CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
"What are you laughing at?" Dundee demanded indignantly, but thesustained ringing of the telephone bell checked Penny Crain's mirthfullaughter. "My Chicago call!... Hello!... Yes, this is Dundee.... Allright, but make it snappy, won't you?... Hello, Mr. Sanderson! How isyour mother?... That's fine! I certainly hope--Yes, the inquest isslated for tomorrow morning, but there's no use your leaving your motherto come back for it.... Yes, sir, one important new development. Can youhear me plainly?... Then hold the line a moment, please!"
With the receiver still at his ear, Dundee fumbled in his pocket for afolded sheet of paper. "No, operator! We're not through! Please keep offthe line.... Listen, chief!" he addressed the district attorney at theother end of the long distance wire. "This is a telegram Captain Strawnreceived this afternoon from the city editor of The New York EveningPress.... Can you hear me?... All right!" and he read slowly, repeatingwhen necessary.
When he had finished reading the telegram, he listened for a longminute, but not with so much concentration that he could not grin atPenny's wide-eyed amazement and joy. "That's what I think, sir!" hecried jubilantly. "I'd like to take the five o'clock train for New Yorkand work on the case from that end till we actually get our teeth intosomething.... Thanks a lot, and my best wishes for your mother!"
"Why didn't you tell me about this 'Swallow-tail Sammy'?" Penny demandedindignantly. "Tormenting me with your silly theory about poor Flora andTracey, when all the time you knew the case was practically solved--"
"I'm afraid I gave the district attorney a slightly false impression,"Dundee interrupted, but there was no remorse in his shining blue eyes."But just so I get to New York--By the way, young woman, what _were_ youlaughing at so heartily? I didn't know I had made an amusing remark whenI asked you if you thought Tracey Miles loved his wife well enough tocommit murder for her."
Penny laughed again, white teeth and brown eyes gleaming. "I waslaughing at something else. It suddenly occurred to me, while you werespinning your foolish theory, how _flattered_ Tracey would have been ifFlora had confessed to him Saturday night that she had killed Nitabecause she was jealous!"
"Which was _not_ my theory, if you remember!" Dundee retorted. "But whyis the idea so amusing? Deep in his heart, I suppose any man wouldreally be a bit flattered if his wife loved him enough to be thatjealous."
"You don't know Tracey Miles as well as I do," Penny assured him, hereyes still mirthful. "He's really a dear, in spite of being a dreadfulbore most of the time, but the truth is, Tracey hasn't an atom of sexappeal, and he _must_ realize it.... Of course we girls have allpampered his poor little ego by pretending to be crazy about him andterribly envious that it was Flora who got him--"
"But Flora Hackett _did_ marry him," Dundee interrupted. "She must havebeen a beautiful girl, and she was certainly rich enough to get any manshe wanted--"
"You would think so, wouldn't you?" Penny agreed, her tongue loosened byrelief. "I was only twelve years old when Flora Hackett made her debut,but a twelve-year-old has big ears and keen eyes. It is true that Florawas beautiful and rich, but--well, there was something queer about her.She was simply crazy to get married, and if a man danced with her asmany as three times in an evening she literally seized upon him andtried to drag him to the altar.... Her eagerness and her intensityrepelled every man who was in the least attracted to her, and I thinkshe was beginning to be frightened to death that she wouldn't getmarried at all, when she happened to meet Tracey, who had just got a jobas salesman in her father's business. She began to rush him--there's noother word for it--and none of the other girls minded a bit, because,without Flora, Tracey would have been the perfect male wallflower. Theybecame engaged almost right away, and were married six months or solater. All the girls freely prophesied that even Tracey, flattered byher passion for him as he so evidently was, would get tired of it, buthe didn't, and there were three marriages in 'the crowd' that June."
"Three?" Dundee repeated absently, for his interest was waning.
"Yes.... Lois Morrow and Peter Dunlap; Johnny Drake and Carolyn Swann;and Tracey and Flora," Penny answered. "Although I was thirteen then andreally too old for the role, I had the fun of being flower girl for Loisand Flora both."
"Do you think Flora was really in love with Tracey?" Dundee askedcuriously.
"Oh, yes! But she'd have been in love with anyone who wanted tomarry her, and the funny thing is that, with the exception of Peterand Lois, they are the happiest married couple I have ever known.... Yousee, Tracey has never got over being flattered that so pretty andpassionate a girl as Flora Hackett wanted _him_!... And that's why Ilaughed!... Tracey, with that deep-rooted sexual inferiority complex ofhis, would have been so flattered if Flora had told him she killed Nitaout of jealousy that he would have forgiven her on the spot. On the otherhand," she went on, "if Flora had told him that Nita had documentaryproofs of some frightful scandal against her, can't you see howviolently Tracey would have reacted against her?... Oh, no! Tracey wouldnot have taken the trouble to murder Sprague, when Sprague popped up formore blackmail!"
