Somewhere in the House (13 page)

“No; after tea I went to my bedroom in the east wing.”

“Your mother took Garth up to his nursery; when?”

“Before six, I think. She wasn't gone very long. He had his supper before six, always.”

“We'll never know what she saw up on that top floor, if she saw anything. Mr. Clayborn's room was there, the room Garth has now; but he says he didn't go up. He stayed in the library, going over estate papers. Garth doesn't even remember being taken to a day nursery—doesn't remember a thing.”

Mrs. Leeder asked: “You already knew about the day nursery?”

“Of course,” said Nordhall, surprised. “Miss Clayborn has given me her statement.”

Mrs. Leeder leaned her head against the back of her chair. She was beginning to be exhausted by this formidable policeman.

“Well, it sounds funny to me,” said Nordhall. “Any way you look at it it's funny. You all assumed that Fitch was going, nobody went to find her and see if she was getting off all right, nobody wondered why she hadn't said good-bye to anyone.”

“It was like Aggie to behave in that way—slip off. And we had our own affairs to think of.”

“Only she didn't slip off; she was up there dead in the locked room all the time. She was never listed as missing; if her luggage was left somewhere unclaimed, without any means of identification in it, it would be opened after a lapse of time and auctioned off. Her identifying papers were in her handbag, and that went with the murderer.”

Mrs. Leeder said: “I suppose it would be silly of me to remind you—”

“Go right ahead, I'll be glad to be reminded of anything.”

“Roberts was so busy that day, and the back door may have been unlocked while he was in the kitchen. Aggie Fitch may have known all kinds of queer people; she may have told them all about us and our plans, and all about the house. There's no way of knowing that they hadn't been into the cupboards in the studio. There's no way of knowing that they hadn't seen the lamp wire.”

“Did they hide this Cribb box yesterday? Or to-day?”

As she did not answer, he rose. She got up too.

“Let me remind
you
of something,” he said gravely. “We may never solve this murder. You'll all be clearing out of this house pretty soon, and some of you may be living together somewhere else. Don't forget that one of the circle doesn't stick at homicide, and may be a case for the psychiatrists. Mrs. Leeder, don't hold out on me.”

She said: “I haven't.”

“All right for now, then.”

When she had gone, Nordhall slowly let out a breath. He said: “Unless she knows something about Leeder, she doesn't know a thing. She'd throw the rest of them out of the window if she could save him that way.”

Gamadge had picked up the Cribb solander and was turning it in his hands. He said: “I think she would.”

Sergeant Crowley looked in. “Some people are here, name of Nagle.”

“Where did you put them?”

“In the parlour.”

“Wait till I get upstairs, then bring 'em up. No use telling my story twice again.”

N
ORDHALL WRAPPED THE
head of Nonie tightly up in its newspapers and stood looking around the library. He said: “Don't suppose the Clayborns want this souvenir, but neither do I.” He went over to a black-oak cabinet, opened it, and stuffed the parcel in on top of some old atlases. Then he came back, picked up his papers and the cardboard box, and said: “Let's go.”

The big hall was empty, silent, and dimly lighted, the light filtering through coloured glass globes upheld by a bronze figure on the newel post. As Nordhall and Gamadge reached the foot of the stairs, a face with the reddish-purple glow of the lamps on it leaned over the balustrade just at the turn of the landing.

“Lieutenant Nordhall…”

“Yes?”

Garth Clayborn came farther down the flight, his hand on the rail. He said: “Would there be any objection if I got out of this place for a breath of air?”

Nordhall stood looking up at him. He said: “None that I know of, if you can keep clear of the Press. I don't want you talking to newspapermen and getting your picture taken. Not yet.”

“I can keep clear of them. It's the best thing I do,” said Garth, laughing, “keeping clear of people I don't want to see. I've had plenty of practice.”

“Bet you have.” Nordhall studied him. “But these fellers—once they get you backed up against a wall, you talk before you know you're talking.”

