“Come in, come in, gentlemen,” said Inspector Moley fretfully. “There’s a lot to do.”
They were assembled in a vast Spanish living-room which might have been transported whole from the country hacienda of a mediaeval don of Castile. They were all there — Mrs. Constable, her pallor relieved by a faint color, her eyes warily blank now instead of frightened; the Munns, two unsmiling statues; Mrs. Godfrey and her nervous handkerchief; Rosa, her back to an unhappy Earle Cort; and Walter Godfrey, still in dirty slacks, a fat little menial restlessly pacing the brilliant mats on the floor. The shadow of John Marco loomed black and heavy over their heads.
“We’ll look at his room right away,” continued Moley, his eyes distracted. “Now, folks, listen to me. I’ve got my duty to perform, I don’t give a rap who you people are or how sore you get or how many high muckamucks you call up to make your kicks to. We’ve got an honest administration in this County and State. And that goes for you, too, Mr. Godfrey.” The fat little man looked at Moley with smouldering eyes, but he continued his pacing. “I’m going to get to the bottom of this thing and nobody here’s going to stop me. Is that clear?”
Godfrey halted. “No one is trying to stop you,” he snapped. “Quit gabbling, man, and get to work!”
“That’s what I’m doing right now — working,” grinned Moley a little maliciously. “You’d be surprised what hard work it is sometimes to convince people in a murder-case that there won’t be any funny business tolerated. You’re so anxious, Mr. Godfrey; suppose we start with you. Is it true that you didn’t have anything to do with the presence here this summer of the deceased, John Marco?”
Godfrey flashed a queer look at the tense face of his wife. “Did Mrs. Godfrey tell you that?” It was almost as if he were surprised.
“Never mind what Mrs. Godfrey told me. Please answer the question.”
“It’s true, I didn’t.”
“Did you know Marco socially before Mrs. Godfrey invited him to stay here?”
“I know very few people socially, Inspector,” said the millionaire coldly. “I believe Mrs. Godfrey met the man at some function in the city. I was probably introduced to him.”
“Have any business dealings with him?”
“I beg your pardon!” Godfrey looked contemptuous.
“You didn’t have a deal on with him?” persisted Moley.
“Nonsense. I don’t believe I spoke three words to the fellow all summer. I didn’t like him and I don’t care who knows it. But, since I never interfere in Mrs. Godfrey’s social arrangements—”
“Where were you at one o’clock this morning?”
The millionaire’s snaky little eyes hardened. “In bed, asleep.”
“What time’d you go to bed?”
“At ten-thirty.”
Moley barked: “And left your guests still up?”
Godfrey said softly: “They are not my guests, Inspector, but my wife’s; suppose we get that clear at once. If you will question these people, I believe you’ll find that I have had as little to do with them as was physically possible.”
“Walter!” cried Stella Godfrey in an anguished voice; she bit her lip at once. Rosa averted her dark young head; there was sick embarrassment on her face. The Munns looked uncomfortable and the big man muttered something beneath his breath. Only Mrs. Constable did not change expression.
“Then ten-thirty was the last time you saw Marco alive?”’
Godfrey stared at him. “You’re a fool.”
“Hey?” gasped the Inspector.
“If I had seen Marco after ten-thirty, do you think I should admit it?” The millionaire hitched his slacks like a perspiring little laborer and actually smiled. “You’re wasting your time, man.”
Ellery saw Moley’s big hands twitch convulsively and the cords of his thick throat tighten. But he merely turned his head away and demanded, quietly enough: “Who saw Marco last?”
There was an itchy silence. Moley’s eyes swept about, searching. “Well, well?” he said patiently. “Don’t be bashful. I’m just trying to trace the man’s movements last night up to the time he was killed.”
Mrs. Godfrey smiled desperately. “We... we played bridge.”
“That’s better! Who, and at what time?”
“Mrs. Munn and Mr. Cort,” said Stella Godfrey in a low voice, “played against Mrs. Constable and Mr. Marco. Mr. Munn and my daughter, and my brother David and I were also to play; but since Rosa and David didn’t appear, Mr. Munn and I merely watched. We had separated immediately after dinner for a few moments, and finally we gathered in the patio. Then we went into the living-room — came in here, you see — and began to play at about eight, I should say, or a little after. We broke up near midnight. Perhaps a quarter to twelve, to be more accurate. That’s all, Inspector.”
“Then what?”
She lowered her eyes. “Why — we just broke up, that’s all. Mr. Marco was the first to leave. He... he had seemed a little impatient toward the end of the game, and as soon as the last rubber was played he said good-night to everybody and went upstairs to his room. The others—”
“He went up alone?”
“I think-Yes, he did.”
“Is that right, everybody?”
They nodded instantly; with the exception of Walter Godfrey, who had a half-sneer on his ugly little face.
“May I interrupt, Inspector?” Moley shrugged, and Ellery faced them with a friendly smile. “Mrs. Godfrey, were you all in this room constantly between the time the game began and the time it broke up?”
She looked vague. “Oh, I don’t think so. I think that at some time during the evening every one was out of the room for a few moments or so. You don’t notice those things particularly—”
“Did the original four players play continuously all evening? Was there any change of partners, or players?”
Mrs. Godfrey averted her head slightly. “I... don’t recall.”
Mrs. Munn’s hard, beautiful face came alive suddenly. Her platinum hair radiated a sheen in the sunshine pouring through the windows. “I do! Mrs. Godfrey was asked by Mr. Cort at one time — it must have been around nine o’clock — if she wouldn’t like to take his hand. She said no, but suggested that if Mr. Cort didn’t want to play any more maybe Mr. Munn did.”
“That’s right,” said Munn quickly. “That’s right. Clean forgot about that, Cecilia.” His mahogany face was perfectly wooden. “I sat in, and Cort moseyed off somewhere.”
“Oh, he did, did he?” said the Inspector. “Where’d you go, Mr. Cort?”
The young man, his ears flaming, set his lips angrily. “What difference does it make? Marco was still at the table when I left!”
“Where’d you go?”
“Well — if you must know,” muttered Cort in a sullen way, “I went off looking for Rosa — for Miss Godfrey.” Rosa’s back twitched, and she sniffed audibly. “I was worried about her!” burst out the young man. “She’d gone off with her uncle not long after dinner and hadn’t come back. I couldn’t understand—”
“I can take care of myself,” said Rosa coldly, without turning.
“You took care of yourself last night, all right,” retorted Cort with bitterness. “That’s a fine way to take care of yourself—”
“I suppose you’d have been the brave hero and—”
“Rosa dear,” said Mrs. Godfrey helplessly.
“How long was Mr. Cort away?” asked Ellery gently. No one answered. “How long, Mrs. Munn?”
“Oh, a long time!” shrilled the ex-actress.
“And was Mr. Cort the only one who left the table and remained away — a long time?”
Unaccountably, they all looked at one another and then away. Then Mrs. Munn said again, in her high metallic voice: “He was not. Jo — Mr. Marco left, too.”