"Perhaps he might have, if the scandal dated back to before themarriage," Dundee argued. "Let's suppose Sprague did pop up, and Floraturned him over to Tracey. When Sprague appeared apparently uninvitedlast night, Flora must have been on pins and needles, trying to makeTracey treat him decently and hoping against hope that Tracey wouldsimply pay the scoundrel all the blackmail he was demanding----"
"Which is exactly what Tracey would have done, instead of taking theawful risk of murdering him in his own home," Penny cut in spiritedly."Besides, Tracey wasn't gone from the porch long enough to go outside,signal to Sprague in the trophy room, shoot him when Sprague raised thescreen, and then hide the gun. I told you Tracey was gone only about aminute when he went to see if Sprague's hat and stick were gone from thecloset."
"Did Tracey and Flora both step outside to see their guests into theircars?" Dundee asked suddenly.
"Tracey did," Penny answered. "Flora told us all good night in theliving room, then ran upstairs to see if Betty was still asleep.... Butremember we didn't leave until midnight, and Dr. Price says Sprague waskilled between nine and eleven last night."
"Dr. Price would be the first to grant a leeway of an hour, one way oranother," Dundee told her. "Of course, if Tracey did kill him, he letFlora believe that he had given Sprague the blackmail money he wasdemanding. For it is inconceivable that a woman of Flora Miles'hysterical temperament could have slept--even with two sleepingtablets--knowing that a corpse was in the house."
"Oh, I'm sick of your silly theorizing!" Penny told him with vehementscorn. "Listen here, Bonnie Dundee! You probably laugh at 'woman'sintuition', but take it from me--_you're on the wrong track_!"
"Oh, I'm not so wedded to that particular theory!" Dundee laughed. "Ican spin you exactly six more just as convincing--"
"And I shan't listen! You'd better dash home and pack your bag if youwant to catch the five o'clock train for New York."
"It's already packed and in my office," Dundee assured her lazily. "Gotlots of time.... Hullo! Here's the home edition of _The Evening Sun_,"he interrupted himself, as a small boy, making his rounds of thecourthouse, flung the paper into the office. He reached for it, andread the streamer headline aloud: "ITALIAN GANGSTER SOUGHT IN BRIDGEMURDERS ... I wager a good many heads will lie easier on their pillowstonight."
"Let me see!" Penny commanded, and snatched the paper unceremoniously."Oh! Did you see this?" and she pointed to a boxed story in the middleof the front page. "'Bridge Parties Cancelled'," she read aloud. "'Thesociety editor of _The Evening Sun_ was kept busy at her telephonetoday, receiving notices of cancellations of bridge parties scheduledfor the remainder of the week. Eight frantic hostesses, terrified byHamilton's second murder at bridge----' Oh, that's simply a _crime_! Thenewspapers deliberately work up mob hysteria and then----"
"I'd rather not play bridge for a while myself!" Dundee laughed, as herose and started for his ow
n office. "And don't _you_ dare leave theroom when you become dummy, if you have the nerve to play again!Remember, that gun and silencer are still missing!"
"What do you mean?.... You don't think there'll be more----?"
Dundee became instantly contrite before her terror. "I didn't mean it,honey," he said gently. "I think it is more than likely that the gun isat the bottom of Mirror Lake. But do take care of yourself, and by thatI mean don't work yourself to death.... Any messages for anyone in NewYork?"
Penny's pale face quivered. "If you--happen to run across my father,which of course you won't, tell him that--Mother would like him to comehome."
At intervals during the sixteen-hour run to New York, Penny's falteringwords returned to haunt the district attorney's special investigator,although he would have preferred to devote his entire attention tomapping out the program he intended to follow when he reached the citywhich, he fully believed, had been the scene of the first act of thetragic drama he was bent upon bringing to an equally tragic conclusion.
As soon as he had registered at a hotel near the Pennsylvania Station,and had shaved and breakfasted, he took from his bag a large envelopecontaining the photographs Carraway had made of Penny alive and of Nitadead, both clad in the royal blue velvet dress. In the envelope also wasthe white satin, gold-lettered label which the dress had so proudlyborne: "Pierre Model. Copied by Simonson's. New York City."
Half an hour later he was showing the photographs and the label to awoman buyer, in the French Salon of Simonson's, one of New York's most"exclusive" department stores.
"Can you tell me when the original Pierre model was bought, and whenthis copy was made and sold?" he asked.