“I'll go out the back way.”

Nordhall asked: “Did you think
they
hadn't found the back way? We have two men out there, just to start with.”

“I'll get by.”

“Would you just as soon wait until a little later, Mr. Clayborn? I have some evidence to put before the family, and you're a member of it and one of the heirs of the estate. You ought to hear what I have to say.”

“All right.” Garth's furtive, amused face showed curiosity. “What kind of evidence?”

“You'll know right away if you'll go up to the sitting-room with the rest of them.” Nordhall waited a moment, and then asked: “Where did you think of going to?”

“I thought I'd have a walk and a bite of supper somewhere. I wouldn't look up any of my friends or go to my club. I wouldn't drop in anywhere I'm known.” Garth added, his narrow face serious: “This thing gets on your nerves.”

“It would on mine, in your place.”

“First I didn't quite take it in; too pulpy,” said Garth, coming down the stairs until he stood beside Nordhall. “Now I'm beginning to see how it'll look in the papers, with those pictures they take. I'd like to get out of this morgue for an hour or so and forget about it. After all, it does happen to be my birthday.”

“It's hard on you two young people, mighty tough. Does Miss Elena Clayborn want to go out too?”

“She's worrying about her father. But I—nobody in the place cares anything about me, except perhaps Uncle Van; and he only cares because I'm the only Clayborn that can hand down the name. So why should I bother about them?”

“No reason. Too bad you were home at all; you might as well be somewhere else,” said Nordhall, “for all you can tell us about the Fitch killing.” He added: “Or about anything else.”

Garth smiled. “I could tell you one thing.”

“You could, could you?”

“Yes. I could tell you—”

“Here?” Nordhall glanced about him.

“Safest place in the house. Do you think anything I say can be heard in the room down here, or anywhere else in this cathedral?”

“Probably not.”

“Absolutely not.” But Garth lowered his voice. “I could tell you why Leeder came back.”

Nordhall, interested, looked at him. “You mean ten years ago? The first time he came back here after the Sillerman scandal?”

“I didn't put the date in my line-a-day book, and I don't know that he hadn't been back before. He could have prowled around any night, any time; this is a quiet house to move around in,” said Garth, smiling, “especially if you use the alley and the back door.”

Nordhall, smiling benevolently in return, said he supposed it was.

“But whenever Leeder did come back, he came back to spy.”

“That so?”

“I was a kid at school; my room was the same as it is now—next to that death cell on the top floor. How would you like to remember that, if you were me?”

“Tough.”

“I'd come hustling upstairs after school, or I'd be in my room and happen to look out through a crack in the door.”

Nordhall said, amused: “When I look out through a crack in a door I don't happen to; I do it on purpose.”

“I mean I'd get a glimpse before the door was entirely open,” said Garth. “There Leeder would be, more than once or twice, wandering around or feeling of the sealed door with his thumb.”

“Feeling of it?”

“Feeling around the moulding, as if he wanted to be sure it really was sealed. He wasn't here when they did it, you know; he'd been thrown out by my great-grandmother.”

“Who'd he hear of it from?”

“Harriet, of course,” said Garth impatiently. “I didn't see him at it before the time he came back openly. If he did ever come back before, I was probably asleep in bed. Once or twice, after I'd seen him up there, I made it my business to find out that he was supposed to have left the house. Wouldn't it make you sick,” inquired Garth with sudden low intensity, “to think he's getting a sixth of the estate?”

“By accident, too,” said Nordhall, shaking his head gloomily.

“Of course by accident. I don't suppose he absolutely knew Great-grandmother Clayborn would have the stroke. Harriet's going to leave all her money to him, or she will unless she changes her mind now. But I can tell you one thing—whatever he gets won't last long. If there's a horse running he'll have something on the race. You can't win at that game,” said Garth, with feeling. “Nix. Certainly not these days, and not any days if you don't stop betting.”

“And who wants to stop?” asked Nordhall.

