Scarlet Imperial (19 page)

T
HE DRIVER SWUNG TO
the curb. Eliza paid him and the cab thrummed into the uptown quiet. She stood there for a moment, her eyes moving up the great white shaft to the lights on its gardened roof. Towner was somewhere here. Unless Feather had lied. Her fists tightened. Feather had not lied.

She entered the marble palace with steady steps. The palace guard halted her.

She looked at him as Feather looked at a secretary. “Towner Clay.”

“Who is calling?”

“Eliza Williams.” She resented the delay of his ringing up.

She was permitted to enter the elevator. The cage shafted to the top of the skyscraper. She stepped out into a small private jewel box, pressed a black pearl button. The door was opened by the white-coated houseman. He took her coat. “This way, Miss Williams.”

She stood on the threshold of the living room. An exquisite room, panelled in mirrors, a gold and silver room, scented with great silver bowls of massed white roses. Beyond the giant front window were the myriad golden lights of New York. She stood there silently for a moment.

Feather Prentiss, a froth of silver, was curled on a pale brocade love seat. Towner lounged near her in a royal purple chair. A quiet Saturday night at the Clay penthouse.

Towner tinkled his glass. “Er—Eliza.” He seemed vaguely surprised that she was here. He gestured, “You know Miss Prentiss?”

Eliza’s lip curled as she gave brief acknowledgement. “How’d you do, Miss Prentiss.” She appealed to Towner. “I must talk with you.” Alone. He knew it must be alone.

His pale eyes blinked with anticipation. “You have brought me the Scarlet Imperial?”

“No.” His eyes went blank. She continued rapidly, “I don’t have the Imperial. Gavin Keane has it. He has the Imperial and Feroun Dekertian as well.”

Liquid sloshed over his glass as he set it down. It wasn’t like Towner to be untidy. He came to his feet without sound, advanced to her until he could look down into her face. With sudden frenzy the back of his hand slashed across her mouth.

He had never struck her before. She’d seen him strike his servants in sudden rage. He had never touched her. She swayed but she didn’t fall. The thin film of amusement on Feather’s mouth held her on her feet.

He was mumbling monotonous obscenity of Eliza’s source, of her reversion to source because of a blue-eyed man. Eliza spat from her bruised mouth. “Send her away and I’ll tell you. Get rid of her if you want to know.”

Towner quivered with fury. “Don’t you tell me what you will or won’t do!”

Eliza ignored him. She moved on Feather. “Get out of here. Get out!” Feather twisted out of the love seat, backed away. She was afraid. She should have been afraid. Towner grated, “Don’t go, Feather.”

Feather spoke out of utter boredom but her eyes were nervous jets. “Don’t fuss, Towner. Let her tell it. I’ll be on the terrace. If you’re ever free, look me up.” She floated away but her look didn’t leave Eliza until she was out of the door.

Eliza sat down where Feather had been. She was trembling. “If you’d have come to me instead of to her, we’d have the Imperial.”

He stalked back to his purple velvet chair, lifted his glass. After he drank, his voice alone wasn’t normal. “I wasn’t ready to come to you. With Gavin Keane living in your apartment, the police investigating Hester’s murder—” He choked. “Do you doubt my wisdom in spending my time with an old friend? One who could give me an honest report on these young men you are so interested in?”

She didn’t answer his insinuation. She said, “I carried out my part. I had the Imperial for you on Thursday. You could have had it. I even kept it safe when that horrible Pincek tried to steal it.” She accused again. “But you didn’t come for it. You didn’t communicate with me. I thought it was safe. Bry was in touch with Dekertian. I didn’t know until today that Gavin wasn’t with Bry on this.” She faltered. “I got away from Gavin after—after the office. Bry didn’t come back. I took Dekertian to my apartment to give him the Imp—”

“You have been with Feroun Dekertian?” Towner’s eyes protruded.

She was impatient. “Yes, certainly. But the Imp was gone. Then Gavin came. He knocked me out and took Dekertian away.”

“Are you certain it was Feroun Dekertian?”

She admitted slowly, “I don’t know. He had identification but …” He’d gone with Gavin. She drew herself together. “We must find Bry. It may not be too late to stop Gavin.”

His smile was pinched. “You have behaved with incredible stupidity in this whole affair. On only one count were you correct.” She didn’t ask.

“Bryan Brewer and Gavin Keane are together in this.”

