The So Blue Marble (11 page)

    Griselda drew him over to the couch. “Dr. Gigland, Inspector Tobin, Sergeant Moore. They are investigating Mr. Grain’s death, Gig. They don’t think it was suicide.”

    Gig blinked, “No? But what?”

    Tobin remembered. “You were here that night. Friday night. Notice anything peculiar?”

    Griselda went for a cup for Gig. If they could but tell how peculiar it was. But they couldn’t. Not now.

    His mild voice was saying, “I don’t remember anything very strange.” He was sweet She didn’t care why he was masquerading. He was sweet and normal.

    There was no reason why one street noise should rise above the others through the open window. But it did. A newsboy’s shout, “Extra! Extra! Man dead in Madison National Bank-” The room was silent.

    The cup and saucer slid from her fingers, crashed. She looked down at the splinters, said simply, “Oh.”

    Bette rushed in. “What a shame! I’ll get it, Miss.”

    Griselda said, “Oh,” again, and stood motionless.

    Tobin was in the bedroom without asking, dialing headquarters. Griselda went back to the couch. Her voice sounded queer to her own ears when he returned. “What?”

    “The Madison National watchman murdered. That’s your brother-in-law’s bank, isn’t it?”

    She answered, “Arthur is a vice-president.”

    “Nothing missing-so far as they know-haven’t checked much yet of course. Didn’t discover it till nine. It’s in my district. We’ll come back another time, Miss Satterlee.” He and Moore were gone before he finished speaking.

    She sank. Gig asked so quietly Bette could not hear, “You knew about this?”

    She nodded tiredly. She pushed at her hair. “Oh, Lord, Gig. I’m supposed to lunch and dress Nesta today. And I can’t. I just can’t. Call for me. Tell her anything.” She closed her eyes, didn’t think while he was in at the phone.

    When he returned, he said, “She isn’t in, hasn’t been in since yesterday.”

    “Did she leave a message?”

    “No. I left word for her to call, that you couldn’t make it.”

    “Thank you.” She smiled up at him and he smiled back.

    He said, “Poor Griselda. Better go back to bed. I’ll look in on you later.”

    She returned to the bedroom.

    “Bette, would you be an angel and stay here while I sleep? Guard the door. Don’t let anyone or anything disturb me.”

    Bette would. Griselda removed the phone from its cradle. She climbed back into bed and she slept.

    

    

    It was three o’clock when she woke; not enough sleep but better. Bette was in the living room, nodding over the paper.

    Griselda said, “Thank you.” She put a folded bill in the woman’s hand. “Now go have a party. Did anyone come?”

    “No-one. Thank you, Miss. But there’s two wires there, Miss, that came.”

    She took them. Both were signed David. The first was that he had phoned to no avail and he wished to see her, would she meet him for dinner, for cocktails? The second was a follow-up. She crumpled them into the basket.

    She waited for Bette to leave, chained herself in, showered. She remembered to replace the phone while she was dressing. It rang but she ignored it, ignored the insistent continuance. Dressed, she dialed Academy 9-6254, asked for Mrs. Stepney.

    Ann’s voice was querulous. “Where have you been, Griselda? I’ve called and called. Have you heard about Arthur?”

    Panic filled her again. “What about him?” she cried.

    “The Bank. Poor Kerrigan murdered in cold blood.”

    Griselda said, “But Arthur…”

    “He’s simply overwhelmed,” Ann spoke pathetically. “All of us are. I’ve been flat on my back all day.”

    Griselda made a face at the receiver. Then she listened.

    “And Arthur’s been trying to get you all day. The police want to see you.”

    She whispered, “The police? Me?” They couldn’t! They couldn’t! And yet see what they had known from poor Grain’s body.

    “Yes.” Ann went on and on. “They’ve been checking and nothing seems to have been touched except your deposit box. They wonder if anything is missing.”

    Griselda’s relief was shattering. Her voice sounded too loud. “How strange, Ann! I want to hear all about it. May I come up?”

    “If you only would,” Ann sighed. “I need some solace, I’ll call Arthur that you are on the way. There’s no reason for you to go down to that hideous bank. The police can just talk to you here.”

