The House without the Door (19 page)

Gamadge shook his head at Belden. "Mrs. Smiles doesn't want you to do that," he said. "She's very much obliged to us for finding the thing in time."

"Time?" Belden's smile was threatening.

"Before the police found it. Please sit down, Mr. Belden; we must not waste minutes indulging in recrimination; the law may possibly be on its way already."

Belden slowly sank back upon his chair. Gamadge asked again: "How do you know this is Locke's pistol, Miss Prady?"

"It's just like his."

"I think it probably
is
his. If you'll resume your seat, we'll continue the investigation."

Miss Prady backed until her reverse progress was stopped by the edge of her chair. She sat down on it, her eyes still fixed on the gun. Gamadge took out his handkerchief, wound it round his fingers, and examined that weapon thoroughly.

"One cartridge gone from the clip," he said. "Did Mr. Locke have a license to carry this, I wonder?"

"No, he never bothered. It was his father's," said Miss Prady.

"It wasn't heard from during the Gregson trial, three years ago."

"Benny hid it under some dirt in the tool shed."

Miss Warren turned her head stiffly, and looked at Miss Prady. She looked away again, resuming the quiet pose, that was yet so full of tension, which she had maintained throughout the evening. She might lack humanity, thought Gamadge, but she did not lack courage.

"He hid it in the tool shed when Gregson died?" Seeing affirmation in Miss Prady's face, he went on: "Because he didn't want it confiscated; I see. Quite natural. Well, it's now become an even more compromising piece of property. What shall we do with it?"

Miss Prady said hoarsely: "
Let
the police find it! Tell them where it was!"

"I'm afraid that wouldn't do at all." Gamadge smiled at her in a conspiratorial manner. "Wouldn't do at all."

"Why not? Why not?"

"Well, the police have to look at a thing of this kind from all points of view. It's their job, you know, and they're not fools at it by any means. They'll assume first, of course, that Miss Warren hid the pistol in her room; in which case Mrs. Smiles and Mr. Belden may be involved as possible confederates."

Mrs. Smiles got a little handkerchief out of her mesh bag and applied it with gentle and agitated pats to her forehead, her cheeks, and her mouth.

"But their secondary assumption will be as follows:" continued Gamadge. "That somebody planted it there. Now, who could have planted it there? Why," and his eyes wandered from guest to guest, "every single person in this room except Schenck and me. Mr Schenck had no opportunity to go up to the second floor, nor did I; neither before dinner nor at any time. As for my wife, why should
she
plant it merely to unearth it again? Perhaps I should also except my friend Colby, though. Did Blatchford announce you when you came, Colby?"

Colby's red face seemed to swell. "What is all this? Why shouldn't he have announced me?"

"I don't know. Did he?"

Belden suddenly broke into raucous laughter. "He didn't. After he let Colby in, Blatchford came into this room; Mrs. Smiles called him. Colby joined us here after a short interval— unannounced."

"Why the—why should I plant a gun on Miss Warren? I don't even know where her room is." Colby was fuming.

"Any room would do. I'm not accusing anybody of anything, I'm simply trying to explain to Miss Prady why we mustn't be too impulsive in the matter of this gun. I know where it was, she knows where it was; there is no deception."

Belden asked in a rallying tone: "And how did you know where it was, if I may inquire?"

"I didn't know; I guessed."

Mrs. Smiles at last found her voice. She demanded shrilly: "Why didn't you tell me in private, then? You should have told me in private."

"That wouldn't have done at all, Mrs. Smiles. You needed independent witnesses, and that's what Schenck and I are; we can't be accused of favouritism or conspiracy."

"I needed witnesses to prove that that thing was in Cecilia's room?" Mrs. Smiles squeaked in her indignation.

"You did indeed. But we have no time; at any moment we may have unwelcome visitors. They may not arrive until morning, I hope very much that they won't; but on the other hand, they may arrive tonight. Somebody has tipped them off. I couldn't for the life of me imagine what other piece of evidence existed which might interest them, so I assumed Locke's pistol."

Cecilia Warren stirred in her chair. Mrs. Smiles looked dumbly at Gamadge. Belden half-rose.

"I'll get it out of here," he said. Gamadge was on his feet and between him and the table before he could take a step.