It wouldn’t come clear. She puzzled it but it wouldn’t come clear. She had to beg. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Pity and scorn were an acrid brew. “Did it never occur to you that when your friend Thaddeus Skowa reached Teheran, he was not alone?”

She whispered, “What do you mean?”

His calm was far worse than his fury. “There were three young men from the Flying Tigers who arrived during the Three Party conference. According to their story, they had cracked up in the jungle. The rescue plane which eventually found them was headed for Teheran. They were landed there.”

His forefinger brushed his moustache. “Three young men. Two were Americans. Lieutenant Thaddeus Skowa and Lieutenant Bryan Brewer. One was—” he shrugged “—who knows? Perhaps a British subject. A renegade Irishman. Captain Gavin Keane.”

She listened, sick.

“The Scarlet Imperial was stolen during a large reception at the Palace. A guard testified that a young man, one of the flyers, had been seen handling it. It was found in Lieutenant Skowa’s possessions.” He drank again. “You are certain that Skowa was innocent.”

She wouldn’t listen; she wouldn’t believe. Not of Bry Brewer. Not even of Gavin. Not treachery.

“The three shared a hotel room. When the police suspected, a simple enough matter to hide the treasure in any kit in the room. In the kit of the innocent one.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

He disdained. “My dear Eliza, I am not one to make idle accusations. However, when I learned last year from Feather that Bryan Brewer had established himself as an Importer, I was willing to conduct an experiment.” She listened; there was nothing else she could do.

“You may not know, but I had no luck in employing the Bey to find the Imperial for us. In fact, when the Bey queried Gavin Keane, on my suggestion although my name did not appear in the transaction, Keane vulgarly told him to peddle his papers elsewhere.” Towner’s vanity preened itself. “It occurred to me that if I asked Brewer to locate the treasure, I might not only recover the Imperial but also obtain the proof of guilt we desired. You see I was not wrong. Brewer and Keane had kept the Imperial hidden for these many years. Waiting their chance for a good sale.”

He was not wrong. Towner was never wrong. Shock diminished. Anger blazed. Deep abiding anger against injustice. That these two could allow their friend to suffer indignity and death for their greed. She had no words. She had trusted Bry; she had defended Gavin. The murderers of Thad.

Towner wore his righteous smirk. “You understand perhaps why I could not come running to you when I arrived in New York. I had more important matters to attend. The relaying of information to the F.B.I. The details to be attended—one small detail, a look through Brewer’s papers which Jones and I were attempting today when you—” he breathed disgust, “—assisted your renegade friend to lock us away.”

“He had a gun.”

He sniffed. “I trusted you to cleave to the Imperial while I was otherwise engaged.”

“I thought I had it safe.” The defense was lame. She cried out, “What can we do now, Towner? Without the Imperial? Can’t you find Gavin?” She didn’t understand his smile. “Perhaps, yes. I believe he has been under surveillance of Mr. Jones’ men today. In fact only because of my insistence did Jones refrain from placing him under arrest when Keane left your place last night.” She was bitter. “It might have been better if you had.”

“I do not believe so. When dealing with crafty fellows, one must employ wiles. Yes, Hubert?”

She hadn’t heard the flat-chested houseman approach. “Mr. Jones.”

“Show him in.” Towner’s pale eyes flecked Eliza. “You will oblige me by waiting in the library. I prefer to handle matters in my own way.”

She met Jones in the doorway. He didn’t speak, his hostile glance touched her, let her go. She didn’t want to linger with Jones and his suspicion. Towner would handle it. Jones and his organization could find Gavin and the man who called himself Dekertian. It wasn’t too late.

The library opened off the foyer. It was quiet, one study lamp flung patterns of shadow against the books. She went to the deep window seat, pushed aside the curtains. There were sky and stars from this window, far below lay the dark streets of the city. So many streets, so many people, like stars. How could one man be found if he didn’t want to be found? If Gavin had got away with the Scarlet Imperial, what would Towner do? She didn’t want to start all over again. They’d been so close to it, things couldn’t crumble in their hands now. Because of her carelessness. She rested her head against the cool of the pane.

“Eliza!” Bry Brewer was standing on the threshold. He called her name softly again and he strode towards her. “Eliza.” Anxiety grooved his mouth. “Why did you come here?”

He stopped abruptly as she lifted her eyes. She didn’t have to speak; they held her knowledge of the truth.

