They were ponderable and fleshly ghosts with the air of conspirators, moving restlessly about in the room off the terrace which had served as Rhys Jardin’s study. An electric-battery lantern on the floor threw long shadows to the bare walls; no light escaped through the glass wall to the terrace, for the lantern was shielded.
The chief spectre was Pink, crouched Indian-fashion on his hams with a pair of receivers over his ears, tinkering with a small apparatus before him in the light of the lantern. A pile of cans variously labeled “Soup,” “Corn,” and “Minced Ham” lay beside him, several open and empty.
A tall thin wraith named Queen trod the boards at one side of the room, and a large square one named Fitzgerald patrolled the other. Kneeling beside Pink was a female ghost in riding breeches — queer note in ghostly fashions — with a long tear along one thigh, as if a leg had caught on a sharp stake at the top of a fence.
“Shhh!” hissed Pink suddenly. “Here they come!”
Ellery and Fitz skittered forward. But Val was quicker. The two men fought over the last pair of earphones. Ellery won, leaving Fitz to glare and press his beefy face close to Val’s ear.
Through the membranes came the sound of a door closing and Winni Moon’s voice, half-frightened and half-seductive. “In here, Wally, darling. We’re alone here.”
“Winni the Glut,” whispered Val vindictively.
“Are you sure there’s nobody around to overhear?” said Walter’s voice.
Winni’s voice was no longer frightened and altogether seductive. “Not a soul, darling. Nobody comes near me. I’m weally the loneliest person—”
“I can’t stay long, Winni. No one must know I came here. So I’ll have to say it fast.”
“Say what, Walter?” She was frightened again.
“Do you think I’m your friend?”
They could almost see her pout. “I’ve twied awfully hard to get you to be, but you never weally showed that—”
“I’m enough a friend of yours to come out in the open, instead of skulking around in the dark like a rat!”
“I don’t know what you mean,” complained Winni.
“I’ve been doing some spying on my own. And I know,” said Walter, accenting each word, “all about that little business arrangement between you and Ruhig.”
“Oh!” said Winni. The gasp smashed against the receivers.
“I know that Ruhig told you there was a later will in existence. I know he told you that, unless you married him, he’d produce that will and you’d see those fifty millions pulled right out of your lap!”
“Walter... How... how did you know that?”
The listeners let out their breaths.
“Jeeze,” said Pink.
“He’s wonderful,” moaned Val.
“Shut up,” howled Fitz. “Let’s get this!”
“Please,” groaned Ellery.
“—mind how I know. Well, I hate Ruhig’s guts. I know you do, too. Winni, he’s making a jackass out of you!”
She was silent.
“He’s lying, Winni,” said Walter gently. “There never was such a will. He’s just trying to scare you into marrying him and sharing the fifty millions with him.”
Her voice came through strangely distorted. “Walter, do you mean to tell me it was all — it was all—”
“He invented the whole thing,” said Walter in an earnest, friendly way. “You never saw that will he spoke about, did you?”
“N-no.”
“There! Doesn’t that prove it? Listen, Winni. Forget that fellow; tell him to go to the devil. You and I might make some other arrangements — a settlement. Or maybe even...”
His voice trailed off into a mumble, as if he were whispering intimately into her ear.
Val bit a hole in the corner of her handkerchief.
The rest for the most part was inaudible. Within a short time Walter said something about having to get away, and they heard the click of the door, receding footsteps.
“Whee!” cried Val, jumping up.
“I’ll be a cockeyed dinglehoofer,” said Pink slowly. “It worked.”
“Quiet,” urged Ellery. “Let’s see what happens. If I’ve got that blonde baby figured right, she’ll make straight for the telephone.”
They listened eagerly. Two minutes passed. They heard the sound of a door closing again. Whether it was the study door or some other they could not tell. There were more footsteps, quick nervous ones, for five long minutes. And then suddenly the sound of some one running and another click.
“Opewator!” It was Winni’s voice, hard and angry.
“I’ll be damned,” said Fitz. He took a flask out of his hip pocket and drank thirstily.
“Wuhig? Anatole Wuhig!.. Wuhig! This is Winni... Never mind that gweasy line! Listen to me, you. I’ve been thinking things over and I think you’re taking me for a wide... Yes, a wide! Why should I split all that money with you? I’m not going to mawwy you, and that’s final!”
There was another long silence, as if Ruhig was talking slowly, voluminously, and persuasively.
“Don’t give me that will stuff! I don’t think there ever was another will!.. I will so discuss it. Yes, and wight this minute! You’re a faker and a liar!.. Oh, you’re still twying to pull the wool over my eyes, are you? Well, if there is a will and you’ve got it, why didn’t you show it to me?... Yes, show it to me! And none of your fakes, either! I know Solly’s handwriting. And I don’t want any what-you-call-’ems — photostatic copies. You bwing the weal thing over this second!.. I know you don’t cawwy it awound in your pocket... All wight, pick your own time. I don’t care. There’s no such will, anyway. I’m fwom Missouwi, Mister Wuhig... Thwee o’cwock tomowwow afternoon? In this house... Yes!”
Thunder crashed — the receiver being restored to its place.
“Just goes to show,” sighed Ellery. “I guess I’m a remarkable fellow.”
“Do you think Ruhig’s bluffing?” asked Val anxiously.
“Not at all. It’s evening, which explains why he can’t bring the will over now. He would if he could.”
“How’s that?” demanded Fitz.
“Obviously it’s in a safe-deposit vault — he’ll have to wait until tomorrow to get his hands on it. And he’s giving himself plenty of time tomorrow to think the situation over. However, I believe Counselor Ruhig will be here per schedule.”
They all started. For out of the earphones burbled a snarl scarcely recognizable as Miss Winni Moon’s voice.
“Filthy little cwook!”
XVIII
Rape of the Awning
Val awoke Friday morning with a buzzing in her ears, which quickly turned out to be the front-door bell.
She scrambled out of bed and ran through the living-room, pulling a negligée on hastily. It might be Walter. She hoped it was Walter. They had sat up half the night making love and drinking sherry. There had hardly been time, between sips and kisses, to talk. As she ran, Val wondered if she oughtn’t to go back and fix herself up. But then she thought he might just as well get used to seeing her fresh out of bed, with tousled hair and sleepy eyes and no powder or lipstick. Besides, she looked prettier that way. Rhys always said so. Rhys always said that she looked nicer with cold cream on her face and a tissue in her hand than most other women looked ready for presentation at the Court of St. James’s. Rhys always said—
“In a minute,” she called gaily, fumbling with the latch. She got the door open and smiled her most ravishing smile.
“Oh,” said Val. “Oh. Mibs. Why, what’s the trouble?”