“How’d you come to invite him?” growled Moley.
Her hands writhed. “He... he happened to mention that he loved the sea, and that he hadn’t any definite plans for the summer... I... we all liked him very much. He was jolly company, he sang Spanish songs charmingly—”
“Spanish songs? Marco,” said Ellery reflectively. “That might be... Was he Spanish, Mrs. Godfrey?”
“I... I think so. Remotely.”
“Then his nationality and the name of your summer place come under the tolerant head of coincidence. Quite so. You were saying—?”
“Well, he played tennis like an expert — we’ve several turf courts on the other side of the Cape, you know, as well as a nine-hole golf course... He played the piano and an excellent game of bridge. The ideal summer house-guest, you see—”
“Not to mention, of course,” smiled Ellery, “his personal attractiveness, a distinct asset in the case of female-heavy weekends. Yes, indeed, it’s really a sad case. And so you invited this paragon, Mrs. Godfrey, for the summer. He lived up to his glowing promise?”
Her eyes flashed angrily; then she swallowed hard and lowered them again. “Oh, quite, quite. Rosa — my daughter liked him very much.”
“Then it was Miss Godfrey who was really responsible for Marco’s presence here, Mrs. Godfrey?”
“I... I didn’t say that... exactly.”
“If I may,” murmured the Judge. “Ah — how good a game of bridge did Mr. Marco play?” The old gentleman played a fiendish game himself.
Mrs. Godfrey raised her eyebrows. “I don’t see— Excellent, as I said, Judge Macklin. He was better than any of us.”
The Judge said gently: “You generally play for high stakes?”
“No, indeed. Half a cent sometimes, most times a fifth.”
“That would be called high enough in my circle,” smiled the old gentleman. “Marco won consistently, I take it?”
“Well — I beg your pardon, Judge!” said Mrs. Godfrey coldly, rising. “Really, that’s an unpardonable insinuation. Do you think I—”
“I’m sorry. Who,” asked the Judge inflexibly, “has been his most consistent victim among those present?”
“Your choice of terms, Judge Macklin, is scarcely in the best of taste. I’ve lost a little. Mrs. Munn has lost some—”
“Sit down,” snapped Inspector Moley. “We’re getting nowhere fast. Sorry, Judge, but this isn’t a case of card-killing. These letters, now, Mrs. Godfrey. Any idea who was writing to him?”
“Yes, yes, the letters,” drawled Ellery. “Extremely important.”
“I think I can help you there,” replied Mrs. Godfrey in the same cold tone. But she sat down. “I couldn’t help noticing, you see, when I sorted the mail... The ones that came were from the same source, I think. All the envelopes were of the business type, with a business imprint in the corners. The same imprint.”
“Not from a certain Lucius Penfield,” asked Ellery grimly, “of 11 Park Row, New York City?”
Her eyes widened in genuine surprise. “Yes, that’s the name and address. I think there were three, not two. About two or three weeks apart.”
The three men exchanged glances. “When’d the last one come?” demanded Moley.
“Four or five days ago. The envelope-imprint said Attorney-at-Law, under his name.”
“Lawyer!” muttered Judge Macklin. “By George, I might have known. From the address...” He stopped short, his lids coming down in a concealing way.
“Surely that’s enough for now?” murmured Mrs. Godfrey with difficulty, rising again. “Rosa needs my attention—”
“All right,” said the Inspector sourly. “But I’ll get to the bottom of this in spite of hell and high water, Mrs. Godfrey. I’m not satisfied with your answers, I’ll tell you frankly. I think you’re being a very foolish woman. It pays in the end to tell the truth in the beginning... Sam! See that Mrs. Godfrey-gets back to the house — all right.”
Stella Godfrey scanned their faces with brief, anxious, questioning glances; then she compressed her lips, tossed her dark and handsome head, and preceded the Inspector’s man up the terrace steps.
They gazed silently after her until she disappeared.
Then Moley said: “She knows a lot more than she pretends to. God, what a pipe this racket would be if only people talked straight!”
“‘It pays in the end to tell the truth in the beginning,’” repeated Ellery reflectively. “How’s that for homely wisdom, Judge?” He chuckled. “Inspector, that was well if crudely put; it deserves an honored place in Bartlett’s. The lady’s weakening. A little pressure on the right spot...”
“This,” said Inspector Moley wearily, “is Lefty. Come on down here, Lefty. Meet Judge Macklin and Mr. Queen. Mr. Queen wants to know something about the tides around here. Find the duds yet?”
Lefty was a wiry little man with the suggestion of a roll in his gait. He had red hair, a red face, red hands, and freckles by the quart. “Not yet, sir. The boys are on the golf course now. And the draggin’ crews ‘a’ just come down from Barham... Pleased to meet ye, gentlemen. What was it ye wanted to know about the tides, sir?”
“Very nearly everything,” said Ellery. “Sit down, Lefty. Smoke? Now. You’ve known these waters for a long time?”
“Long enough, sir. I was born not three miles from here.”
“Good! How tricky are these tides?”
“Tricky? Don’t know’s they are, specially, exceptin’ in places where conditions freak ’em up a bit. Otherwise,” grinned the man, “we get a passable grade o’ tide out this way.”
“And how about the tides in this Cove, Lefty?”
“Oh.” The grin faded. “I get ye, sir. This is one of the trick spots. Queer formation of the cliffs here and that narrow openin’ play old hob with the chart.”
“Can you give me the respective tide-times for any given period?”
Lefty solemnly fished in a roomy pocket and produced a dog-eared pamphlet. “Sure, sir. I once did some work for the Coast Geodetic along in here and I know all about this Cove. What day?”
Ellery looked at his cigaret and drawled: “Last night.”
The man riffled the pages. Judge Macklin’s eyes narrowed and he directed them inquiringly at Ellery. But Ellery was studying the incoming hem of water, with its frilled edge, in a pleasant reverie.
“Well,” said Lefty, “here she is. Yesterday mornin’—”
“Begin with last night, Lefty.”
“Well, sir, high tide last night was at twelve-six.”
“A little after midnight,” said Ellery thoughtfully. “Then the tide begins to go out, so... When was the next high tide?”
Lefty grinned again. “She’s a-comin’ in now, sir. High at a quarter after twelve this afternoon.”
“And at what time was it low tide during the night?”
“Six-one this mornin’, sir.”
“I see. Tell me this, Lefty. How rapidly, as a general rule, do the tides go out in the Cove?”
Lefty scratched his red head. “Depends on the season of the year, Mr. Queen, like every place else. But she goes out fast. Soundings show a funny bottom down here, and the cliffs mess things up. Kind of sucked out, the tide is.”
“Ah, then there’s a considerable difference between the depths in here at low tide and at high?”
“Sure, sir. That’s a shelvin’ beach, as you see; drops fast. Some spring tides the high covers the third step down there leadin’ from the terrace to the sand. Difference in depth might be as much as nine, ten feet sometimes.”
“That seems like a lot of feet.”
“Consid’able, sir. More than anywhere along here. But that’s nothin’ compared to the tidefall up at, say, Eastport, Maine. Goes eighteen feet ‘n’ more there! And in the Bay of Fundy it’s forty-five — granddaddy of ’em all, I guess. Then there’s—”