The white-haired, smartly dressed buyer accepted the sheaf ofphotographs Bonnie Dundee was offering. "I'll do my best, of course,"she began briskly, then paled and uttered a sharp exclamation as hereyes took in the topmost picture. "This is Juanita Leigh, isn'tit?... But--" she shuddered, "how odd she looks--as if--"
"Yes," Dundee agreed gravely. "She was dead when that picture was taken.Did you know Mrs. Selim?"
"No," the woman breathed, her eyes still bulging with horror. "But I'veseen so many pictures of her in the papers.... To think that it was oneof _our_ dresses she chose for her shroud! But you want to know when thedress was sold to her, don't you?" she asked, brisk again. "I can findout. We keep a record of all our French originals and of the number ofcopies made of each.... Let me think! I've been going to Paris myselffor the firm for the last fifteen years, but I can't remember buyingthis Pierre model.... Oh, of course! I didn't go over during 1917 and1918, on account of the war, you know, but the big Paris designersmanaged to send us a limited number of very good models, and this musthave been one of them. Otherwise, I'd remember buying it.... If you'llexcuse me a moment----"
When she returned about ten minutes later, Miss Thomas brought him apencilled memorandum. "This Pierre model was imported in the summer of1917, several months in advance of the winter season, of course. Onlyfive copies were made--in different colors and materials, naturally,since we make a point of exclusiveness. The royal blue velvet copy wassold to Juanita Leigh in January, 1918. I am sorry I cannot give you theexact day of the month, but our records show the month only. I took theliberty of showing a picture of the dress to the only saleswoman in thedepartment who has been with us that long, but she cannot remember thesale. Twelve years is a long time, you know."
"Indeed it is," Dundee agreed regretfully. "You have been immenselyhelpful, however, Miss Thomas, and I thank you with all my heart."
"If you could just tell _me_--confidentially, of course," Miss Thomaswhispered, "what sort of clue this dress is--"
"I don't know, myself!" the detective admitted. "But," he added tohimself, after he had escaped the buyer's natural curiosity, "I intendto find out!"
Before he could take any further steps along that particular path,however, Dundee had an appointment to keep. Upon arriving at his hotelthat morning he had made two telephone calls. He smiled now as herecalled the surprise and glee of one of his former Yale classmates, nowa discouraged young bond salesman, with whom he had kept in touch.
"You want to borrow my name and my kid sister?" Jimmy Randolph hadchortled. "Hop to it, old sport! But you might tell me what you wantwith such intimate belongings of mine."
"You may not know it," Dundee had retorted, "but young Mr. JamesWadley Randolph, Jr., scion of the famous old Boston family, is goingto visit that equally famous school, Forsyte-on-the-Hudson, to seewhether it is the ideal finishing school for his beloved young sister,Barbara.... She's about fifteen now, isn't she, Jimmy?"
"Going on sixteen, and one of Satan's prize hellions," Jimmy Randolphhad answered. "The family would be eternally grateful if you could getForsyte to take her, but make them promise not to have any more chorusgirls who plan to get murdered, as directors of their amateurtheatricals. Bab would be sure to be mixed up in the mess.... I supposethat's the job you're on, you flat-footed dick, you!"
The second telephone call had secured an appointment at the ForsyteSchool for "Mr. James Wadley Randolph, Jr., of Boston," and Dundee,rather relishing his first need for such professional tactics, relaxedto enjoy the ten-mile drive along the Hudson.
It was a quarter to twelve when his taxi swept up the drive toward thebig grey-stone, turreted building, sedately lonely in the midst of itsvaluable acres.
"Miss Earle says to come to the office," a colored maid told him, whenhe had given his borrowed name, and led him from the vast hall to afairly large room, whose windows looked upon a tennis court, and whosewalls were almost covered with group pictures of graduating classes,photographs of amateur theatrical performances, and portrait studies ofalumnae.
A very thin, sharp-faced woman of about forty, with red-rimmed eyeswhich peered nearsightedly, rose from an old-fashioned roll-top desk andcame forward to greet him.
"I am Miss Earle, Miss Pendleton's private secretary," she told him, ashe shook her bony, clammy hand. "I should have told you when youtelephoned this morning that both Miss Pendleton and Miss Macon sailedfor Europe yesterday. We always have our commencement the last Tuesdayin May, you know.... But if there is anything I can do for you----"
"I should like to know something at first hand of the history of theschool, its--well, prestige, special advantages, curriculum, and so on,"Dundee began deprecatingly.
"I should certainly be able to answer any question you may wish to ask,Mr. Randolph, since I have been with the school for fifteen years," MissEarle interrupted tartly.
"Then Forsyte must take younger pupils than I had been led to believe,Miss Earle," Dundee said, with his most winning smile.