    Griselda agreed and discontinued the conversation. The phone rang again while she took her black satin bag and gloves, touched her lips redder, threw her black furs about her. She could face Tobin now. At least she looked normal.

    Still ignoring the phone she opened the door, thankful for the empty hallway. Opening the elevator was a hurdle but she leapt it, was grateful for its emptiness, and again for no one in the downstairs foyer. She walked to Madison, hailed an uptown cab, gave the address. Only then was she safe for the moment from the twins.

    Ann was on her scarlet and cream chaise longue, languorously lovely in cream lace. Her hand manipulated an enormous chiffon square of scarlet, damp with eau de cologne. She cried, “Griselda! Never have I had such a day! Never! Are you going dancing later?”

    Griselda laid off her furs and bonnet. “No. I just dressed for moral support. I was feeling wretched.”

    “It’s horrible. But you don’t know. And after divine yesterday-the cocktail party really was amusing, don’t you think? And afterwards we had dinner at Morocco with those adorable twins.”

    Griselda’s eyes were wide. She was thoughtful. “Did they return to the party?” She explained, “They left before Gig and I, you know.”

    Ann nodded. “We met them there at nine.”

    Nine. They went from the bank.

    “They had the most delightful dinner ordered. A special champagne.”

    To food and wine.

    Ann’s eyes were animated. “And how they can dance. I’ve never been able to rhumba before, but With David!” She laughed, a woman adored, remembering.

    To flirtation, to music and laughter. And a man died for nothing.

    “Missy, of course, behaved abominably. Griselda, you wouldn’t believe! Eating like a little pig and glowering at everyone except Jasper Coldwater. He and that Nesta were there, too, I forgot to mention and she simply leaning all over Danny and Arthur, too, though I must say David saw through her. And then Missy simply sprawled on Jasper.”

    Griselda jumped a little as Olga opened the door.

    “Mr. Stepney is here, Mrs. Stepney, and another gentleman-a man.” The second girl in her precise uniform didn’t seem quite certain of the other man. “They asked for you and Miss Satterlee.”

    Ann said, “Yes, Olga.” She smoothed her hair, painted her lips darker, and used a large, cerise, frothy powder puff. She laid away the cream lace hostess gown for one of pale green brocade, silver sandals. She poured eau de cologne on a cream chiffon square, examined her face again, and said, “Let’s go in, Griselda.”

    Griselda didn’t glance at the mirror. She followed.

    It was Tobin with Arthur. Olga had a right to be puzzled, but his hat was off in this living room and he looked presentable. Arthur introduced. Ann smiled, held out her hand, gracious as if it were a social call. Griselda’s smile was less real than Ann’s but she could say, gaily enough, “We meet again, Inspector.”

    Arthur spoke. “I’ve asked for drinks. Tobin just reminded me in the cab that we were classmates at Princeton.”

    Tobin nodded. “I remember wearing blond curls and pink satin in a Triangle chorus while Mr. Stepney sang a masculine lead.”

    It was all charming, before-dinner chat. Tobin in the yellow quilted chair, Olga passing Scotch and soda, but Moore was probably behind that screen, under that sofa, remembering every word, every nuance.

    Ann was languid. “You’ll pardon my introducing shop, Inspector, but I’m simply weary to know. What have you found out about that poor man?”

    He answered her but he wasn’t talking to her. Griselda’s nails teethed into her hand. He said, “We’ve found out quite a bit, thanks to your husband’s”-Arthur looked conceitedly modest-”splendid co-operation. We’ve spent the day with our equipment in that lower corridor.” He broke off to smoke. “It is amazing, Mrs. Stepney, although a cliche, what modern science can discover. For instance, there were no fingerprints, no tangible evidence of anyone having entered the bank. By that I mean what you might term ‘clues.’ Nothing left behind. Yet Jim Ellison, Dr. Ellison, director of our criminological laboratories, has told us that at least one man and two women were in the bank last night. Perhaps two men. His guess would be two but findings indicate positively only one. Dr. Dawes, our medical examiner, has told us that Kerrigan was killed by some sharp, pointed weapon which was immediately withdrawn. Ellison has also found that there was no forcible entry into the bank. The front door was opened by a key, as was the vault, and as was Miss Satterlee’s box.” He turned to her at the last words but he wasn’t looking at her; he was studying her. She allowed surprise and interest to mask her face. “Would you know why anyone should search your safety box?”

