The turtle face didn’t change, but his head made a movement of withdrawal into the shawl collar of his robe. “I’m exceedingly sorry to hear it. But my gatekeeper mentioned the matter of money. That interests me more.”
“Good.” I produced the bills and spread them fanwise on my knee. “Do you recognize this?”
“Should I?”
“For a man that’s interested in money, you’re acting very coy.”
“I’m interested in its source.”
“I had an idea that you were the source of this particular money. I have some other ideas. For instance, that Hilary Todd stole the Chardin and sold it to you. One thing I have no idea about is why you would buy a stolen picture and pay for it in cash.”
His false teeth glistened coldly in the firelight. Like the man at the gate, he kept his eyes on the money. “The picture wasn’t stolen. I bought it legally from its rightful owner.”
“I might believe you if you hadn’t denied any knowledge of it this afternoon. I think you knew it was stolen.”
His voice took on a cutting edge: “It was not.” He slipped his blue-veined hand inside his robe and brought out a folded sheet of paper, which he handed me.
It was a bill of sale for the picture, informal but legal, written in longhand on the stationery of the San Marcos Beach Club, signed by Admiral Johnston Turner, and dated that day.
“Now may I ask you where you got hold of that money?”
“I’ll be frank with you, Mr. Hendryx. I took it from the body of Hilary Todd, when he had no further use for it.”
“That’s a criminal act, I believe.”
My brain was racing, trying to organize a mass of contradictory facts. “I have a notion that you’re not going to talk to anyone about it.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “You seem to be full of notions.”
“I have another. Whether or not you’re grateful to me for bringing you this money, I think you should be.”
“Have you any reason for saying that?” He had withdrawn his eyes from the money on my knee and was looking into my face.
“You’re in the building business, Mr. Hendryx?”
“Yes.” His voice was flat.
“I don’t know exactly how you got this money. My guess is that you gouged it out of home-buyers, by demanding a cash side-payment in addition to the appraised value of the houses you’ve been selling to veterans.”
“That’s a pretty comprehensive piece of guesswork, isn’t it?”
“I don’t expect you to admit it. On the other hand, you probably wouldn’t want this money traced to you. The fact that you haven’t banked it is an indication of that. That’s why Todd could count on you to keep this picture deal quiet. And that’s why you should be grateful to me.”
The turtle eyes stared into mine and admitted nothing. “If I were grateful, what form do you suggest my gratitude should take?”
“I want the picture. I’ve sort of set my heart on it.”
“Keep the money instead.”
“This money is no good to me. Dirty money never is.”
He threw the blanket off and levered himself out of the chair. “You’re somewhat more honest than I’d supposed. You’re offering, then, to buy the picture back from me with that money.”
“Exactly.”
“And if I don’t agree?”
“The money goes to the Intelligence Unit of the Internal Revenue Bureau.”
There was silence for a while, broken by the fire hissing and sputtering in an irritable undertone.
“Very well,” he said at length. “Give me the money.”
“Give me the picture.”
He waded across the heavy rug, moving his feet a few inches at a time, and pressed a corner of one of the bookcases. It swung open like a door. Behind it was the face of a large wall safe. I waited uncomfortably while he twirled the double dials.
A minute later he shuffled back to me with the picture in his hands. The boy in the blue waistcoat was there in the frame, watching the apple, which looked good enough to eat after more than two hundred years.
Hendryx’ withered face had settled into a kind of malevolent resignation. “You realize that this is no better than blackmail.”
“On the contrary, I’m saving you from the consequences of your own poor judgment. You shouldn’t do business with thieves and murderers.”
“You still insist the picture was stolen?”
“I think it was. You probably know it was. Will you answer one question?”
“Perhaps.”
“When Hilary Todd approached you about buying this picture, did he claim to represent Admiral Turner?”
“Of course. You have the bill of sale in your hand. It’s signed by the Admiral.”
“I see that, but I don’t know his signature.”
“I do. Now, if you have no further questions, may I have my money?”
“One more: Who killed Hugh Western?”
“I don’t know,” he said heavily and finally.
He held out his brown hand with the palm upward. I gave him the sheaf of bills.
“And the bill of sale, if you please.”
“It wasn’t part of the bargain.”
“It has to be.”
“I suppose you’re right.” I handed it to him.
“Please don’t come back a third time,” he said as he rang for the maid. “I find your visits tiring and annoying.”
“I won’t come back,” I said. I didn’t need to.
I parked in the alley beside the art gallery and got out of the car with the Chardin under my arm. There was talk and laughter and the tiny din of cutlery in the restaurant patio beyond the hedge. On the other side of the alley a light was shining behind the barred window of Silliman’s office. I reached up between the bars and tapped on the window. I couldn’t see beyond the closed Venetian blinds.
Someone opened the casement. It was Alice, her blond head aureoled against the light. “Who is it?” she said in a frightened whisper.
“Archer.” I had a sudden, rather theatrical impulse. I held up the Chardin and passed it to her edgewise between the bars. She took it from my hands and let out a little yelp of surprise. “It was where I thought it would be,” I said. Silliman appeared at her shoulder, squeaking, “What is it? What is it?”
My brain was doing a double take on the action I’d just performed. I had returned the Chardin to the gallery without using the door. It could have been stolen the same way, by Hilary Todd or anyone else who had access to the building. No human being could pass through the bars, but a picture could.
Silliman’s head came out the window like a gray mop being shaken. “Where on earth did you find it?”
I had no story ready, so I said nothing.
A gentle hand touched my arm and stayed, like a bird alighting. I started, but it was only Mary.
“I’ve been watching for you,” she said. “The sheriff’s in Hilary’s shop, and he’s raving mad. He said he’s going to put you in jail, as a material witness.”
“You didn’t tell him about the money?” I said in an undertone.
“No. Did you really get the picture?”
“Come inside and see.”
As we turned the corner of the building, a car left the curb in front of it, and started up the street with a roar. It was Admiral Turner’s black sedan.
“It looks like Alice driving,” Mary said.
“She’s gone to tell her father, probably.”
I made a sudden decision, and headed back to my car.
“Where are you going?”
“I want to see the Admiral’s reaction to the news.”
She followed me to the car. “Take me.”
“You’d better stay here. I can’t tell what might happen.”