"I was never a pupil here," the secretary corrected him, but she thawedvisibly. "Of course, I was a mere child when I finished business school,but I _have_ been here fifteen years--fifteen years of watching richsociety girls dawdle away four or five years, just because they've gotto be _somewhere_ before they make their debut.... But I mustn't talklike that, or I'll give you a wrong impression, Mr. Randolph. Of itskind, it is really a very fine school--very exclusive; riding masters,dancing masters, a golf 'pro' and our own golf course, native teachersfor French, Italian, German and Spanish.... Oh, the _school_ is allright, and will probably not suffer any loss of prestige on account ofthat dreadful murder out in the Middle West----"
"Murder?" Dundee echoed, as if he had no idea what she was talkingabout.
"Haven't you been reading the papers?" Miss Earle rallied him, with acoquettish smile. "But I don't suppose Boston bothers with such sordidthings," she added, her thin-lipped mouth tightening. "Miss Pendletonwas all cut up about it, because Mrs. Selim, or Juanita Leigh, as shewas known on Broadway, had directed our Easter play the last two years,and the reporters simply hounded us the first two days after she wasmurdered out in Hamilton, where a number of our richest girls have comefrom----"
"By Jove!" Dundee exclaimed. "Was the Selim woman connected with thisschool, really?... I only read the headline
s--never pay much attentionto murders in the papers--"
"I wish," Miss Earle interrupted tartly, fresh tears reddening her eyes,"that people wouldn't persist in referring to her as 'that Selimwoman'.... When I think how sweet and friendly she was, how--how_kind_!" and to Dundee's surprise she choked on tears before she couldgo on: "Of course I know it's dreadful for the school, and I ought notto talk about it, when you've come to see about putting your sister intothe school, but Nita was _my friend_, and it simply makes me _wild_----"
"You admired and liked her very much?" Dundee asked, forgetting his rolefor the moment.
"Yes, I did! And Miss Pendleton liked her, too. And you can imagine howclever and popular she was, when a wonderful woman like Mrs. PeterDunlap, who was Lois Morrow when she was in school here, admired her somuch she took her to Hamilton with her to direct plays for a LittleTheater.... Why, I never met anyone I was so congenial with!" thesecretary went on passionately. "The girls here snub me and make sillyjokes about me behind my back and call me nicknames, but Nita was justas sweet to me as she was to anyone--even Miss Pendleton herself!"
"Were you with her much?" Dundee dared ask.
"_With her much?..._ I should say I was!" she asserted proudly. "I havea room here, live here the year 'round, and both years Nita shared myroom, so she would not have to make the long trip back to New York everynight during the last week of rehearsals. We used to talk until two orthree o'clock in the morning--Say!" she broke off, in sudden terror."You aren't a reporter, are you?"
"A reporter? Good Lord, no!" Dundee denied, in all sincerity. Then hemade up his mind swiftly. This woman hated the school and all connectedwith it, had grown more and more sour and envy-bitten every year of thefifteen she had served here--and she liked Nita Leigh Selim better thananyone she had ever met. The opportunity for direct questioning was toomiraculous to be ignored. So he changed his tone suddenly and said veryearnestly: "No, I am not a reporter, Miss Earle. But I am _not_ JamesWadley Randolph, Jr. I am James F. Dundee, special investigator attachedto the office of the district attorney of Hamilton, and I want you tohelp me solve the mystery of Mrs. Selim's murder."
It took nearly ten precious minutes for Dundee to nurse the terrifiedbut obviously thrilled woman over the shock, and to get her into themood to answer him freely.
"But I shan't and _can't_ tell you anything bad about Nita!" sheprotested vehemently, wiping her red-rimmed eyes. "The papers are allsaying now that she got $10,000 for double-crossing some awful racketeernamed 'Swallow-tail Sammy', but I _know_ she didn't get the money thatway! She was too good----"
"From Nita's confidences to you, do you have any idea how she did getthe money?" Dundee asked.
Miss Earle shook her head. "I don't know, but she got it honorably. Iknow that!... Maybe she found her husband and made him pay alimony----"
Dundee controlled his excitement with difficulty. "Did she tell you allabout her marriage and divorce?"
Again Miss Earle shook her head. "The only time she ever spoke of it waslast year--the first year she directed our play, you know. I asked herwhy she didn't get married again, and she said she couldn't--she wasn'tdivorced, because she didn't know where her husband was, and it was tooexpensive to go to Reno.... Of course she may have found him orsomething--and got a divorce some time this last year, and this moneyshe got was a settlement----"
"She must have got a divorce, since she was planning to be married againto a young man in Hamilton," Dundee assured her soothingly.
"The way everybody puts the very worst interpretation on everything,when a person gets murdered!" Miss Earle stormed. "If poor Nita hadbelonged to a rich family, like the girls here, they would have spent amillion if necessary to hush up any scandal on her!... I've seen itdone!" she added, darkly and venomously.