Detective Fiction Weekly. Vol. 105, No. 5, October 10, 1936
- Автор: Вулрич Корнелл, Tinsley Theodore
- Год: 1936
- Язык: английский
- Год: The Red Star News Company
- Жанр: Другие детективы
Электронная книга - «Detective Fiction Weekly. Vol. 105, No. 5, October 10, 1936». Краткое содержание книги:
Her questioning glance tore free of her husband’s and she relaxed with an effort, turning to Ellen:
“It all must have frightened you out of your wits, you poor child,” she murmured. “You must get off your coat and those uncomfortable wet things before dinner.” She turned, pressing a bell. “Some of my clothes—” she suggested.
But Ellen interrupted. “Oh, I’ve a bag in my car. Mr. Paget is bringing it up—”
The door at the rear opened and a tall gaunt woman entered. She came silently on large, strong feet, waiting patiently, eyes on her mistress’s face.
“Dilke,” Irene Kessler said, “show Miss Conway to the west room and prepare a bath for her. She will be having dinner with us. Paget is bringing in her things. Mrs. Dilke will take care of you, Miss Conway.”
Dilke bowed stiffly and without a word started upstairs. Ellen thanked her hostess and followed the woman. She held her eyes on Mrs. Dilke’s feet. They moved just ahead of her, with the slow, methodical precision of machines. She wore a neat, black uniform and a little white apron and cap. The black skirt rustled faintly as she moved. There was an indefinable, harsh efficiency about her.
The upper hall was in darkness but Dilke pressed a light and led the way silently to the far end where she opened a door, snapped a button and stood aside for Ellen to enter. Crossing over, she touched a match to a fire that was already laid, opened the door, gesturing the bath.
Ellen nodded brightly, jerked off her hat, running fingers through her damp hair. Her glance returned to the woman, noting curiously the long, gaunt face, tanned the color of mahogany. Light glistened on her iron-gray hair, the high polished cheek bones, the stubborn jaw. Dilke stood, hands folded across her flat stomach, regarding Ellen unemotionally, and said:
“I’ll fetch your bag when it comes. Is there anything else I can get for you?”
Ellen tried her most winning smile. “Nothing at all, thank you, Mrs. Dilke. You don’t know how I appreciate being allowed to stop here.”
Dilke’s eyes flared wide in a startled look. For a long moment she stared at Ellen, then with an audible grunt, she marched to the door and went out.
Slowly Ellen crossed to the window, drummed at by the monotonous rain. She had a sudden unaccountable feeling of tension, of actual menace about the big, silent house. “Nerves,” she muttered irritably, then shivered at sound of the droning wind in the dark, tossing treetops outside.
That had been a close call in the lane. A bit nearer, she might have stopped a stray bullet herself. And the man Tavelli, the expected guest. Was his the gruesome white-faced body tumbled so unceremoniously into the car or the furtive, active figure that had weathered the fight unscathed and driven ruthlessly away in the rain? And what was at the bottom of it all? Like a whirling pinwheel, thoughts drummed at her brain — the green sedan — the shots in the night — her wild flight — her nervous hosts — and through it all the savage motif of a dog baying defiance at the storm.
The lights of a car burst sweeping up the drive. It whirled to a stop before the steps — a small, mud-spattered machine — her coupé.
She turned away, catching sight of her face in the dresser mirror.
It showed drawn and white. She said through suddenly trembling lips, “Scared of the dark, you little fool. Buck up!”
Minutes later, Dilke was rapping on her door.
Chapter II
Death Is a Joke
Downstairs, Ralph Kessler faced a grim-lipped, mud-bespattered Paget. “The kid’s Story’s jake,” Paget muttered glumly. “I could see where the big bus had slid into the ditch — footprints messin’ up the mud and considerable blood splashed round.”
Kessler, leaning against the mantel, growled deep in his throat. The woman Irene sat tensely forward in a deep chair, slender fingertips tapping at the arms.
“Tavelli?” she spoke hoarsely. “You think he was sapped? Who could have—?”
Kessler laughed harshly, shrugging thick shoulders. “Catch that big wop napping? Nix. My guess is he was on the business end of the gat. Some hitch hiker picked his big can for a plum and got ironed for his pains.”
Irene relaxed, sinking back. Paget surged forward. “If that’s the setup, where’s Tavelli now?” he gritted.
“Be your age,” snapped Kessler, fishing for a smoke with steady fingers. “Can you picture Tavelli leaving a stiff parked in our front yard?” He tapped his pocket. “I got a grand here says Tavelli shows up within the hour. Any takers?”
Paget wet his lips, eyes glittering. “Yessing that fairy tale, what about the girl?”
“We’ve answered that,” Kessler said. “She’s sticking here tonight.”
“My gosh!” Paget snapped. “We don’t want any strangers around with Tavelli coming. We’ve worked long enough jockeying him into this spot and now this mealy-mouthed girl—”
Irene Kessler lifted her gorgeous head. “Don’t be stuffy, Vance. Ralph’s right. Turn her loose and by the time she reached Conningsby, the stickup would have grown to a second St. Mihiel with her a Joan of Arc. Want the State Troopers on our doorstep?”
“Just simple country folks, that’s us,” added Kessler, speaking on smoke, “with nothing to worry about. How about her car? Look okay?”
Paget nodded gloomily. “Oh, she’s what she claims to be, I guess. Went through a brief case I found there. Lots of dope from the Board of Education, blanks and what-not.”
“Well, then why the temp’?” Kessler said with a shrug. “The kid looks fagged. She’ll turn in and we’ll handle Tavelli in the living room.”
“Providing he isn’t a corpse in a culvert somewhere,” Paget said sourly.
“Just a little ray of sunshine,” Kessler growled, tossing butts into the fire.
“Skip it,” came savagely from Paget. “Everything set?”
The eyes of the two men met and held in a glance of bleak unfriendliness. Kessler nodded. “Everything’s set. I hope Tavelli shakes it up. I’m starved.”
“Aren’t you changing?” his wife asked languidly, eyes dark with distaste on his thick bungling figure. “You surely aren’t going to meet Tavelli in that rig, Ralph?”
Kessler glanced over himself grumpily. “Tavelli ain’t comin’ to see how I dress,” he growled. “Might slick up some at that,” he agreed reluctantly and stalked off toward the stairs.
He mounted heavily, humming tunelessly. When the last echo of his ponderous steps had died away, Mrs. Kessler rose, came to the mantel and leaned beside Paget. They stood motionless for a moment, then her head lifted, her Shadowed eyes met his. Faint color tinged her white cheeks.
She said in a low, breathy whisper, “Darling! It will soon be over.”
His eyes took fire at the light in hers. Impulsively his arm went round her. They stood close for a moment, then she broke free, studying his oddly from pansy brown eyes.
“No chances, Vance,” she said under her breath. “Too much at stake. You don’t think there’s a possibility of Tavelli letting us down?”
He shook his head. “No. He’s as anxious as we are to get things settled. He’s been cadgy but, well, he’s a cautious bird. We had to convince him we were on the up and up.”
“Odd,” she mused, “that none of us know him. He’s been a name to us for so long, something to conjure with, and all, but none of us has ever seen him.”
“Few people have, Irene. That’s his role. He sticks a recluse in that Boul’ Mich’ mansion. His yes-man makes the contacts. He takes few chances.”