Evelyn Throop had been looking off into the middle distance as she formulated her theory, and now she focused her eyes upon the diminutive attorney. “It could have happened that way,” she said, “couldn’t it?”
“It could have happened precisely that way,” Ehrengraf said. “It could have happened in any of innumerable ways. Ah, Miss Throop—” now the lawyer rubbed his small hands together “—that’s the whole beauty of it. There are any number of alternatives to the prosecution’s argument, but of course they don’t see them. Give the police a supposedly ironclad case and they look no further. It is not their task to examine alternatives. But it is our task, Miss Throop, to find not merely an alternative but the correct alternative, the ideal alternative. And in just that fashion we will make a free woman of you.”
“You seem very confident, Mr. Ehrengraf.”
“I am.”
“And prepared to believe in my innocence.”
“Unequivocally. Without question.”
“I find that refreshing,” Evelyn Throop said. “I even believe you’ll get me acquitted.”
“I fully expect to,” Ehrengraf said. “Now let me see, is there anything else we have to discuss at present?”
“Yes.”
“And what would that be?”
“Your fee,” said Evelyn Throop.
Back in his office, seated behind a desk which he kept as untidy as he kept his own person immaculate, Martin H. Ehrengraf sat back and contemplated the many extraordinary qualities of his latest client. In his considerable experience, while clients were not invariably opposed to a discussion of his fees, they were certainly loath to raise the matter. But Evelyn Throop, possessor of dove-gray eyes and remarkable facial bones, had proved an exception.
“My fees are high,” Ehrengraf had told her, “but they are payable only in the event that my clients are acquitted. If you don’t emerge from this ordeal scot-free, you owe me nothing. Even my expenses will be at my expense.”
“And if I get off?”
“Then you will owe me one hundred thousand dollars. And I must emphasize, Miss Throop, that the fee will be due me however you win your freedom. It is not inconceivable that neither of us will ever see the inside of a courtroom, that your release when it comes will appear not to have been the result of my efforts at all. I will, nevertheless, expect to be paid in full.”
The gray eyes looked searchingly into the lawyer’s own. “Yes,” she said after a moment. “Yes, of course. Well, that seems fair. If I’m released I won’t really care how the end was accomplished, will I?”
Ehrengraf said nothing. Clients often whistled a different tune at a later date, but one could burn that bridge when one came to it.
“One hundred thousand dollars seems reasonable,” the woman continued. “I suppose any sum would seem reasonable when one’s life and liberty hang in the balance. Of course, you must know I have no money of my own.”
“Perhaps your family—”
She shook her head. “I can trace my ancestors back to William the Conqueror,” she said, “and there were Throops who made their fortune in whaling and the China trade, but I’m afraid the money’s run out over the generations. However, I shouldn’t have any problem paying your fee.”
“Oh?”
“I’m Howard’s chief beneficiary,” she explained. “I’ve seen his will and it makes it unmistakably clear that I held first place in his affections. After a small cash bequest to Mrs. Keppner for her loyal years of service, and after leaving his art collection — which, I grant you, is substantial — to Leona, the remainder comes to me. There may be a couple of cash bequests to charities but nothing that amounts to much. So while I’ll have to wait for the will to make its way through probate, I’m sure I can borrow on my expectations and pay you your fee within a matter of days of my release from jail, Mr. Ehrengraf.”
“A day that should come in short order,” Ehrengraf said.
“That’s your department,” Evelyn Throop said, and smiled serenely.
Ehrengraf smiled now, recalling her smile, and made a little tent of his fingertips on the desk top. An exceptional woman, he told himself, and one on whose behalf it would be an honor to extend himself. It was difficult, of course. Shot with the woman’s own gun, and a witness to swear that she’d shot him. Difficult, certainly, but scarcely impossible.
The little lawyer leaned back, closed his eyes, and considered alternatives.
Some days later, Ehrengraf was seated at his desk reading the poems of William Ernest Henley, who had written so confidently of being the master of one’s fate and the captain of one’s soul. The telephone rang. Ehrengraf set his book down, located the instrument amid the desk top clutter, and answered it.
“Ehrengraf,” said Ehrengraf.
He listened for a moment, spoke briefly in reply, and replaced the receiver.
Smiling brightly, he started for the door, then paused to check his appearance in a mirror.
His tie was navy blue, with a demure below-the-knot pattern of embroidered rams’ heads. For a moment Ehrengraf thought of stopping at his house and changing it for his Caedmon Society necktie, one he’d taken to wearing on triumphal occasions. He glanced at his watch and decided not to squander the time.
Later, recalling the decision, he wondered if it hinted at prescience.
“Quite remarkable,” Evelyn Throop said. “Although I suppose I should have at least considered the possibility that Mrs. Keppner was lying. After all, I knew for a fact that she was testifying to something that didn’t happen to be true. But for some reason I assumed it was an honest mistake on her part.”
“One hesitates to believe the worst of people,” Ehrengraf said.
“That’s exactly it, of course. Besides, I rather took her for granted.”
“So, it appears, did Mr. Bierstadt.”
“And that was his mistake, wasn’t it?” Evelyn Throop sighed. “Dora Keppner had been with him for years. Who would have guessed she’d been in love with him? Although I gather their relationship was physical at one point.”
“There was a suggestion to that effect in the note she left.”
“And I understand he wanted to get rid of her — to discharge her.”
“The note seems to have indicated considerable mental disturbance,” Ehrengraf said. “There were other jottings in a notebook found in Mrs. Keppner’s attic bedroom. The impression seems to be that either she and her employer had been intimate in the past or that she entertained a fantasy to that effect. Her attitude in recent weeks apparently became less and less the sort proper to a servant, and either Mr. Bierstadt intended to let her go or she feared that he did and — well, we know what happened.”
“She shot him.” Evelyn Throop frowned. “She must have been in the room when he went to freshen the drinks. I thought he’d put the gun in his pocket but perhaps he still had it in his hand. He would have set it down when he made the drinks and she could have snatched it up and shot him and been out of the room before I got there.” The gray eyes moved to encounter Ehrengraf’s. “She didn’t leave any fingerprints on the gun.”
“She seems to have worn gloves. She was wearing a pair when she took her own life. A test indicated nitrite particles in the right glove.”
“Couldn’t they have gotten there when she committed suicide?”
“It’s unlikely,” Ehrengraf said. “She didn’t shoot herself, you see. She took poison.”
“How awful,” Evelyn Throop said. “I hope it was quick.”
“Mercifully so,” said Ehrengraf. Clearly this woman was the captain of her soul, he thought, not to mention master of her fate. Or ought it to be mistress of her fate? And yet, he realized abruptly, she was not entirely at ease.