“Gadding about.”
Bill flung the towel away and pulled on a fresh shirt. “Oh,” he said. He seemed vaguely disappointed. “Decent of you to come back at all. I know this mess must be cutting into your own plans.”
“You don’t understand,” sighed Ellery. “I went to New York on a little inquiry for you.”
“El! What?”
Ellery reached over and picked up a thick sheaf of mimeographed papers. They constituted the official transcript of the day’s testimony. “Chiefly nothing. I had an idea, but it didn’t pan out. Mind if I go through this transcript? I want to know what’s happened in my absence.”
Bill nodded gloomily, finished dressing, and left; Ellery was already intent on the transcript. He took the elevator up to the seventh floor and knocked on the door numbered 745. It was opened by Andrea Gimball.
They were both embarrassed, and for a moment Bill’s complexion matched the pallor of the girl’s skin. She was dressed in a simple frock with a high neck, caught at the throat by a pearl clasp; the effect was severe, and for an unguarded instant it flashed through Bill’s mind that Andrea was suffering. There were alarming circles about her blue eyes and she looked peaked and ill. Her slender form drooped against the jamb. “Bill Angell,” she said, with a catch in her throat. “This is a — a surprise. Won’t you come in?”
“Come in, Bill, come in,” yelled Ella Amity’s voice from within. “Make this a real party!”
Bill frowned, but he stepped into the room. It was a sitting-room filled with fresh flowers, and Ella Amity sprawled in the most capacious chair with a glass at her elbow and a cigaret between her fingers. Tall Burke Jones glowered at him from a window-ledge, his trussed arm jutting forward like a danger-signal.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Bill, stopping short. “I’ll come around some other time, Miss Gimball.”
“What’s this,” said Jones, “a social call? I thought you fellows stayed on the other side of the fence.”
“My business,” said Bill stiffly, “is with Miss Gimball.”
“You’re with friends,” said Andrea with a wan smile. “Please sit down, Mr. Angell. I haven’t had the opportunity of... well, it’s been a little awkward, hasn’t it?”
“Hasn’t it?” said Bill foolishly, sitting down and wondering why he had done so. “What are you doing here, Ella?”
“Little Ella’s on the trail. Seeing how the other half lives. Get a story, maybe. Miss Gimball has been sweet, but Mr. Jones thinks I’m a spy, so it’s just perfect.” The newspaperwoman chuckled.
Jones rose from the ledge with an impatient movement of his muscular body. “Why the devil don’t you people let us alone?” he growled. “Bad enough we’ve got to stay down here in this filthy hole.”
Andrea glanced at her hands. “I wonder... Burke, do you mind?”
“Mind? Mind? Why should I mind?” He strode to an inner door, jerked it open, and slammed it behind him.
“Naughty, naughty,” murmured Ella. “Boy-friend has a temper. That lad will need a heap of training, darling. In fact, I think he’s a heel.” She rose lazily, drained her glass, gave them both a bewitching smile, and drifted out.
Bill and Andrea sat in silence for a moment. The silence became oppressive. They did not look at each other. Then Bill cleared his throat and said, “Don’t mind Ella, Miss Gimball. She means well. You know how these newspaper people are...”
“I don’t mind, really.” Andrea kept studying her hands. “You wanted—?”
Bill rose and jammed his hands into his pockets. “I know this is rotten for both of us,” he said, scowling. “Jones is right. We are on opposite sides of the fence. I shouldn’t be here at all.”
“Why not?” murmured Andrea. Her hands strayed to her hair.
“Well... It’s not proper. I shouldn’t permit—”
“Yes?” She looked at him then, squarely.
Bill kicked a chair. “All right, I’ll say it. Personal considerations. Can’t be locked up for telling the truth. I suppose I like you. Damned fool to... I didn’t mean that. I mean that my sister is fighting for her life. I’ve got to use any weapon that comes to hand. As a matter of fact, that’s just what I’ll probably be forced to do.”
She went a little pale, and moistened her lips before she spoke. “Please tell me. There’s something on your mind. It isn’t—”
Bill sat down again and boldly took one of her hands. “Listen to me, Andrea. I came here tonight against all my instincts and training because I — well, I didn’t want you to be sore at me. After.” He drew a long breath. “Andrea, I may have to put you on the stand.”
She snatched her hand away as if it burned. “Bill! You wouldn’t!”
He passed his hands over his eyes. “The situation may demand it. Please try to understand my position. It’s Lucy’s attorney speaking now, not plain Bill Angell. Pollinger’s not far from through. On the basis of what he’s already shown, he hasn’t a case. But before he rests, he may pull something which will completely change the complexion of things. In that event, I’ll be forced to go through with the defense.”
“But what has that to do with me?” she whispered. He did not see, as he doggedly studied the rug, the terror in her eyes.
“The defense here, as in so many murder cases, is negative. It must consist in confusing the issue. It must try to put into the minds of the jury as many doubts as possible. Now, there’s no question in my mind that Pollinger knows perfectly well you visited the scene of the crime simply from having traced the Cadillac. I don’t know whether he’s talked to you about it or not.” He paused, but she did not answer. “Naturally, he wouldn’t put you on the stand. It could only hurt the State’s case.” He tried to take her hand again, but could not. “But don’t you see that if it hurts the State’s case, it helps the defense?”
She rose, and Bill, looking at her, knew that she meant to be haughty, imperious, outraged. But she was not. She bit her lip and felt for the chair. “Bill... Please don’t. Please. I–I’m not used to begging. But I must beg now. I don’t want to go on the stand. I can’t go on the stand. I mustn’t!” Her voice rose to a wail.
For the first time a cold shower drenched Bill’s brain, leaving it crisp and clean and shining. He got to his feet and they stood face to face. “Andrea,” he said in a low voice, “why mustn’t you?”
“Oh, I can’t explain! I—” She bit her lip again.
“You mean you’re afraid of the notoriety?”
“Oh, no, no, Bill! Not that. Do you think I care—”
“Andrea.” His voice hardened. “You’re in possession of some fact of importance!”
“No, no, I’m not. I’m not.”
“You must be. I see it all now. You’ve been playing me for a sucker. Playing on my sympathies.” In his anger he glared at her, and seized her shoulders; she shrank back and buried her face in her hands. “All that good-wishes bunk! This will teach me a lesson. Stay in your own back-alley. You thought you’d put one over on me, get me off my guard, get me to keep quiet — while my own sister is on trial for her life! Well, you’re mistaken. I won’t be fooled again. My dear Miss Gimball, you’re going on that stand, and God help you if there’s something you know that you’re withholding which would free my sister!”
She was sobbing now, and he took his hands from her shoulders as if contact with her was unbearable. “You don’t understand,” she said in a muffled voice. “Oh, Bill, how can you say such things? I–I wasn’t acting. I can’t... free your sister. What I know—”