"Oh, Lord, Belden, don't
you
touch it!" He spoke irritably. "We must keep the record clear from now on; don't you see that? The servants and the apartment house staff must be able to swear that to the best of their knowledge none of us left early—nobody left earlier than anybody else; and all of you must be able to swear that you don't know where it is." He looked down at the pistol, exasperated. "It's the dickens of a thing to hide, too; it won't come to pieces and go down a drain, it mustn't be picked up in the street, and as for concealing it on the premises, that's impossible; you've no idea how a trained man searches a place. If it's in the apartment they'll find it."

Mrs. Smiles' double chin suddenly quivered. "Mr. Gamadge," she asked, "what shall we do?"

"Nothing. Can somebody oblige me with a ball of string?"

Cecilia Warren rose and went to a marquetry cabinet. She returned with a ball of thin green twine, suitable for tying up Christmas packages. She handed it to Gamadge without meeting his eyes.

"Couldn't be better," he said cheerfully. "Now, if you'll excuse me for a minute or two—I suppose I shan't run into Blatchford in the hall?"

Mrs. Smiles shook her head. "They're all out at the back. He won't come now unless I ring."

"Good. Miss Prady, I hold myself responsible for this pistol." He picked it up in the handkerchief and stood before her, holding it out for her inspection. "Can you trust me to produce it again, when and if its appearance seems necessary?"

She looked about her, and back at him. "They're all scared to death of you, so I guess I needn't be."

"You guess correctly." He slid the wrapped pistol into a tail pocket, crossed the room, and opened the lobby doors. He went into the lobby, climbed the winding staircase, and chose the middle door of a row in the upper hall. He entered a large, luxurious bedroom, lighted by a dim pink lamp on a night table; the table stood beside a vast painted bed, canopied, and raised on a shallow platform—authentic Louis Seize. There were two tall windows, draped with brocade curtains.

Gamadge parted the curtains of the right-hand window, lifted the sash, and leaned out. Four stories below him he saw the dark well of the stone balcony, and its row of little trees in big pots. No one was walking along this quiet street, there was no traffic, and his was the only car parked at the kerb near the awning.

Scowling at the light on the Park Avenue corner, he fastened the free end of the green twine to the trigger guard of the pistol; then he leaned out and lowered the pistol gently down. When it had sunk out of sight into the darkness of the balcony he emptied his pockets of loose change, and picked out the nickels and pennies; these he rolled tightly in his handkerchief, and then stuffed the roll into the middle of the ball of string. He leaned far out again, holding his breath; the ball also fell straight into the darkness within the balcony railing. He withdrew his head and shoulders, closed the window, and readjusted the curtain.

When he returned to the drawing-room he found the party scattered. Mrs. Smiles alone had remained in her chair; she had got a bit of lace and a steel crochet needle out of her bag, and was working on it. Cecilia Warren stood alone at the other end of the hearth, an elbow on the mantelpiece. Miss Prady was wandering in and out of the writing-room, and Belden, at the grand piano in a corner, was picking out bits of
The Three-Cornered Hat
; his great hands spread powerfully over the keyboard. Schenck had found a pack of cards, and was showing Clara a trick; Colby stood watching them—his face expressed deep dissatisfaction. He stopped Gamadge to say: "Look here—I want an explanation."

"We must have no secrets from the rest of the party; that was understood." Gamadge proceeded across the room, went to Mrs. Smiles, and lifted his empty hands. He said: "I don't think they'll find it."

Mrs. Smiles looked up at him, grave and wary. "Why not, young man? Why shouldn't they?"

"Because they don't trust the source of their information enough to make them feel they can tear the building to pieces. I don't like to break up the party, Mrs. Smiles, but I really think it would be best for all of us to go—together."

As Clara rose, Belden got up from the piano bench. He slouched over to her. "I think perhaps I owe you an apology Mrs. Gamadge," he said.

"I don't blame you for being angry."

"It's obvious the man wouldn't have made you look for the thing without good reason. I'm apologizing to your wife, Gamadge; let me do the same by you and your friend."

Gamadge said: "No apology is required. I suggest that we all go down in the elevator together; we must avoid the faintest suggestion of conspiracy." His eyes wandered to Miss Prady.

