The Inspector scowled at Merlini. “Well, what do you think of that?”
“It’s like a lot of things that go on around here,” Merlini answered. “It makes me anxious to meet brother Floyd.”
“You’ll get the chance, or I’ll know why not,” Gavigan growled. “Malloy, get Arnold in here.”
His eye rested on the body. “No, not here. One of the other rooms.”
“Floyd’s,” Merlini suggested. “Across the hall.”
The Inspector nodded and started in that direction. “I don’t know how many blasted mystery men were running about on this island last night,” he said over his shoulder, “but I’ll bet Floyd was one of them.” He stopped short just within the room as he saw the wall decorations, grunted a bit incredulously, and then, as we followed him in, began duplicating Merlini’s snooping actions of the night before. He was looking in the wardrobe at what the well-dressed man should wear when Grimm, to whom Malloy had relayed the order, brought Arnold in.
Arnold’s face still had that pale look and now seemed drawn and nervous. He carried an unlighted pipe in his hands; and his fingers fussed with it absently, tamping the tobacco down in the bowl. He was wearing brown checked slacks and a brown pullover sweater.
Gavigan indicated a chair.
Arnold shook his head.
Gavigan asked, “You saw your sister last at lunch time yesterday?”
“That’s right.”
“Where were you all afternoon?”
“In the basement. I have a workshop down there. I went there directly after lunch and didn’t come up until just before dinner. I met Watrous and Lamb as they came in from the boathouse, arriving from town.”
“That sign hung on your sister’s door then?”
“Yes.”
“And after dinner?”
“Basement again. Until just before the séance began. I came up for that. Rather got the impression Rappourt didn’t want me in on it. So I made it a point to sit in.”
“Time?”
“Shortly before 9:30. Sigrid, Rappourt, and Lamb were there. I didn’t see the Colonel. Sigrid told me then that you”—he looked at Merlini—“were coming and that Watrous was going to sneak you in. I thought the fireworks should be interesting. Ira arrived at quarter to ten; and then, though Rappourt seemed considerably upset because there was no sign of Linda — I rather got the impression the hocus-pocus was largely for her benefit — she decided to start anyway.”
“Hocus-pocus? Rappourt’s a fraud?”
Arnold raised an eyebrow.
“Naturally.”
“Prove it?”
“That’s the rub. All I know is that the dead don’t come back. It’s a contradiction in terms. Anyone who says they do is either a liar or a damn fool. And Rappourt’s no fool. She’s too clever by half. I don’t understand those conjuring tricks of hers, but they’re not supernatural — there ain’t no sech animal.”
“Your sister thought so.”
“Yes.” He smiled cynically. “Lamb, Brooke, and Watrous go for it, too. In the damned-fool category, I should say. And Floyd also, for that matter. Somehow I never expected him to go psychic on us. Sigrid and myself seem to be the only sane ones in the booby hatch. Linda’s had a loose rocker on that subject all along.”
“She was your half sister and Floyd’s?” Gavigan asked.
“Yes. Daniel Skelton — that’s father — married again after Mother died. Sister of Sigrid’s father. Daniel was an opinionated old so-and-so. Family trait. Floyd and I didn’t get along with him too well — pigheaded ourselves, I guess. He felt sorry for little Linda with her mental quirks, so much so that he left her the whole damned Skelton fortune — except for a few thousand apiece to Floyd and myself. Pin money. You’d think a couple of million would do for three, but the old man said that we were boys, and could look out for ourselves. Linda was a girl, and ill, and couldn’t. I’ve always suspected one of her mediums of talking him into that. He was a pushover for spooks, too.”
“Not Rappourt, eh?”
“No. That was just before he died, in ’21 during that table-tipping — ouija craze. But I think Rappourt’s up to something similar.”
“What does that mean?”
“That Rappourt’s been trying to get Linda to change her will so that a nice big slice is diverted to some spiritualistic cause. In Rappourt’s name probably. Usual racket.”
“As far as you know, that hasn’t happened?”
“I haven’t seen Linda’s lawyer out here. And I’ve kept my eyes open.”
Merlini, who now sat on the bed, idly manipulating a deck of cards, put in, “And what does happen to the inheritance?”
Arnold’s laugh had no humor in it. “That’s a good one, too. But you can’t say she was murdered for her money. Floyd and I don’t see any of it. Whole thing goes, lock, stock, and barrel to Sigrid. Linda’s practical jokes always were crude.”
“Sigrid’s not a possibility, then?”
Arnold frowned at Merlini in a startled way. “Don’t be silly,” he said. “She wouldn’t murder anyone, and you know it. Only person that really got along with Linda, anyway.”
“Floyd knows about the will provisions, too?”
“Yes. Of course.”
“Sigrid?”
Arnold said emphatically, “No. I’m sure she hadn’t the slightest idea! You see, I don’t think Linda ever really intended to leave the will that way. If she had, she wouldn’t have told us. She was just being nasty. Result of her phobia. She was eaten up with jealousy because Floyd and I could go where we liked and she couldn’t. Gail will tell you that that’s a common agoraphobic symptom. Human nature gets a bit curdled under those conditions. Sorry if I sound a bit rough on her, but she was no fun to live with.”
“Why did you, then?”
“She had the money. As long as we hung around and acted like good little ‘Yes men’ she’d dole out some of it.”
Gavigan said quietly, “Can you suggest other motives?”
“Other motives?”
“Yes. You and Floyd didn’t like her much and Sigrid gets the money. Those are motives.”
“But you’re not serious?” he asked a bit shakily. “I thought it was fairly obvious that whoever killed her couldn’t have known about her phobia. No one that did would have faked a suicide up — up there where you found her.”
Gavigan didn’t comment on that. He spoke quickly and loudly, trying, I think, to break up the silence that threatened to fall on us, before Arnold should become aware of it.
“There wouldn’t be a motive in this treasure hunt would there? Eight million dollars is quite a bit to be lying around loose, waiting for the first finder.”
Arnold smiled. “It’s hardly doing that, Inspector. It’s been there over 150 years and no secret about it. But that’s hardly a motive. Linda was thinking about underwriting the salvage. Why kill the goose that’s about to lay the golden eggs? No, I don’t think so. There must have been someone on this island yesterday who didn’t belong here. You aren’t forgetting the man in the motorboat, are you?”
“No,” Gavigan said, “I’m not. She was going to put up the cash for Brooke’s apparatus. That it?”
“Yes.”
“And just how did this Hussar business start?”
“Floyd,” Arnold said. “His pet theory. He was in the Navy during ’17 and ’18. Submarine service. He did some diving, though not a lot. He was too heavy, or something. But, with his interest in treasure lore, that particular subject has a fascination. Anyway, he knows a good bit about it from actual experience and a lot more from research. He’s been fooling around with an echo-sounding device, and he found a hulk on the river bottom that he thinks is the Hussar.”