“Hilary King. Ingenious.”
“Then it’s all set,” said Fitz, rising.
“Wait a minute. Aren’t you interested in the financial aspect of the deal?”
“Are you going to blackjack me, too?” growled Fitz.
Ellery grinned. “I’ll take it on for nothing and expenses, you lucky dog.”
Fitz looked suspicious. “Why?”
“Because I’m sick of Messrs. Butcher and Hugger. Because there are things about the Spaeth case that positively make my mouth water. Because I like the people most directly involved. And because,” said Ellery, jamming on his hat, “I’ve got a score to settle with the High Hocus-Pocus of the Homicide Detail!”
“An idealist, b’gorra,” said Fitz. “Be in my office at two o’clock.”
XI
Cards Under the Table
When Val left the Los Angeles Independent building, she hunted up a shop, spent a few minutes there, hurried out, and made her way to the City Jail.
There was a great deal of concealed official emotion when she announced her identity. Val, holding her package casually, pretended not to notice.
It was all rather worse than she had imagined, but somehow things were different this morning. Lovelace’s lines popped into her mind — what a fanatic Miss Prentiss had been on the subject of “recitations” in the ancient pigtail-and-governess days! “Minds innocent and quiet take That for an hermitage.” No, stone walls do not a prison make, nor iron bars a cage.
A uniformed man said to her: “You’ll have to empty your pockets and purse, Miss,” and Val obeyed, raising her smooth brows. He seemed disappointed at finding no revolver underneath the vanity-case.
“What’s in that bundle?” he asked suspiciously.
“Bombs,” said Val.
He opened the package, glaring at her. “Okay,” he said shortly.
Val gathered her purchases up and said with a sweet smile: “You have to be so careful with these desperate criminals, don’t you?”
Another man, in an unpressed business suit, trailed along, as a guard conducted her to a remote cell block. Val’s brows went up again.
And there he was, sitting on his pallet playing solitaire with a fuzzy, dirty old deck of cards which looked as if they had been used by four generations of prisoners. He did not notice their approach and Val studied his profile for a moment, trying to adjust her own expression. He was so calm, so unconcerned; he might have been lounging in his club.
“Here’s your daughter,” said the guard, unlocking the barred door.
Rhys looked around, startled. Then he bounced to his feet and held out his arms.
The keeper locked the door again and said to the shabby man who had followed Vaclass="underline" “Come on, Joe, let ’em alone. Man’s got a right to talk private, ain’t he?”
“Sure,” said Joe heartily. “That’s right, Grady.”
It seemed to Val that both had spoken in unnecessarily loud voices. She looked up at her father and he grinned in answer. The keeper and the shabby man marched ostentatiously away.
“Don’t you think,” began Val, “that they—”
“Darling,” said Rhys. He pulled her over to the pallet and sat her down. The greasy cards he pushed carelessly aside, and Val put her package down. “How’s nay puss?”
“How are you, pop? Like it here?” said Val, smiling.
“I don’t know what those literary-minded convicts who write memoirs keep kicking about. A place like this is perfect for resting the tired business man.”
“I thought those two—” began Val again.
Rhys said easily: “I do miss decent cards, though. These things must have come into California with Porciúncula.”
“I’ve brought you a new deck,” said Val, undoing her package again. She knew suddenly that he did not want her to discuss anything of possible interest to an eavesdropper. She glanced at him and he motioned meaningly toward the wall behind his pallet. So some one was planted in the next cell! Probably, thought Val, with a dictograph.
“Thanks, darling,” said Rhys, as she handed him a new deck of cards with brilliant blue backs showing a schooner in full sail. “It’s hell playing with fifty-two dishrags. And what’s this — cigars!”
“I bought you die king size — they last longer, don’t they?”
“You’re simply wonderful.” Rhys gathered up the old cards and began to pat them into a neat pile. “I was beginning to think you’d run out on me. In durance vile for thirty-six hours, and not a peep out of you!”
“I tried last night, but they wouldn’t give you a telephone message.”
“Nasty of them. Here, take these damned shingles and burn ’em.” He handed her the old deck of cards and she furtively put it into her purse.
Rhys leaned back with a long sigh. Valerie closed her purse with a snap. “Did they — did they do anything to you that—”
He waved his hand. “They’re cooking up an arraignment or indictment or whatever they call it, and I suppose I’ll have to attend. There’s been a good deal of questioning, of course.”
“Questioning,” said Val in a faint voice.
“Nothing brutal, you understand. You really should meet Van Every — charming fellow. I must say I like him better than that ogre Glücke.”
Chit-chat, inconsequentials, to deceive the man in the next cell. To deceive her, too? To deceive her, too? Val suddenly leaned over and kissed him. They were both silent for a moment.
Then Val said: “I’ve got something to tell you.”
He shook his head in warning. But Val reassured him with a glance and went on: “I’ve taken a job with Fitz.”
“A job?”
She told him the story of her interview with Fitzgerald. “It’s... well, it’s money, pop. We’ve got to have some.” He was silent again. “And don’t you think we ought to pay back — that other money we owe?”
“Yes. Of course.” He knew which money she meant, but somehow neither seemed to want to mention Walter’s name. “But not now. It can wait. Naturally I won’t touch it.”
“Naturally.” Val understood. To return Walter’s money now would raise all sorts of questions. Walter’s sympathy with Jardin was better kept secret — for Walter’s sake. For Walter’s sake! Everything, everything was for Walter’s sake.
“Is there anything else I can get you?” asked Val.
“No, Val. I’m really quite comfortable.”
They looked deeply into each other’s eyes. Val kissed him again. Then she rose and said hurriedly: “I’ll see you later,” and ran to the door and began shaking the bars like a young female monkey.
“Guard!” called Rhys with a curious smile, and the keeper came running. “It’s a funny feeling, isn’t it, puss?”
“Goodbye, darling,” said Val without looking around, and she followed the man out with her head held high but seeing very little of the massive masonry and ironwork that escorted her to the very street.
Val had taken no more than twenty steps on First Street when she knew she was being followed.
To make sure, she headed for the lot where she had parked her car. There, while the attendant hunted through the rows. Val became busy examining her face in her mirror and incidentally watching the street. Yes, there was no doubt about it. A long black sedan with two men in it had inched away from the curb across the street from the Jail and had followed her walking figure at five miles an hour. Now it was waiting unobtrusively before the parking lot, as if held up by traffic. But there was very little traffic.
The attendant brought up her car and Val got in, feeling her heart beat fast. She clutched her purse tighter and drove out of the lot with one hand.
The black sedan began to crawl again.