Belden said: "I'm staying—all night, if necessary. You don't think I'm going to leave those two women to deal with cops? If"—his smile widened—"there really are going to be cops."

"If they're alone there'll be no trouble with the cops," said Gamadge. "If you're here, there may be. A couple of men will probably arrive, armed with a warrant; they'll civilly ask permission to search, they'll find nothing, and they'll go away. If you hang about trying to give them orders they'll stay longer, and they'll ask more questions; and it will seem very queer to them to find a dinner guest still on the premises."

Mrs. Smiles looked up from her lacework. "You'd better go, Paul."

Cecilia Warren rang, Blatchford appeared, and Clara and Miss Prady went upstairs. Gamadge joined Miss Warren at the door.

"Have you the key to the Gregson car?" he asked.

"Yes."

"May I borrow it?"

She went into the writing-room, and came back with the key. As she handed it to him, Gamadge looked steadily down into her pale face. "If you have a duplicate," he said, "don't use it."

She said: "I don't know what you mean. I don't know what any of this means."

"Don't you?"

Her eyes fell. She was about to turn away, but he said again: "Don't take that car out, Miss Warren."

She moved away as if she had not heard him.

Six persons crowded into the elevator, and the night-man thought it was rather a quiet going-home party. Of course Mr. Belden cracked a few jokes with a red-headed man whom the night-man had never seen before; he had never seen any of them before except Mr. Belden. He thought it was a funny kind of a mixture, but trust old lady Smiles to round up all sorts.

Colby's last attempt to buttonhole Gamadge was foiled on the kerb. Gamadge had offered Miss Prady a lift, and was getting her into the back of the car with Clara; Schenck awaited him on the front seat.

"Gamadge," insisted Colby, "you owe me some sort of an explanation, and I want it tonight. You can't expect me to let things go like this, without asking a question."

"Not now, old man, if you don't mind." Gamadge got into the driver's seat. "Miss Prady's gone to pieces; I must take her home."

Miss Prady, in fact, was in floods of tears, and Clara had taken her hand. Colby drew back, embarrassed. "Well—the first thing in the morning, then."

Gamadge made no reply, but started the car.

"It must have been awful for you, Miss Prady, simply awful," said Clara. "I don't wonder you're upset."

"I hate that Belden," sobbed Miss Prady. "He was laughing and sneering because I tried to be cheerful and not spoil the dinner party."

"You were splendid," said Clara.

"That Belden seemed to think I was a joke."

"It's just his manner."

"He'd better not joke about that pistol."

"I think he was dreadfully frightened when he saw it."

"I nearly fainted. Was it really in Miss Warren's room?"

"Yes." Clara looked troubled. "I hated doing that, Miss Prady, it was awful; but my husband wanted me to, and he wouldn't have asked me to do it if it hadn't been necessary."

"I thought you were fine. They were all scared half to death." Miss Prady dried her tears. "I wish Benny could have seen them. That Warren girl—she was actually scared stiff, and it's the first time I realized what that meant. I've often said it, but I never saw it happen before. Stiff. She could hardly walk. I wish Benny had been there."

"Well, but, Miss Prady; if he'd been there none of it would have happened."

"You know what I mean."

A red light stopped the car. Gamadge said, over his shoulder: "You think they're all in it, Miss Prady."

"I don't suppose that Mr. Colby is in it. That Belden looks so cruel."

"He was certainly very nervous—perhaps for the first time in his life."

Schenck remarked: "He wasn't any more nervous than I was. You're enough to make a rhinoceros nervous. What was that gun-play for, anyhow? You didn't get a thing out of it that I could see."

"I got a lot out of it; I got what I wanted out of it."

"I think it was wonderful," said Miss Prady.

"He's a wonderful feller," said Schenck, "but this time I don't care for his technique."

"Did you ever hear a saying about desperate remedies?" inquired Gamadge, driving on. "And have you ever been to the city of Utica?"

"Utica? Of course I have. I've been everywhere."

"Can you tell me anything about the night trains going there?"

Schenck turned his head to fix Gamadge with a startled eye. "You're going to Utica?"

"To Omega. I have to go to Utica first, I'm afraid."

"There's a train from the Grand Central to Utica at about midnight. It gets there around eight a.m." Schenck still gazed at Gamadge's profile. After a moment he asked: "You're going up there
tonight
?"