Garth looked at him shrewdly for a moment, looked at Gamadge, and said: “Perhaps you'll think I've let that business—” he glanced upward into the shadows—“let it get on my nerves—”

“I don't see a sign of it,” Nordhall assured him.

“I mean you may think so when I've told you what I did a little while ago. It just occurred to me that if any Clayborn died intestate, the less Clayborns there were the more money there'd be to divide up. And Harriet might not change her will even now. So, rather than let Rowe Leeder cut in on anything more—anything of mine—half an hour ago I made
my
will. Just a temporary one, you know, but you bet it's legal, I had Allsop and Roberts witness it.”

“Well,” said Nordhall, eyeing him, “it's always a good thing to make a will.”

“So I thought. Allsop will keep mine until I get a chance to make a more formal one, and he'll spread the news. Perhaps Uncle Van and Aunt Cynthia will take the hint; as it is now, they'll just have left their property back to the family. Seward's, of course, goes to Ena; and I'm not sure…” Garth paused, and then said: “I'm not sure he'd worry anyway.”

Nordhall digested this. Then he added: “Would it be all right for me to inquire who you're leaving your money to, Mr. Clayborn?”

At this Garth snickered aloud. “You wouldn't guess.”

“Ought I to?”

“It's rich. You ought to have seen Allsop's face. They can't say a word—none of them.”

“Why not?”

“Because I left all I died possessed of to the Clayborn Quartette.”

At this Nordhall had to smile too. He said: “That was nice of you.”

“It's only temporary, you know.”

“Well, I'm much obliged to you for the information. Now will you just come up and listen to what I have to tell the family? Not that you seem to need telling much. And the Nagles—they'll want to see all the Clayborns,” said Nordhall, with a ghostly smile. “I certainly would in their place. I think I'd insist on it.”

“O Lord, are they here? The family says they're the perishing limit.”

“They think they're the family too.”

“And this gives them a look-in, does it?”

“They think so. Now just go on up, Mr. Clayborn; I'll be with you in a minute.”

Garth mounted to the second floor. Nordhall looked after him, and then reflectively at Gamadge.

“Oh, yes,” said Gamadge. “He's up to something.”

“Putting it on Leeder, with a side bet on Seward?”

“I didn't mean that. It's this airing he wants to take; didn't you see the look in his eye?”

“You're dreaming. Who'd want
him
as an accessory after the fact?”

“Mrs. Leeder says he's a snooper.”

“Well, follow him up if you want to,” said Nordhall. “A private car will tail him better than a police car; but I think you're dreaming. He's just got some girl.”

Gamadge stood where he was until Nordhall had disappeared; then he went slowly along to the door of the back passage, opened it, went through, and closed it behind him. He picked up the telephone and dialled.

He waited for a reply with both elbows on the shelf, tenseness in his attitude, and a frown upon his brow that altered his face astonishingly; for it was not entirely a frown of concentration.

Malcolm answered. “For Heaven's sake,” he complained, “do you know it's nearly four hours that I've been sitting at home waiting to hear from you?”

“That's nothing. You're a detective. The police have wished a job on us—not very urgently, I must confess—but I'm taking them at their word.”

“The police? What on earth—”

“Tell you when I see you, of course not now. Where's your car?”

“In the garage.”

“Go and get it, or mine, whichever is handiest. Drive right up here to where I am, but approach by the rear.”

“The rear?”

“Next street; there's an alley. The young gentleman who's a great favourite of yours—the one who thinks you're a little black man, the one whose name begins with a G—”

“Go on and make it perfectly clear, won't you? I might not quite understand whom you mean.”

“In a short time he'll come out of the alley and go somewhere—doubtless by cab. Follow him, and don't lose him until he comes home. Then telephone instantly to me.”

“The dinner hour approaches.”

“We'll have something to eat somewhere afterwards.”

“Suppose he stays out all night?”

“Then you can stay out all night.”

“Or telephone you if I can?”

“If you can without losing him.”