In San Francisco in a bar. Grimes said, "Sol She saw a man with a hat on, coming out of Padgett's room. Fhie! Good!"
Copeland said, "She saw that. We've got that. And the time, seven-thirty or close to. Trouble is, she did not see the man's face. She can't identify."
"Listen," Grimes said, "/'tt get together with the pohce. You get down to Hestia."
"Me?"
"Right. Whatever sheriff is going to have to move on a Bartee to arrest him, may need his hand held."
"Listen, you haven't got liim. You've got six blue petals,
three letters on a license plate, a hat, and a red-haired woman who didn't see his face."
"Well, it piles up," said Grimes cheerfully. "You get down there."
"I'll either fly first thing in the morning or drive tonight. What about you coming along?"
"I am a coward," Grimes said. "I don't want to be anywhere near this kiUer."
"What about Sims?"
"He's too close. Makes me nervous."
"You don't care how close I get?" grumbled Copeland. "I'd better call home."
"Oh, Charles," his young wife wailed, "you are not going off anywhere tonight. We have a bridge date."
"I can fly first thing in the morning, then," he said.
"Oh, why?" she pouted. "Why must you leave me? What's happened?"
He had never told her much. She was sensitive and so young and so excitable. He felt he should keep the seamy side away from her—so young, so fair. If she were to get the notion that he was going near a dangerous killer—Charles Copeland would protect her. "Some sad news to break," he said. "About a death. I must, dear. I'm sorry."
"Anyone I kiiow?" she gasped. Her voice pleaded fxn: it not to be anyone she knew, because death upset her.
Copeland didn't see why she must be told that Emily Padgett had been murdered. So he said truthfully, and yet deceptively, "The name is McCauley, Just don't think about it, dearest. I'U come right home. I' won't leave until-^moming."
CHAPTER 18
Johnny came dragging into the motel at about 8 p.m. "He and Marshall had found no solace in the story of the two pins. Marshall had told Johnny about the man Harris and
the loan. "Nan wasn't to get the money 'til she was twenty-one," Johnny said. "But I suppose her prospects . . ."
"I suppose so, too," Marshall had said.
Neither of them had any doubt that Dick was not only a killer but a fortune-hunter. They had no proof.
Johnny was unlocking the door of his room when Dorothy Padgett materialized suddenly at his side. "I've been waiting for hours!"
"Where did you come from?" he said wearily. "Wait, 'til I try a phone call, can you? Then, I've got things to tell you."
"I have things to ask," said Dorothy ominously. "Do you realize the wedding is tomorrow morning at eleven?"
"Oh no, it's not." Johnny strode into the room, grasped the phone, put in a call for Roderick Grimes again. Dorothy had followed him. She stood with her hands in the pockets of her soft gray ulster, staring at his tired face.
The operator began to singsong up the coast.
Johnny said, "He did it, Dot. Dick Bartee killed Christy. I know it in my bones, as they say. I don't know how I'm going to prove it."
Dorothy said quietly, "Was our Aunt Emily's real name Edith McCauley?"
Johmiy reached out with his right arm and gathered her j close to him. "Now you know," he sighed.
Grimes was saying, "Hello? Hello?"
Johnny began to tell him about the ^^'inery incident, the alibi broken, the loan application. "So now I am convinced," j he woimd up, "and I am going to Nan, and make her listen. ' Where is Copeland? I want him down here."
"He's coming down," Grimes said. "What do you mean, i make her listen? You haven't told her!"
"I am about to tell her ."
"You better," said Grimes sharply, "and quick. If you don't want that girl to marry a lousy murderer. You go ; stop it. Work on the giil. That's all for you to do." 1
"Can you put any pressure on this man, Harris," said Johnny, "and fiiid out what security?"
"Yes, yes," said Grimes impatiently. "Listen, don't worry j what you have to do to make her stop this wedding. Say j you'll kill yourself or something. There's a time for scruples but this isn't it." Grimes hung up.
