She was trembling now and—if she was rational—surely talking against her fear of Mr. Arbogast. She said: “Ivan is money-mad, Mr. Arbogast. Ivan wished to sell the truck-line part of his business to Louis Driscoll. It would be very profitable. But the RFC already had a mortgage on everything, and so Ivan could not make this great profit until he got the RFC to agree to release its mortgage on that part of Ivan’s holdings. To permit this, you wanted money, Mr. Arbogast. Much money. Fifty thousand dollars.”

The line-squall part of the thunderstorm suddenly hit. It laid on hard, making the halliards whack against the masts, then causing the lines to stand in bowed rigidity while the wind played its wailing upon them. There was no rain yet, but the rain was an oncoming threshing roar out on the bay.

Great peaceful tears were filling Mr. Arbogast’s eyes, like oil in cups.

The tears mean nothing, Sarah thought. Presently, sometime sooner or later, he will kill us.

“Ivan,” the old lady said bitterly, “is a purposeful, hard-fisted man. Nothing stands in Ivan’s way. But I told him I was going to Washington with your rascality, Mr. Arbogast. And I mean it. I shall. Perhaps Ivan has not realized I mean it. But you realized, Mr. Arbogast. That is why you arranged to take our little boy. You felt it would destroy the rational part of my mind. Dr. Danneberg had said a shock would do this. Dr. Danneberg is a nice man, and he did not know what use you would make of this information, Mr. Arbogast.”

It was raining in on Mr. Arbogast now, but he seemed unaware that his hair and the back of his neck, his shoulders, were getting wet.

Mr. Arbogast took a step forward. But, oddly, this was not suspenseful; there was no air of culminating menace. Mr. Arbogast was no suspended sword. Mr. Arbogast looked no more than what he was: a fat, greedy, luxury-craving little stomach, a digestive system, skidding horribly down a road of no returning. He didn’t look sinister because he couldn’t. He was only scared; he wanted to keep his freedom, his life, and his sweet comforts.

Mr. Arbogast, Sarah could imagine now, must have looked much the same to Attorney Brill at Brill’s dying.

She understood, of course, when Mr. Arbogast had killed Brill. It hadn’t been the police who telephoned Mr. Arbogast to come downstairs when Sarah and Captain Most were present in the RFC attorney’s apartment. It had been Brill. Brill, with the bee in hand, the bee he no doubt put on Mr. Arbogast at once. Sarah could picture Mr. Arbogast hearing that Brill and his confederates had the boy and wished money. Much money, probably. The alternative: They would destroy the whole plan to take Alice Mildred’s sanity from her. In short, destroy Mr. Arbogast. Shatter his life. Fling to pieces the nest he had made for himself.

Sarah shuddered. Mr. Arbogast would indeed have looked then as he looked now. Soft, dependent, very sick with a world that dared menace his comfort. Mr. Arbogast’s one genius, Sarah supposed, was for making himself comfortable. He would be a man who approached his own needs devoutly, voraciously, with frenzy if need be. In frenzy, he had killed Brill. Then, with Lawyer Brill’s knife blade in Lawyer Brill’s brain, the body had been chucked into the back of Captain Most’s station wagon. Placing the monkey, Mr. Arbogast had doubtless hoped, irremovably upon Most’s back…. Remembering Mr. Arbogast’s agitation when he returned from what he had claimed was an interview with the police, Sarah reasonably knew that this was when Brill had died. And she and Captain Most had ridden in Lawyer Brill’s hearse thereafter.

Her mind must be very clear now—for suddenly she saw through another mystification. Seeing, she felt foolish. That second telephone call from Mr. Arbogast!
It had been Mr. Arbogast himself.
There were telephones in the apartment elevators; he had used one, hung up the receiver, dashed to his apartment door, and entered. It was that simple. Both times she had heard Mr. Arbogast’s voice on the telephone, it had really been Mr. Arbogast’s voice.

Sarah lifted both hands slowly. This was it. This was up to—and ready for—the end…. The marine charts on this boat, as on many boats of its size, were kept in a slat rack against the cabin carlings. These charts were in a brass case. The container was about four inches in diameter and thirty-six inches long. Sarah had the case half withdrawn before it got at Mr. Arbogast that she had sent her hands overhead for a defensive reason.

