“Then Thompson was Miller,” said Quade. “And he brought with him eighty thousand dollars.”
“Eighty grand,” Bonniwell mused. “That’s a pretty good haul. Why with eighty grand I could—” He broke off, but his eyes remained speculative. After a moment he jerked his head toward Heinie and Monk. “Boys, let’s start on a treasure hunt. Eighty grand makes a pretty big package and it’s somewhere in this shebang.”
The trio started eagerly up the stairs to the bedrooms. Quade watched them go. They would make an intensive search of everyone’s room. If the money was upstairs they would certainly find it.
Judy’s mother, Mrs. Vickers, broke the silence that fell on the group when Bonniwell and his men went off to make the search. “How long is this going to go on? Isn’t there some way we can get aid?”
“If we had some sleeping powders or knockout drops we might put in their food—” suggested Faraday dryly.
“There’s a medicine chest in the bathroom,” said Mrs. Egan. “I guess it’s got some chloroform or ether in it”
“Marty,” said Judy Vickers. “Stop joking. This is a serious matter.”
Mrs. Vickers looked coldly at Martin Faraday, then turned to Frederick Cummings. Her face softened. “Have you any sensible ideas, Frederick?”
Quade got the picture then. Mother Vickers favored Frederick Cummings, but the daughter preferred Faraday. It gave Quade an idea. Mrs. Vickers probably wasn’t as well off as she tried to give the impression. Cummings was wealthy — or Mrs. Vickers thought he was. Faraday? Probably a clerk or some sort who had saved for a year or more to have this outing. Faraday would like a large sum of money. It would remove parental objection. Then, too, perhaps Cummings wasn’t as well off as he pretended to be. He too, could use a large sum of money and he seemed to have been better acquainted with the dead accountant than any of the others.
But then the others would all do considerable for eighty thousand dollars. Mrs. Egan’s entire property was worth only a fraction of that sum. She was a formidable person, had made her own way for years.
McClosky? Quade couldn’t overlook the cook and handy man’s original suspicious reactions to the announcement of Thompson’s death. Danny Dale? A twenty-year-old intellectual, he was the equal of anyone here, excepting Quade.
An hour later the three convicts returned to the livingroom and Bonniwell’s calmness was gone. He was scowling and Quade knew that the frustration of not finding the money had made the killer a dangerous man.
“We’re goin’ to search down here, now,” he snarled. “But I’m warnin’ you all if we don’t find it, I’m going to ask some questions. One of you knows where the dough is stashed and he’s gonna tell me.”
They ripped the furniture, tapped the walls and sounded the floors while Mrs. Egan shrieked dismay. They pried in every nook and corner, but they didn’t find the eighty thousand dollars. When Bonniwell finally called off the search it was nearly dark outside and he had been compelled to turn on the electric lights. There was a portable electric light plant on Eagle’s Crag.
Bonniwell postponed the inquisition, however. He was too hungry. He ordered McClosky to cook food. “And you’re eatin’ first from everything,” he warned. “So go easy on the rat poison.”
The three killers wolfed their food. Monk Moon relieved Jake Somers then and the giant came in and ate. The guests of Eagle’s Crag ate sandwiches that McClosky prepared. Bonniwell herded them all together then.
“Now, folks, let’s find that money. One of you here knows where it is. I’ll begin with you, smart guy.” He looked at Oliver Quade.
“I came up here exactly fifteen minutes before you did,” said Quade. “Do you think I’d have had time to locate Thompson’s money, hide it and kill him, besides trying to sell books to these folks for almost all of that time?”
“He did show up just before we found Mr. Thompson,” said Judy Vickers. “He passed Marty and myself as we were walking down the road.”
“And how long was I trying to sell you that marvelous set of encyclopedias, Mrs. Egan?” Quade asked.
Mrs. Egan sighed. “Too long, but actually I’d say ten or fifteen minutes.”
Bonniwell growled and questioned the three women briefly. Mrs. Vickers was haughty and indignant, Judy frank and guileless. Mrs. Egan was truculent. Finally Bonniwell threw up his hand. “You women get upstairs. Go to bed. I don’t want you around.”
They left and the killer turned savagely to the men. “Now, then, one of you killed that gink and swiped his money. You, Cummings, who the hell are you and why are you here?”
Cummings flushed. “I’m a publisher of trade journals in New York City. I’m here on a vacation. Mrs. Vickers invited me to come here.”
“She’s trying to marry you off to her daughter. Yeah, I got that.”
Martin Faraday snickered. Cummings looked angrily at him. “You don’t think her mother would let her marry a poor schoolteacher, do you?”
“Perhaps Judy has a mind of her own,” retorted Faraday.
“And she’ll use it,” said Cummings, “when she discovers that her mother has already borrowed more than five thousand dollars from me.”
Faraday paled with surprise.
“Ah, love!” Danny said sneeringly.
“Bub!” snapped Bonniwell. “Get to bed.”
Danny Dale glared but when Bonniwell gestured to Big Jake he got up hastily and almost ran up the stairs.
“Now, listen,” said Bonniwell. “You, Faraday, and you, Cummings, you’re both stuck on the girl and I figure one of you two know where the dough is. I don’t give a damn if you knocked off a man. I’m not a cop. But I do want that dough and one of you is going to tell me where it is. Otherwise….” He left the sentence unfinished but looked toward the stairs the women had gone up.
A chill ran up Oliver Quade’s spine. Bonniwell had the Indian sign on the two men. He was quite capable of harming Judy Vickers if he thought by it he could force either Faraday or Cummings to reveal the hiding place of the money. “I’ll give you until tomorrow morning to make up your minds,” Bonniwell continued. “I need sleep myself. Last night was a busy night.”
Bonniwell first sent Heinie out to stand guard with Monk Moon, then he and Somers followed the others upstairs. There was a series of bedrooms on both sides of the long hallway. Quade found one that was vacant and after locking the door, undressed and went to bed. He fell asleep at once.
The sun shining on his face awakened Oliver Quade. He yawned and, getting out of bed, walked to the window. Far in the distance he could see a tiny huddle of buildings, a little village. It was more than a dozen miles from Eagle’s Crag though and was visible only when the sun was strongest and there was no haze in the air, as this morning.
The events of the day before crowded into Quade’s mind. He shook his head and went into the bathroom, and as he looked into the mirror over the washbowl the Idea struck him. He acted immediately.
Lifting up a thick water glass he smashed it into the mirror, then gingerly caught a large section of the mirror that fell out. He carried it into the bedroom and found a piece of cardboard.
He went to the window then and held the mirror, face into the sun, letting the rays flash on it. He held it steady, then covered it with the cardboard. Quickly he removed it, then covered it again. He was about to repeat the operation when there was a knock on the door. Quade laid down the piece of mirror and cardboard and, walking across the room, unlocked the door.
Danny Dale, already fully dressed, was in the doorway. “Hello,” he said. “Just get up?”
Quade nodded. “Come in, Danny.”
Danny came in and Quade locked the door again. Quade went back to the window and picked up the mirror and cardboard. He operated it a couple of times and Danny Dale exclaimed, “A heliograph!”