Johnny turned to Dorothy. Grimes had sounded frantic, i
Johnny's own mind was dark and his heart was heavy. "How did you know who Nan is?"
"How did you?" she countered. "Did Emily tell you?''
"Yes."
Dorothy began to draw away.
"Ah, Dotty, Emily gave up her identity to keep that secret," he said tiredly. "McCauley gave up the acquaintance of liis own and only child. An awful lot was sacrified, for seventeen years, to keep that secret and to keep it from Nan. How could I blurt it out in five minutes? McCauley, himself, asked me to make sure . . ."
"Sme of what?"
"Whether Dick killed Christy. He was willing to believe he might have been mistaken—for Nan's sake."
"For Nan's sake," Dorothy repeated slowly.
"How did you find out?"
"Oh, Blanche said there was an aunt. Then I talked to Kate. Kate says he was crazy about the baby." Dorothy was looking at events past with troubled eyes.
"McCauley? Yes, 'Polly McCauley' he used to call her. Silly pet rhyme."
"Polly McCauley." Dorothy tried to smile because she was beginning to feel like crying.
"McCauley isfi't psycho," Johnny said sadly. "He is saintly. What a comment on the times, that I couldn't tell the difference! He's worried himself sick over tlie whole thing. Knowing he didn't do it. BeHeving Dick did. And yet," Johnny hit one hand with the edge of his other palm, "having the incredible charity to remember 'about being in love, when you are young."
"Oh, poor mani Poor Emilyl Johnny, you ought to hava told us."
1 wasn t sure.
"It wasn't necessary to be sure," she flamed. ''Who elected you the judge? You can't be the judge! Johnny, she cant marry Dick, not knowing all of this. You must not let her break her father's heart all over again in ignorance!" cried Dorothy. "Johnny, that's wrong!"
He said grimly, "Poor Nan."
"Poor Clinton McCauley," said Dorothy, blazing.
Because Dorothy must return Bart's car, they went in it
together. On the way, Johnny told her about the old man having sent money for the baby, and the possibility that Dick had hunted Nan out.
Dorothy was neither surprised nor impressed. "I knew there must be something," was all she said.
"So he went for the money," Johnny said, "from the be-giiming. I think he must have been furious that the old man left him no part of the family business. If we could make Nan see that."
Dorothy shivered. "Johnny, Dick is a monster, isn't he?" "A ring-tailed doozer," Johnny muttered. "And not a drop of proof. The secret alibi was faked. We can't prove why. But I can't imagine why, unless he knew when Christy died. Can you?"
Dorothy said, "Didn't they put McCauley in prison without a lot of real proof, Johnny?"
"Seems so, now. Now, that the cUmate has changed." "Poor Chnton McCauley."
Johnny started to say, "Poor Nan" again, but he did not.
Bart himself opened the door. "Come in," he said cordially.
"I hope you've had dinner? We are all sitting meekly in the
study, because the parlor is not to be contaminated. Seems
it is ready for a wedding. Come on back."
Dorothy slipped off her coat and dropped it on a hall chair. They followed Bart. Neither had done more than make a polite sound in the throat.
In the small squaie room a fire was buj-ning, for other pleasure than its heat. The old lady was still up, stationed in the corner where Johnny had first laid eyes on her. She looked disgruntled. (She had been ordered out of the living room by Blanche and Bart.) Blanche was the hostess here. She greeted them with smiles. "Everything is ready as it can be. The corsages are coming early."
"Mayest hear the merry din," said Dorothy, in a strange voice.
There was a black leather chair to the left of the fire. In it, sat Dick Bartee and, on the black leather footstool, close to his knee, sat Nan. She hardly seemed to notice the newcomers. Her face wore a look of dreaming wonder. 'The guests are met, the feast is set, mayest hear the merry din,' " Bart quoted. " 'Held off, unhand me gray-