    She said no. She tried to reach him beyond words. “Unless they thought there was something there which wasn’t there.” She didn’t know if she succeeded.

    Olga said, “You are wanted on the telephone, Miss Satterlee.”

    Her fingers closed on the arms of the chair. It wouldn’t do to have the maid take the message, not what the message might be. She closed her eyes, recalled swiftly Tobin’s watchfulness. She went to the foyer phone.

    David’s voice, “Griselda, I’ve been trying to reach you all day.”

    “Really?” She must be careful what she said.

    “Didn’t you get the messages?”

    “Yes. Just before I went out. But I was busy tonight.” Tobin was coming into the foyer. He opened the coat closet beside the phone table, fumbled in his overcoat pocket. The door masked him from the living room.

    David had gone on talking. “It is important that I see you.”

    Tobin must believe it a light friend on the wire. She made her voice trivial. “I can’t tonight. I haven’t a moment.”

    Tobin mouthed, “Hold it.”

    She didn’t hear what David was saying.

    Tobin was repeating without sound, “Hold it.”

    She said, “Just a moment, please.”

    Ann and Arthur couldn’t possibly hear. He spoke softly. “If that’s a Montefierrow make an appointment for later.” It was a command. His eyes held hers. He was the law; obey him.

    She mouthed in return, “Where?”

    “A public place.” He found his cigarettes, returned to the living room.

    She said into the phone, “Sorry, David. You were saying?”

    He repeated, “I want to see you tonight. It is important.”

    She hesitated, “It would have to be quite late.”

    “That doesn’t matter.”

    She decided, “Eleven o’clock. Morocco.”

    Now he hesitated. “I wanted to talk. There’s so many interruptions there.”

    She spoke pointedly, “I’d ask you up but the same is true of my place. Monday night usually isn’t very exciting anywhere.”

    He agreed, “Morocco at eleven.”

    It seemed the safest place. The Montefierrows were known there. The photographers caught them there. Nothing could happen.

    Ann’s eyes were velvet. “Was that David?”

    She nodded.

    Her sister’s voice was limp, like the cream chiffon in her fingers. “Why didn’t you ask him to come up?”

    When Ann was velvet and cream there was danger. Griselda was a little sick. Ann couldn’t really be interested in David. She stammered, “I didn’t think of it.”

    Ann said nothing. She talked to Tobin about the marvelous detective work of the New York police.

    Olga said, “Dinner is served.”

    Arthur was hearty again. “I asked Toby to join us, Ann.” He apologized proudly, “You can tell the day I’ve had, that I forgot to mention it before now.

    

    

    ”In the cab going down Park, Tobin asked, “Why did you drop those dishes this morning?”

    Griselda didn’t know what to say. “Why-I-I don’t know-I’ve been nervous lately…”

    He stated, “And that extra made you more nervous.”

    Held by a red light at Sixty-fifth Street, he asked, “It wouldn’t have anything to do with a blue marble, would it?”

    Her eyes widened until they stung. She asked him, “What blue marble?”

    He was looking out the window and at Fifty-ninth he answered, “You’re mixed up in a dangerous game, Miss Cameron or Mrs. Satterlee or whatever you call yourself.”

    She said; “You may call me Griselda. You’re a friend of Con’s.”

    He grinned for an instant. “O.K., Griselda. I don’t know if you know how dangerous it is or not. I have an idea that you have an inkling. But if you’re smart, you’ll get out fast.”

    She said simply, under her breath, “If I could, I would,” but she was afraid as she said it. She added, “It’s not going to do me any good turning up with you.”

    He pulled an old silver watch from his pocket. “We’re getting there early. You couldn’t help yourself. I insisted on bringing you down from Stepney’s.”

    She repeated, “It still isn’t going to do me much good.”

    It was ten before the hour. They sat against the zigzag blue of a wall under a shiny ice palm tree. There weren’t many at the tables. The orchestra was meandering through a waltz.

    The second hand touched eleven as David came in the doorway, immaculate in white tie. Attendants bowed in his direction. The maitre d’hotel beamed. David saw her but his eyes didn’t change. He came through the narrow apertures to her. Tobin was on his feet.