Fox shook his head. “I’m not saying. For the present. But I assure you I know. Also I assure you that if you keep on being chivalrous you’ll only make it worse.”
Diego made a harsh noise. “Chivalrous?”
“Well, whatever you want to call it. Miss Tusar didn’t steal that vase, even if she told you she did. Nor did she try to kill you with that booby trap. But there’s not a chance in the world of keeping her out of this. I’m being frank with you, Diego. The police haven’t caught up with me, partly because I haven’t been frank with them—”
“You can be. Go ahead. Did I ask—”
“No. You were and are the Spanish cavalier. I’m not sneering at you, I’m not even reminding you that the lady doesn’t deserve it, and anyway, you know as well as I do. I’m just telling you that it’s useless, and it will go a lot easier, even for her, if you tell me about it now and let me handle it. Not to mention the danger of your being charged as an accessory — though I suppose that wouldn’t weigh with you. A more important danger is that she will be charged as an accessory if it isn’t handled right. Do you want that?”
Diego growled.
Fox leaned forward at him. “Use your head, Diego. Damn it, look at it straight. How did you happen to get hold of the vase? Did she give it to you for safekeeping?”
Diego said quietly, “I told you I’d have to go on being rude.”
“And I tell you I know the murderer. And you’re shielding him.”
“No.”
“But you are!”
“No. I don’t shield a murderer. I stole that vase from Pomfret and you saw it in my closet and someone came here and took it. That’s all.” Diego spread his palms up, a gesture he had rarely used since the accident to his fingers. “Let me alone. Won’t you? Go ahead and tell the police. I won’t mind that, but you — a good friend like you — it’s very difficult and painful—”
“You’d better not tell them you set that nitrobenzene trap for me. They’ve found out who bought it.”
“Thank you. That would have been foolish anyway.”
“And that’s all? You’re not curious about who bought it? Who tried to kill you?”
“I’m not curious about anything. Anything in the world.”
Fox looked at him. He had come with the intention of spending hours, all day if necessary, in an effort to get Diego to talk, but that stony face with the bloodshot eyes told him that it would be a day wasted.
“Okay,” he said, and picked up his hat. “Before I go there’s something else. About a year ago somebody broke one of Pomfret’s vases. A Ming five-color. This has nothing to do with the one you — uh — stole. This one was broken. Do you know anything about it?”
Diego squinted at him. “Know anything? I didn’t break it, if that’s what you mean.”
“Do you know who did?”
“No.”
“Had you heard about it?”
Diego nodded. “I was there when it happened.”
“When was that?”
“As you said, about a year ago. More than a year. Mrs. Pomfret had a musical in honor of a pianist named Glissinger, and there was a mob, as usual.”
“Who discovered that the vase was broken?”
“I don’t know. I had left. I didn’t hear about it until a week later. Pomfret was still inconsolable. He wasn’t going to buy any more pottery.”
“Was it known who had broken it?”
“I don’t remember, I wasn’t especially interested, but I think not. If it was, I’ve forgotten or I wasn’t told.”
“Do you know where the vase had been kept? Which room?”
“No.” Diego was scowling. “If this is some kind of a roundabout—”
“It’s plenty roundabout, no question of that.” Fox stood up. “Much obliged. Sorry I got you out of bed. I’ll let you know if and when the cops are coming. So long.”
Down on the street, he found a phone and made several calls, returned to his car and headed downtown.
Five hours later, at two in the afternoon, he was climbing the stoop to the vestibule at the address in the East Sixties where Dora Mowbray lived. It was beginning to look as if his quest for information regarding the broken vase was going to prove as barren as had all other lines of investigation both by him and by the police. Adolph Koch had been able to furnish one item for the record: that the Ming five-color, one of the finest in existence, had been kept on a low cabinet near a corner of the yellow room, but that was all, though he had been present at the musical. Hebe Heath, in a blue tea gown on a divan in their suite at the Churchill, had furnished nothing at all except a look at the scenery, since she had been in Hollywood at the time. Felix Beck had contributed a suspicion that Garda Tusar had broken the vase, because he had seen her handling it, but he admitted that it was merely a suspicion. At the Pomfrets, the master and mistress had both gone out, and neither the butler nor the secretary could add anything to the meager facts Fox already possessed. Wells did indeed drop a dark hint about Mrs. Briscoe, but Fox let it out the other ear.
If Mrs. Briscoe or any other outsider had broken that vase, he might as well give the $5,000 back to Mrs. Pomfret and go home and pitch horseshoes.
He entered the vestibule and pushed the button marked Mowbray.
Chapter 16
Dora, sitting on the piano bench, wrinkled her forehead, hesitated, and said, “That’s funny.”
Fox felt a tingling in his stomach. “What’s funny about it?”
“Why — it was so long ago — and now you ask about it. Why do you ask about it now?”
“I’m curious. Something made me curious.” Fox threw one knee over the other and smiled at her. “But that wasn’t what you meant when you said it was funny. You mean something else. What was funny about it?”
Dora smiled back, but shook her head. “That’s all I meant.”
“No. It isn’t. You meant there was something funny about the broken vase, not about my asking. Come on, now. Didn’t you?”
“Well... yes.”
“Okay. What?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Why not?”
“Because that’s one of the promises I made my father. You don’t need to tell me it’s silly, I know it is — but I did break promises I made Dad while he was alive, little ones — and since he died — I want to keep them...” She fluttered a hand.
“Did your father break the vase?”
“Oh, no!”
“Did the promise you made concern him? I mean was it to protect him from some disgraceful or dishonorable—”
“Good heavens, no!”
“Would it reflect discredit on his—”
“No, nothing like that at all.” Dora gestured impatiently. “I told you I know it’s silly, but I just won’t break any promises I made him, that’s all.”
“Well.” Fox leaned back. “All right. Two men are murdered, and possibly three, but the murderer goes free because you don’t want to break a silly promise you made your father.”
“Murderer?” Dora goggled at him. “That’s ridiculous!”
“No, it isn’t.”
“But it is!”
“I say it isn’t, and I know a lot more about it than you do. I knew there was something phony about that broken vase before I came to ask you about it, or I wouldn’t have come. I’m telling you straight, Miss Mowbray. If you keep that promise to your father you’re shielding a murderer.”
“But it has nothing to do with a murder!”
“It has.”
“It’s absurd!”
“No.” Fox leaned forward at her. “Now look. Use a little common sense. Tell me about it. If it’s not what I think it may be, I forget it. If it’s what I suspect, you wouldn’t want me to forget it. Would you?”
“No.” Dora admitted reluctantly. “Not if...”