There’s something behind this, thought Val. It’s all mixed up and there’s something behind it.
“I’ll be safe in jail, safer than here. Don’t you see?” Something... “And there’s another reason.” Rhys paused. “It’s Walter. If I produce my alibi now, Val, he’ll be directly involved in the crime.” Walter. That’s it. That’s what’s behind it. Walter. “The police will learn he was wearing my coat. He certainly had a motive of revenge against his father — being cut out of the will. They’ll find out he was in that house at the time of the crime. They’re bound to find it out — if we let them know about my alibi.”
“But how—?”
“Don’t you see, puss?” he said patiently. “My alibi depends on the testimony of this Austin girl. She can place me in this lobby at the time of the crime, all right; but she also knows that it’s tied up with that telephone call to the Spaeth house. And she spoke directly to Walter. The merest questioning on the part of the police would bring that out. We’ve got to see that she isn’t questioned.”
“No,” said Val. “I won’t let you do it. You’ve got to tell them about the alibi. You mustn’t sacrifice yourself—”
“Walter didn’t kill his father, Val. He isn’t the killing kind. I’m protected, but he’s not. Don’t you see?”
“I see. I see that I’m smaller than the smallest wiggly thing that crawls. And you’re so big, so warm, so dear.”
Rhys tilted her face. “Val, you’ve got to trust my judgment in this.”
Val shivered again. Her tongue seemed tied up in knots.
“There’s one other thing. I think I’ve got a clue that may lead somewhere. While I’m in jail covering Walter up you’ll have to follow that clue, Val. Do you understand? We’ve got to find out who killed Spaeth before we talk!” Val turned her head slowly. “Listen, Val. Only this morning—”
“All right, Jardin,” said Inspector Glücke.
Val jumped up. Rhys sat still.
The three detectives were in the room with Glücke, one of them looking hard at Pink, who was marking time, restlessly and unconsciously, with his feet, as if to inaudible music.
“So soon?” said Rhys with a faint smile.
“I had my fingerprint man waiting downstairs,” said the Inspector. “Interested? Blood-stains on your coat. Your fingerprints, among others, on the rapier. And Bronson, who’s also with me, says that the tip of the rapier is coated with blood and that molasses-and-cyanide goo. Have you anything to say, Jardin?”
“Will you get me my hat and coat, Pink, like a good fellow?” said Rhys, rising.
Pink went blindly into the foyer. Rhys put his arms about Valerie.
“See me tomorrow,” he whispered into her ear. “The old code. Remember? We may not be able to talk. The clue may be important, Goodbye, Val. Talk to the Austin girl tonight.”
“Goodbye,” said Val, her lips feeling rusty and stiff.
“Thanks, Pink,” said Rhys, turning around. “Take care of Val.”
Pink made a strangled sound. Rhys kissed Val’s cold cheek and stepped back. Pink helped him on with his coat, handed him his hat.
“Come on,” said Inspector Glücke.
Two of the detectives grasped Rhys’s elbows and marched him out of the apartment.
“You two,” said the Inspector. “Keep on ice.” He nodded to the third man and they followed the others.
Pink stood still in the middle of the living-room, blinking and blinking as if the sun were in his eyes.
He didn’t do it.
Val stumbled to the door and watched Rhys go down the hall towards the elevator, walking steadily in the midst of his guard.
He didn’t do it! He has an alibi!
She tried to get the words out.
Prison. Some grubby cell. Fingerprints. Arraignment. Rogues’ gallery. Reporters. Sob sisters. Keepers. Trial, Murder...
Please. Please.
It would be Walter marching down the hall. If she spoke it would be Walter. If she didn’t... Oh, wait, wait, please.
Walter or pop. Pop or Walter. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t a choice. He didn’t do it, I tell you. He has an alibi. Stop!
But nothing came out, and the elevator swallowed the marchers, leaving the corridor bleak and empty.
Part Three
IX
Lady of the Press
Valerie did not sleep well Monday night. The apartment was dark and cold and full of whispering voices. She tossed open-eyed on her bed until the first grilles formed through the Venetian blinds; then she dozed.
Pink pounded at the door at seven, and she crept out of bed to let him in. When she reappeared later in an old tweed sports outfit he had breakfast ready. They ate together in silence. She washed the dishes and Pink, whose broad shoulders seemed to have acquired a permanent droop, went out for the morning papers.
It occurred to Val, scrubbing the pots with aluminium wool, that she had spoken her last word aloud the night before. It had been “Goodbye,” and in retrospect it seemed darkly prophetic. She said to the dripping pan: “Hello,” and was so startled at the sound of her voice that she almost dropped the pan.
When Pink got back with the papers he found her powdering her nose, which had a suspiciously pink tinge.
And there it was in cold print. The coarse-screen halftone of Rhys made him look like Public Enemy Number 1. “Sportsman Held As Material Witness. Arrest on Murder Charge Hinted by Van Every. Spaeth Partner Refuses to Talk... Rhys Jardin, 49, ex-millionaire and prominent Hollywood society man, is in Los Angeles City Jail this morning held as a material witness in the sensational murder yesterday of Solomon Spaeth, Jardin’s business partner in the ill-fated Ohippi Hydro-Electric Development...”
Val pushed the paper away. “I’m not going to read it. I won’t read it.”
“Why don’t he hire a mouthpiece?” exclaimed Pink. “It says here he won’t open his trap except to say he’s innocent. Is he nuts?”
The buzzer jarred and Pink opened the door. He tried to shut it immediately, but he might have been pitting his strength against the Pacific Ocean. He vanished in a wave of arms, legs, cameras, and flash bulbs.
Val fled to her bedroom and locked the door.
“Out!” yelled Pink. “Out, you skunks! Paid parasites of the capitalist press! Get the hell out of here!”
“Where’s the closet where that sword was found?”
“Is this it, punk?”
“Where was the camel’s-hair coat?”
“Get that homely ape out of the way!”
“Miss Ja-a-ardin! How about a statement — Daughter Flies to Defense of Father?”
“This way, Pincus my boy. Look tough!”
Pink finally got them out. He was panting as Val cautiously peeped out of her bedroom.
“This is terrible,” she moaned.
“Wait a minute, I smell a rat.” Pink sneaked into Rhys’s bathroom and found a knight of the lens gallantly photographing Rhys’s tub. When the cameraman saw Val he hastily put a new plate into his camera.
Val bounded back to her bedroom like a gazelle.
“Funny thing about me. Either I like a guy,” Pink said, knocking the photographer down, “or I don’t. Scram, you three-eyed gorilla!”
The photographer scrammed.
Val peered out again. “Are they all gone now?”
“Unless there’s one hiding in the drain,” growled Pink.
“I’m going,” said Val hysterically, clapping on the first hat she could find. “I’m getting out of here.”