“Very natural. The appearance of requited passion, the attempt at murder... very natural for her to think so.”
“It’s easy for you to be calm about it,” said Beau bitterly. “You’re not in love with her.”
“I’m sorry, Beau,” said Mr. Queen in a gentle voice. “My specialty is murder, not romance.”
“What the devil can I do? I’ve got to find a way out of this mess somehow!”
Mr. Queen was silent.
“Hell, you’re not even paying attention!”
Mr. Queen looked up. “With half a brain. The other half is excogitating a great befuddlement. Beau, what’s the connection between these attacks on Kerrie Shawn and the events that preceded and accompanied Cole’s death?”
“All I know is that Margo Cole is out for Kerrie’s blood. Kerrie’s standing between her and me — she thinks — but, more important, Kerrie’s death means doubling her-income. Knowing Margo, I’d say the money motive was the stronger of the two. Not that it makes any difference to a corpse why he’s been bumped off.”
“You think the root of these attempts goes back into the past? The development of a plan made months ago?”
“I think,” said Beau savagely, “Margo was responsible for Cole’s death!”
Mr. Queen raised his eyebrows. “You believe she was on the Argonaut?”
“Why not?” Then Beau growled: “Or she wasn’t, and De Carlos did the dirty work for her. It’s not impossible those two are working together. They keep away from each other — De Carlos is concentrating on Kerrie, the damn’ chaser! — but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. It might be a cover-up.”
Mr. Queen looked dissatisfied. “There’s so much we don’t know,” he complained. “Heard anything on the crew and Angus?”
“I had a report this morning. One of my men picked up the trail of three of the crew and the wireless operator. They shipped on a freighter, and they’re on the other side of the world by now. Nothing on the others, nothing on Angus. It’s just as if—”
“Just as if?” echoed Mr. Queen.
Their eyes met.
“They were dead,” said Beau.
Mr. Queen picked up his hat. “Keep watching your light-o’-love. And don’t let your suspicions of Margo make you blind to... other possibilities.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” snapped Beau.
“Merely what it said. There’s only one thing about this case I feel sure of. And that is that it’s far less simple than it seems. In fact, I’ve the feeling it’s a case of complicated and subtle cross-purposes. You’ll have to be very careful, Beau, and I’ll help all I can from under cover. Keep your eyes open — to the four points of the compass. The break may come from the least-expected quarter.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“That’s not strange,” said Mr. Queen with a shrug, “since I scarcely know myself.”
VI pleaded with Kerrie to run away. “If that she-devil doesn’t kill you,” she cried, “the suspense will. Kerrie, you’re such a — a fool I could shake you. Do you really love him that much? Or this money? A fat lot of good it’s doing you! You look like God’s wrath. Give it up and let’s get out of here — while we can!”
“No,” said Kerrie stiffly. “I won’t. I won’t. They won’t drive me away. I won’t give in. They’ll have to kill me first.”
“They will!”
Kerrie trembled. “It’s something stronger than I am. It won’t let me go. Maybe it’s plain stubbornness. I’m scared too — I’m scared, Vi, but I’m more scared of what I don’t know. I’ve got to find out. I’ve got to.”
Vi looked at her with a sort of horror.
“I suppose you think I’ve gone dotty,” said Kerrie with a weak smile. “Maybe I have... I hate him!”
So it was that. Vi shook her head.
And then the enemy struck a third time.
It was a Sunday, and when Kerrie opened her eyes that morning she saw it would be a day of sun and cloudless skies.
“Vi, let’s have an old-fashioned picnic, just the two of us!” she cried. “We’ll drive into the country somewhere, and camp, and eat pickles and shoo bugs away and swim raw if we can find a stream!”
They found their stream, and gorged themselves on the good things the chef had packed in the bursting hamper, and for the first time in weeks Vi heard her friend’s unclouded laughter.
By the time they drove through the gateway to the estate it was dusk, and rapidly growing dark.
Vi yawned. “It’s the fresh air. Kerrie, I’m flopping right into bed.”
“Sleepy? With such beautiful stars beginning to come out? Here, I’ll let you out at the house and you can flop into your old bed if you want to. I’ll put the car away.”
Vi got out under the porte-cochère and Sir Scram, as she called the butler, opened the front door for her. She disappeared. The butler took the hamper from the car and went back into the house.
Kerrie sat still behind the wheel for a while, mooning up at the darkening sky, her thoughts dream-woven, afloat in a great peace. But soon the brightening stars made her think of what a lovely night it was, and the loveliness of the night led naturally to thoughts of romance, and romance...
She drove off abruptly, headed for the garage.
The garage, located behind the stables, was really six garages under one roof. It was a wide shallow brick building with six double-doors, and each car-compartment was separated from its neighbors by brick and plaster walls, making the individual sections complete in themselves.
Kerrie housed her roadster in the second compartment from the right, between the one where the station-wagon was kept and the one reserved for De Carlos’s powerful limousine.
In the glare of the roadster’s headlights the four double-doors to the left were closed; the two on the right stood open.
Kerrie noticed that the station-wagon was in its garage and wondered why the doors were not closed. But it was the wispiest kind of thought. She drove into her garage, raced her motor, turned off the ignition, withdrew the key, and reached over to switch off her headlights.
Her hand paused in midair. She thought she had heard the slam of a door.
Kerrie twisted in her seat and looked back. The doors of her garage were shut.
“There wasn’t any wind,” she thought, puzzled. “I guess they just swung shut by themselves after I drove in.” And, without turning off her lights, she got out of the roadster and snapped the switch on the wall which operated the ceiling-light.
Then she went to the double-door, pressed down the latch, and pushed. And as she pushed, she heard the click of the lock which was attached to the hook-and-staple on the outside of the door.
Kerrie stood still.
The thought seeped into her mind that, while doors may swing shut of themselves, locks cannot. Her lock required a human hand to slip it through the ring. A human hand to slip the ring through the slit in the staple. A human hand to snap the lock shut.
“You out there!” she called. “You’ve locked me in! I was just about to—”
There was no answer.
And Kerrie did not finish. She knew it was useless to cry out, and why it was useless to cry out. And her heart catapulted into her throat.
But it was so stupid. To lock her in. Sooner or later some one would come to release her. Even if she had to stay all night...
But another attack, a voice whispered. Vi’s gone to bed. The butler won’t remember. No one else knows you’re here — no one that cares. Another attack...
Kerrie laughed aloud, nervously. That was absurd. For whoever had locked her in had locked himself — of herself, she thought darkly — out at the same time. There was no opening in these walls large enough to admit a mouse. Not even a window. High in the right-hand wall of the compartment there was a radiator-grille; it ran through to the next garage, the one for the station-wagon. But the coils of the radiator were between the two garages, behind the grilles; only a fly or a bug could go from one garage to the other by that route.