Thompson peered at the unconscious man in the tub.
“It’s the Judge,” he informed me gravely. “What happened to him?”
“I’ve met him,” I said dryly. “He met my fist.”
Burbee saw Eleanor. “She’s ill.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to mention that she would be a damned sight sicker when I got through with her, but I let it slide. She had had enough grief and more was on the way.
I suggested to Thompson, “Lift that guy’s leg.”
He did, and saw the paper match lying in the tub. I couldn’t resist an “I told you so,” reminding them that they had all neglected the match business. Burbee looked down at it and as an afterthought turned the tap at the end of the tub. Water squirted out briefly and he shut it off.
I turned to the girl. “Does he make a habit of using bathtubs for ash trays, Eleanor?”
She nodded. “Chuck... is it true? Did he...?”
“Ask the Doc, here.”
She did, and Burbee told her. He eliminated the last doubts in her mind, providing there were any left. The girl was crying before he finished. More for Thompson’s benefit than Eleanor’s, the doctor demonstrated how Leonore had been drowned. Head down in a tub of water. Burbee was an excellent actor.
Thompson asked, “Do you suppose Dunkles will talk?”
I just laughed at him.
Dunkles was showing signs of reviving. I threw a glass of water in his face. He sputtered and struggled to a sitting position, glaring at Eleanor and then around to the newcomers. I sat down on the rim of the tub, just above him.
“Judge, permit me to introduce the State’s Attorney and the county coroner. One of them is itching to bring you to trial and the other is hoping you’ll try something — he’s a whiz at postmortems.”
Thompson demanded, “What about this girl, Leonore?”
Dunkles glared at him and distinctly told him to go to hell. He shot another glance at Eleanor and fidgeted uncomfortably when he found her eyes boring into his.
Eleanor said in a low voice, “Chuck...”
“Yeah?”
“Please come here a moment.”
I went to her. She wanted to whisper in my ear. What she said startled me. She was serious — I read it in her eyes. Well — we had gone this far; Dunkles must be made to talk. So why not? I said, all right, wait a minute. Thompson wanted to know where I was going. I told him, out to the car, and I would be right back. I said that Eleanor could make him talk; we were going to leave the Judge to her for a few minutes.
I asked Burbee to use the adhesive tape from the medicine cabinet and bind the Judge securely. Thompson wanted to know what the hell was going on. I said Eleanor knew a magic incantation that hypnotized people into talking.
In the car I found a pair of pliers and slipped them into my coat pocket. Trudy Thompson wanted to know what was going on. I told her everything was under control, and that we were about to wring a confession from the murderer. I cautioned her to keep her eyes peeled, that someone from the barn might come up to find out why the telephone was dead. She said okay.
In the bathroom Burbee had taped the hands and feet of the man in the tub. He couldn’t move anything except his mouth, and he was moving that plenty. Very bad words.
Eleanor walked to the tub and looked down at him. He shriveled under her steady gaze. Maybe he had an idea of what was coming. Taking Thompson and Burbee by the elbows, I piloted them out of the bathroom. At the door, I pulled the pliers out of my pocket and slipped them to Eleanor. She took them, slid her hand into my coat pocket, fished around for a moment, and came up with a packet of matches.
I’ll never forget the expression on Dunkles’ face when he saw the pliers.
It was probably five minutes before we heard him scream.
There hadn’t been a sound from the closed door. Thompson was worried. “Are they giving us the slip?”
I shook my head. “Not this time. She’s cured.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“The bathroom window is too small. They couldn’t get out.” I said nothing about Eleanor’s earlier treachery.
“I wonder what she’s doing?”
It was then that Dunkles screamed. Just once. The State’s Attorney jumped from his chair and ran for the bathroom. I was there ahead of him, cutting him off.
Louise, I don’t know what Eleanor did to him. I don’t want to know, ever. But whatever it was, it was effective. Eleanor opened the door behind me and slipped a pair of pliers into my coat pocket. They were hot. She held onto my arm for support.
“He’ll talk to you, Mr. Thompson.”
She was perspiring. I guess we all were. We’d been in that cottage an awful long time and it was getting on our nerves. Thompson and Burbee edged past us into the bathroom to look down at Dunkles. He opened his mouth, and for once shocking language didn’t issue therefrom.
I put an arm around Eleanor and half carried her to a chair near the front door. I pulled the chair around so that it faced the door, and handed her my gun.
“Take this. You know what to do if we have any visitors.”
She nodded.
“You won’t pull any more funny stuff on us?”
“No, Chuck. Not now. My eyes are open.”
Good, I said. I put my hand in my pocket and felt the pliers. They were slowly losing their heat. She watched me.
“Baby, you’re a very bad girl. I’d hate like hell to have you go to work on me.”
She smiled ever so softly. “I’d hate to have to work on you, Chuck. And Chuck—”
“Yeah?”
“I’m very sorry for the other night. I tried not to hit you too hard. Come here a moment.”
I did. She reached up, took hold of my ears gently and pulled my head down. Then she kissed me on the bump on the back of my head. Startled, I stared into her face.
“Leonore used to do that for me,” she said softly, “whenever I got hurt.”
“Oh, sure. Yeah.” It embarrassed me. “It’s okay, kid. Keep your eyes on that door. Don’t hesitate to shoot.”
I wanted to get back to the bathroom to hear what Dunkles was saying. Eleanor murmured something more as I left her. I didn’t catch what it was, not then, but later the words came to me with startling clearness.
Burbee had removed the tape and put handcuffs on the Judge. Dunkles was a whipped man; there was no spirit remaining in him. Thompson seemed disturbed, but vaguely satisfied. He was wishing he knew what Eleanor had done, and yet hoping he never found out. Curiously enough, Dunkles wouldn’t tell. I suspected the old boy still had his vanity.
His story pretty well tallied with what we had patched together. Harry Evans had entertained ideas of taking over the gambling syndicate, so the grapevine had said, and had seemingly convinced Ashley to go along with him. Instead, Ashley prattled to Swisher. Swisher had eliminated Evans in a manner directed by someone big, someone higher up who was affording protection to Swisher and his rotten empire.
Swisher had objected to the roundabout, fantastic method of eliminating Evans and was all for the old reliable popgun. The brains said no. There was to be no outward appearance of murder. Leonore would make it a hit-and-run accident.
When Leonore ran to Swisher after killing Evans, the plan was upset. He had put her to bed, telephoned for help, and later in the evening got her out of bed and put her to driving a taxi. For a purpose. Sometime during the evening she would pick up a supposedly regular customer on a downtown street corner and start for the lake. She would never get there. The supposedly regular customer would see to that.
But that plan, too, had gone astray. By mistake she had picked me up. I had talked with her. I had been consulted by Evans earlier in the day. I had phoned Ashley and hinted I knew a few things. If Leonore died under mysterious circumstances after having talked with me, I was the nosey type that would begin putting two and two together. Therefore, there must be another “accidental” death. At that time, Evans’ death was being accepted as just that — an accident.