Mr. Arbogast now came hard at her, while, frantically, she hauled the brass case out and wielded it. But the case was heavy with tight-rolled marine charts, and these slung against the cap, which burst off. The outflying charts passed Mr. Arbogast’s head to its left. In the air, they sprang unrolled like a white swan ruffling wings and all feathers. The empty case, now no better defense than a joint of stovepipe, was suddenly driven back hard on Sarah, and she fell against a bulkhead. Mr. Arbogast hawked in pain; he had rammed his face squarely into the case end.

Above their heads, outdoors, the rain came heavily to the deck. Its frying sound was more than the banging of the thunder, and this made strange, but did not conceal, the scrambling noise of men landing on deck. One man, then another man, the second man clearly far less agile.

Sarah, turning and rolling her body along the bulkhead, gained the stateroom door and stumbled through it. Alice Mildred was there. The old lady was ghost-pale and sustained on her feet by no power that Sarah could imagine. Now the little boy had awakened. He gave out a justifiable yell.

Mr. Arbogast heard the men coming. He became one split in twain—the part of him that gazed at Sarah stood detached, like the puff of dust that is in the road after a rabbit has gone. His other part, sliced off by surprise and terror, was on the hammering feet overhead. He began to swing about. He partly faced the door, before Captain Most dropped inside.

Most said, “Sarah!” Then he saw the look Mr. Arbogast had, and he added, “Great God!”

Sarah said, “He was trying to kill us.”

A shocked anger was in Most and on him everywhere. He said bitterly, “And we stood on the canal bank like fools, trying to overhear.”

Mr. Arbogast now scuttled for the passage that led bow-ward, but saw that Most could head him off. So he jumped to the left, brought up against the galley cupboard, and hung there.

The other man who had come aboard had stiffer joints and slower muscles than Most. But he also came down the companionway. Sarah knew he couldn’t be Ivan Lineyack, not nobbling down into the cabin with horror like a flour sack over his face. But it was Ivan.

Mr. Arbogast screamed at Ivan, “Grab something, Ivan! Two of us can handle him!”

Old Ivan Lineyack’s bleak eyes perhaps held speculation for an instant. It was conceivable that he weighed chances—scandal, disgrace, bribe-paying—against the quality of man that Most was. Being Ivan, arrogant, coldhearted, derisive of the rights of others, he undoubtedly did measure Mr. Arbogast’s way out. He showed what he thought.

“You’re a fool, Arbogast,” Ivan said. “A soft, hysterical little crook. I suppose you killed Brill in fear, the way you would have the two women.”

Mr. Arbogast, still clawing wildly at the only hope he saw, shrieked, “Attack him, Ivan! We can—the two of us—we can—there will be no scandal!”

The old man’s slate eyes half-lidded in the square stone face. “You dirty little scum!” His lips twisted. He added, “Captain Most and I followed you here. I’d better tell you that, Arbogast. Most came to me and he knew—he had guessed—most of the answers. He told me you were trying to drive my wife mad—that you had probably killed Brill.” He gave Most a glance of bitter respect. “This man Most is no fool. He believed you would lead us to the boy. He was right.”

“You paid me a bribe two years ago!” cried Mr. Arbogast. “They’ll punish you for that!”

“Nonsense,” Ivan said. “I will be called a monster. Gentle people will curse my name. That is all. I have been cursed before by the gentle people.” This was Ivan Lineyack speaking. It was the kind of speech he had lived by and would die by. He made it. He stood on it. Give the old devil one right, Sarah thought grimly; give him the right never to unbend.

It was an apt speech, and it nearly killed him. Because it brought Mr. Arbogast flying at him so suddenly that Most was taken by surprise. Mr. Arbogast’s fat fists made a double-bump sound on the old man. Ivan fell. It was incredible that Ivan should be floored by puny weapons; but he dropped. Off balance, the blow had caught him hard.

Most got there then. Mr. Arbogast began to squeal in a thin, high pitch as he felt Most’s hands on him. Kicking, striking in a grotesque way that made it seem he was flapping his arms, he tried to ascend the companionway steps. But Most pulled him back, and he and Most were together on the floor for a moment, violently. Then Mr. Arbogast was unconscious and, spreading out on the cabin floor, suddenly seemed to be a much larger man than he was.

Sarah wheeled back into the stateroom. Jonnie was no longer howling—the little boy had done another of those two-and-a-half-year-old quick-changes. He was a wide-eyed, excited small fellow with cowboy suit askew as Sarah gathered him to her.