“No.”
“Didn’t give you any idea?”
“No.”
“Look here,” Selby told her, “every time I’ve talked with you, you’ve purported to tell me the truth. Every time it’s turned out to be something less than or radically different from the truth.”
She nodded mutely.
“What assurance have I that you’re telling me the truth this time?”
She came toward him.
“Can’t you see?” she said. “Can’t you see why I’m doing this? It’s because you’ve been so splendid. So absolutely genuine. Because you’ve made me respect you. I’m doing this — for you.”
Selby stared at her thoughtfully.
“Will you stay here,” he asked, “until I tell you you can go?”
“Yes, I’ll do anything you say — anything!”
“Who knows you’re here?”
“No one.”
“Where’s Cushing?”
“I don’t know. He’s under cover. He’s afraid the whole thing is going to come out.”
“Why should he be so afraid?”
She faced his eyes unflinchingly and said, “If my real identity is ever known, my picture career would be ruined.”
“Was it that bad?” he asked.
She said, “It was plenty bad. Very few people would understand. Looking back on it, I can’t understand, myself. Larrabie always claimed it was because I had too much energy to ever knuckle down to routine.”
“You staked Cushing to the money to buy this hotel?” Selby asked.
“Yes. And I keep this room. It’s mine. It’s never rented. I come and go as I want. I use it for a hideout when I want to rest.”
“Did Larrabie know that — about your room here?”
“No. No one except my father and Ben Trask knew of this room.”
“Then why did Larrabie meet you here?”
“I don’t know. He caught a glimpse of me as I slipped into the room and, of course, knew me at once, and felt free to knock. He’s been sort of a godfather to me.”
“Did Larrabie know your father?”
“No. He’d never seen Dad — except that he may have met him as the owner of the hotel.”
“But he must have known generally of your father?”
“Yes. He knew about Dad years ago... things that weren’t very nice.”
“What’s been Cushing’s past?” Selby asked.
She shrugged her shoulders and said, “Pretty bad. I presume there was a lot to be said on his side, but it’s one of those things people wouldn’t understand. But, after all, he’s my father, and he’s going straight now. Can’t you see what a spot I was in? I had to lie, had to do everything I could to throw you off the track. And now I’m sorry. I tried my best to give you a hint about the real identity of the body when I said that he was a ‘Larry’ somebody from a town that had the name ‘River’ in it. I figured you’d look through the map, find out the number of California towns that had ‘River’ in their names, and telephone in to see if a pastor was missing.”
“Yes,” he said slowly, “I could have done that, probably would have, if I hadn’t had another clew develop.”
He started pacing the floor. She watched him with anxious eyes.
“You understand?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“I couldn’t have done any differently. You do see it from my standpoint, don’t you?”
“Yes, I see it from your standpoint.”
“But, you’re acting... so sort of... Tell me, this isn’t going to prevent us from being friends, is it? I admire and respect you. It’s meant a lot to me, just having met you. You’re sincere and genuine. There’s no pose about you, no false front. I don’t usually offer my friendship this way... I need friends like you. I’m surrounded with the glitter and glamor of personalities that are as false as the front of the motion picture buildings on a set... Do you understand?”
Selby stared steadily at her.
“Over there,” he said, waving his arm in the general direction of the courthouse, “there’s a girl waiting. She’s had faith in me and what I stand for. She’s staked her job on my ability to solve this mystery by four o’clock this afternoon, simply because she’s a wholehearted, loyal friend. She hasn’t any money, smart clothes, influential friends or fine houses.
“I don’t know whether I can tell you this so you’ll understand it, but I’ll try. If I give you my friendship, I’ll be running back and forth to Hollywood. I’ll be impressed in spite of myself, by the artificial glitter you’re complaining of. I’ll gradually see the limitations of my friends here, limitations which aren’t deficiencies of character, but of environment. I’ll get so I unconsciously turn up my nose when I ride in rattling, dust-covered, cheap automobiles. I’ll adopt a patronizing attitude toward the things of this county and assume an urban sophistication.
“You ask me to understand why you lied to me. I do understand. From your viewpoint there was nothing else you could have done. Damn it, I can almost see your viewpoint clearly enough so it seems the logical thing for you to have done.
“To hell with it. Your life lies in the glitter and the glamor. Mine lies with the four-square friendships I’ve made in a community where everyone knows everyone else so intimately there’s no chance for a four-flusher to get by.”
He strode toward the door.
“I like you,” he said. “I don’t like your environment. You hypnotize me. You always have, ever since I met you, but I’m not playing moth to the flame of your environment. I’m checking out.”
He jerked the door open.
“Where are you going?” she asked, panic in her eyes.
“To solve that murder,” he said, “and to keep faith with a girl who would no more lie to me than she’d cut off her right hand.”
She stood staring at him, too proud to plead, too hurt to keep the tears from her eyes.
He stepped into the hallway, slowly closed the door behind him.
Chapter XIX
Selby pushed his way through the door of his private office to encounter the disapproving eyes of Sylvia Martin.
“Well?” she asked.
“She told me the truth, Sylvia,” he said, “the whole truth.”
“Again?” she inquired sarcastically.
Selby went on doggedly, “Now that I know all the facts, I can appreciate how impossible it was for her to have done any differently than she did. It would have utterly ruined her career.”
“So,” Sylvia said, “she decided to ruin yours instead. That’s what I hate about her, Doug... It’s what she did to you — and what she’s trying to do... Oh, hell, skip it!... Now that you have her story, do you know who the murderer is?”
“I think I do.”
“Brower?” she asked.
He didn’t answer her directly but said, “Sylvia, I want you to check my conclusions. I’m going to go over this thing with you step by step. First, I’m going to tell you what Shirley Arden told me. I’m going to ask you, of course, to regard it as a sacred confidence.”
He began at the beginning and told her everything the actress had told him. When he had finished, she said slowly, “Then, if that story is true, Brower had no reason to murder Larrabie.”
Selby nodded.
“And Brewer’s silence is due to an attempt to protect himself against some misappropriation of cash.”
Again Selby said, “Probably it wasn’t a misappropriation. Larrabie wouldn’t have helped him out of an embezzlement. The probabilities are Brower had the money in cash and the cash was stolen, or else some friend betrayed him.
“The really significant thing about the whole business is that, despite the importance of getting that five thousand dollars, Larrabie wouldn’t leave Madison City. Now, then, Larrabie had written some man with whom he was to do business here. That man telephoned him, asked him particularly if anyone knew of the letter, and then asked Larrabie to come here and register under an assumed name, using the utmost secrecy.”