“What?” mumbled Walter. “Oh, coat? No, I didn’t wear a coat, Inspector.”
And he glanced at Val again, and at her father, with that mute wooden expression.
I know! thought Val. He’s hidden it. He hid the coat. He didn’t want to get her father mixed up in it. Walter, you darling... But then she thought; He’s lying. He lied about one thing. Now he was lying about another. Where was the coat? What had he done with that coat?
Rhys’s hand lightly brushed her skirt. She glanced up at him; his brown face was a little pale, but his lips were compressed and he shook his head ever so lightly.
“May I sit down?” asked Val in a tight voice. “Or is this part of the celebrated third degree?”
Glücke waved an indifferent arm and Val felt a chair pushed against her. She looked around; it was that Mr. Queen, smiling sympathy and encouragement. But there was something else in his smile, something that made Valerie sit down suddenly and stare straight ahead at the fireplace. He had noticed. His eyes, which were like washed gray grapes, had noticed the interplay. They would have to be careful. Watch your step. Don’t make a mistake. It’s like being trapped in a cave by wild animals; the least false move... Valerie had never been trapped in a cave by wild animals, but she thought she knew how it must feel.
“Any clue to Spaeth’s assailant, Inspector?” asked Mr. Queen amiably.
“We found one of those rustic benches up against the willow fence inside the grounds near the spot where Spaeth’s car was parked. A little scraped mud on it, so it was stepped on. That looks as if whoever sloughed Spaeth came over the fence from inside. Laying for you, hey, Spaeth?”
Walter looked blank.
“He wouldn’t know, of course,” said Mr. Queen.
“I guess not,” said Inspector Glücke. “McMahon, get Ruhig and Walewski in here.”
Anatole Ruhig came in gingerly, with small arched steps, like a man walking on coals of fire. Val restrained a mad impulse to giggle; it was the first time she had ever noticed his shoes, which had built-up heels, like a cowboy’s. She wondered if he wore corsets; no, she was sure of it. Oh, the coat, the coat!
As for Mr. Ruhig, his bright little eyes made one panorama of the room, resting for the merest instant on Mr. Queen, and then retreated behind their fat lids.
“Too bad, Walter,” he said quickly. “Too bad, Mr. Jardin. Too bad, Miss Jardin.” Then he added: “Too bad,” in a generally regretful tone, and stopped, blinking.
You left out Solly... Val bit her lip, for there was Walewski. Frightened. Every one was frightened. Walewski was an old round-backed man with a crown of grimy white hair which stood on end. He came into the room sidewise, like a crab, his red eyes sloshing about in his old face.
“We’re taking this down now,” said the Inspector, speaking to Ruhig but looking at Walewski.
The lawyer covered a courtroom cough. “Too, too bad... I drove up to the entrance at a few minutes past six. Walewski opened the gate. I told him I had an appointment with Mr. Spaeth—”
“Did you have?”
“My dear Inspector! Well, Walewski telephoned the house from his booth—”
“Hearsay. Walewski, what did you do?”
The old man trembled. “I don’t know nothing. I didn’t do nothing. I didn’t see nothing.”
“Did you or didn’t you ’phone the Spaeth house?”
“Yes, sir! I did. But there wasn’t no answer. Not a bit of an answer.”
“May I ask a stupid question?” said Ellery. “Where were the servants? In all this magnificence,” he said mildly, “I assume servants.”
“Please,” said the Inspector. “Well, if you must know, Spaeth fired ’em last week, the whole bunch. Now—”
“Really? That’s strange. Now why should he have done that?”
“Oh, for God’s sake.” The Inspector looked annoyed. “He received several threatening letters right after Ohippi went busted and complained to the police and a district dick spotted the writer in thirty minutes — Spaeth’s own chauffeur, a Filipino named Quital. Spaeth was so scared he fired everybody working here and he hasn’t had a servant since.”
“The wages of high finance,” murmured Ellery. “And where is Mr. Quital?”
“In jail,” grinned Glücke, “where he’s been for a week. So what happened when you got no answer, Walewski?”
“I told Mr. Ruhig. I said Mr. Spaeth must be home, I said,” mumbled the old man. “He ain’t been out for a week, I said. So I let Mr. Ruhig through.”
“Spaeth called me this morning,” said Ruhig helpfully. “Told me to come. So when he didn’t answer I knew something must be wrong. Therefore I insisted Walewski accompany me. Which the good man did. And we found— Well, I notified the police at once, as you know.”
“He was settin’ down on the floor,” said Walewski, wiping the spittle from his blue lips with the back of his right hand, “he was settin’ and he looked so awful surprised for a minute I thought—”
“By the way, Mr. Ruhig,” said Ellery with an apologetic glance at Glücke, “what was the nature of your appointment today?”
“Another change of will,” said Ruhig precisely.
“Another?” Glücke glared from Ellery to Ruhig.
“Why, yes. Last Monday — yes, exactly a week ago — Mr. Spaeth had me come over with two of my assistants and I wrote out a new will, which he signed in the presence of my assistants. This will,” Ruhig coughed again, “disinherited the son, Mr. Walter Spaeth.”
“Oh, is that so?” said the Inspector alertly. “Did you know your old man cut you off, Spaeth?”
“We quarreled,” said Walter in a weary voice, “about his abandonment of the Ohippi plants. He telephoned Ruhig while I was still here.”
“Who benefited by the will he made a week ago?”
“Mr. Spaeth’s protégée, Miss Moon. He left her his entire estate.”
“Then what about this will business today?”
Ruhig breathed on his shiny little fingernails. “I can’t say. All I know is that he wanted to change the will again. But by the time I got here,” he shrugged, “it was too late.”
“Then Spaeth’s estate is legally Winni’s,” frowned the Inspector. “Nice for her that he was bumped before he could change his mind again... Well Jerry?”
“This man Frank, the day gateman. He’s here.”
“Bring him in.”
The one-armed gateman shuffled in, his narrow features twitching nervously. “I’m Atherton F-Frank. I don’t know a single blessed thing—”
“What time did you go off duty?” demanded the Inspector.
“Six o’clock he went,” put in Walewski eagerly. “That’s when I come on. So you see I couldn’t know nothing—”
“Six o’clock,” mumbled Frank. He kept looking at his misshapen shoes.
Walter was sitting forward now, staring at the one-armed man. Val noticed that Walter’s hands were twitching, too, almost in rhythm with Frank’s features.
Afraid, thought Val bitterly. So you’re a coward, for all your brave talk. You’re afraid Frank saw you. He must have seen you. Unless you went over the wall. Went over the wall... Val closed her eyes. Now why should Walter have gone over the wall?
“Listen, Frank,” said Glücke genially. “You’re an important figure in this case. You know that, don’t you?”
“Me?” said Frank, raising his eyes.
“Sure! There is only one entrance to Sans Souci, and you were on guard there all day. You were, weren’t you?”
“Oh, sure I was. Certainly I was!”
“So you know every one who went in and came out this afternoon. Why, Frank old man, you might be able to clear this case up right now.”
“Yeah?” said Frank.