He asked haltingly, “What is it?
Eliza!
”

She didn’t move. She said, “I was Thad Skowa’s girl.”

“You?” His face sagged. “You—”

She could hear in the silence the faint catcalls of traffic twenty-two stories below. Far behind them the distortion of sounds in the honky tonk where she and Thad had met. “I wasn’t much like this when Thad knew me. But he loved me. He was going to marry me when he came back … He didn’t come back.”

“No,” Bry said. “He didn’t come back.”

One quiet word was a curse. “Murderer.”

He took a step nearer. “What did you say?”

She wasn’t afraid. She repeated, “Murderer.”

“For God’s sake, Eliza, are you crazy?”

She stated, “You were with Thad in Iran. You and Gavin. You let him die for your theft, you and Gavin.”

Anger flushed his face. “Who’s been telling you such rot?”

“Can you deny it?”

He didn’t answer at once. When he did, he was contemptuous. “Do I need to deny anything that rotten?” He drew away from her as if she were diseased. “Yes, we were with Thad in Iran. We were with him in the jungles before that. If I told you all about it, you’d think I was having a nightmare. You wouldn’t believe me.” He corrected that. “Yes, you would. You’d believe anything.”

He began to pace the room, remembering. “We didn’t know where we were for weeks. Maybe months. We lied, we stole. We killed.” There were two harsh lines fencing his mouth. “We were rescued. We landed in Teheran. Where we could eat and drink again, sleep in a bed, feel soap and water. None of us knew about the conference. None of us had ever heard of the Scarlet Imperial.”

But one was a thief. Towner was mistaken; Bryan Brewer had nothing to do with it. His outrage was real. And even now Bry didn’t believe Gavin was the one.

“Some of the news boys discovered us and made us heroes.” He was sardonic. “That’s how we happened to be at the reception when the Imperial was stolen.” His laugh was explosive.

“It doesn’t sound important, does it? A gimcrack stolen. An expensive bauble, covered with precious jewels, but what good was it? Something to look at. It couldn’t be anything important to anyone who’d been through what Thad and Gavin and I had. It wasn’t important with men dying all over the globe.” His voice was vicious. “Killing each other as if they were killing wooden toys. Do you know how a man can go on killing men like himself? Only by emptying his mind, like an idiot. By turning other men to wooden toys.”

His hand flattened on the desk. “A jeweled Easter egg wouldn’t seem important at that time, would it?” He shook his head. “But it was. For a couple of hours it was an international incident.” The line of his mouth was white. “Until it turned up that night. Turned up in Thad’s kit.”

He didn’t seem to remember she was there. “Thad. The sweetest, bravest kid that ever lived.”

She said, “It wasn’t Thad.”

“Of course it wasn’t Thad.” He turned on her. “What would he want with a bunch of jewels? You can’t eat jewels. You can’t buy life with jewels.”

He spoke flatly. “Thad was arrested that night. The next morning he was dead.”

Horror fixed her. She hadn’t known it was done so swiftly. “Without trial?”

His mouth was a sharp blade. “He committed suicide.”

“No!”

“No,” he said quietly. “He’d come back to the living. He’d fought through everything foul to hang on to life. He didn’t snuff it out.” He spoke now as in a vacuum. “His throat was cut. The town was full of men who’d cut a throat for a few pennies.”

She hadn’t wanted to cry for years. Not since they’d told her Thad was dead. She had no tears now, only hurt. Crying to heaven for vengeance. She asked dustily, “And where were you and Gavin while Thad was locked up to die?”

“We didn’t know until he was dead. I went to the American legation. Towner Clay was a member of it. I’d known him slightly in New York. I had to leave it up to him. My orders had come through.”

“And where was Gavin?” The words were stones.

“Gavin had the bad luck to run into an officer of the British Commission that he’d met up with during the Irish Revolution. A black and tan … He had to skip.”

With the Imperial. Bry was innocent. He didn’t know a man like Gavin, a man who didn’t recognize law, not any law. Not even the law of decency. Gavin had held the Imperial over the years until the right moment, until there was a buyer who’d pay on demand. Whatever story he’d concocted to account for possession, Bry in his honesty would believe. But Gavin hadn’t known that Towner Clay was the man who’d wanted the Imperial. When he’d found out, he’d had to get the Imperial back into his hands. Because he was afraid of Towner, the official who’d investigated the theft of the Imperial, who was still seeking proof.