“Quite right, Mr. Cort,” murmured Tiller.
“I’d got him downright angry, I guess; I don’t think he would have spoken so frankly and lost his temper so easily if he’d been his usual self. He seemed very excited. And I was so mad I ran away; I think I’d have killed him if I stayed another minute.”
Rosa tossed her head suddenly and without a word stalked across the room to a door. Moley watched her go without comment.
“Marriage,” said Mrs. Constable bitterly. “Generous of him.” And she said no more.
“Well!” Inspector Moley hunched his shoulders. “This is a nice kettle of fish. Anyway, Marco and you returned to the game?”
“I don’t know about Marco,” muttered the young man, his eyes still on the door, “because I just wandered about the grounds, too ripping mad to be seen in polite company. I guess in my dumb way I must have been looking for Rosa. But when I did cool off and go back, about half-past ten, I found Marco in the game again, jolly as you please, as if nothing had happened.”
“What did happen, Tiller?” demanded Moley.
Tiller coughed behind a little hand. “Mr. Cort ran off up the path, as he says, sir; I heard him clattering up the steps leading to the house a little later. Mr. Marco remained on the terrace for a few minutes, muttering angrily to himself. Then I saw him — the terrace-light was on, sir — fix his clothing (he was in whites at that time, sir), smooth his hair down, adjust his necktie, sort of try out a smile, turn the lights off, and go away. He went straight to the house, I believe, sir.”
“Did he, or didn’t he? Did you follow him?”
“I... Yes, sir.”
“Remarkable observer, Tiller,” smiled Ellery; he had not once taken his gaze from the man’s bland little face. “Excellent reporting. By the way, who answers telephone calls here?”
“Generally the under-butler, sir. The switchboard is in one of the inner halls, sir. I believe—”
Moley put his mouth to Ellery’s ear and said: “I’ve had a man talk to the butler already. And the other regular servants. Nobody remembers a call last night about the time Kidd must have rung up. But that doesn’t mean anything; either they’re lying, or don’t remember.”
“Or the recipient was waiting for it,” said Ellery quietly, “at the switchboard... Thank you, Tiller.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Tiller glanced at him briefly and looked away; but in that cursory inspection he seemed to have seen everything.
“I hope,” said Walter Godfrey acidly from his corner, where he sat grotesquely enthroned, like Soglow’s Little King, “that you’re satisfied with your handiwork, Stella, my dear.” And he rose and followed his daughter out of the living-room. What he meant by this cryptic remark no one — least of all Mrs. Godfrey, who sat steeped in mortification and pain — volunteered to explain.
The detective whom Moley had called Sam hurried in from the patio and said something to the Inspector in an undertone. Moley nodded without enthusiasm, threw a meaning look at Ellery and Judge Macklin — who all this time had been standing stiffly by himself in a corner — and stalked out.
There was an instant raising of tension, as if an electric current had been turned off. Joseph B. Munn silently moved his right foot and drew a noiseless deep breath. An almost human expression came into Mrs. Constable’s gargoyle face and her heavy shoulders shook. Mrs. Munn raised a minute square of cambric to her hard eyes. Cort made unsteadily for a taboret and poured himself a drink... Tiller turned as if to leave.
“If you please, Tiller,” said Ellery pleasantly; Tiller halted, and the current was magically turned on again. “An observer of your calibre can ill be spared. We may have use for your talents in the very near future... Ladies and gentlemen. If I may intrude my unwelcome personality into this sad discussion. My name is Queen, the gentleman at my left is Judge Macklin, and—”
“Who gave you birds permission to horn in?” growled Joe Munn suddenly, rising to his full hard height. “Isn’t one cop enough?”
“I was about to explain,” said Ellery patiently, “that Inspector Moley has requested us to act as... er... consultants. In that capacity, it behooves me to ask a few — I trust — pertinent questions. Suppose we begin with you, Mr. Munn, since you seem impatient. At what hour did you turn in last night?”
Munn stared at him coldly for a few seconds before replying. His black eyes were as steady as the sea-washed rocks at the feet of Spanish Cape. He said: “Around eleven-thirty.”
“I thought the game had broken up at a quarter of twelve?”
“I wasn’t playing for the last half-hour. I excused myself and went on up to bed.”
“I see,” said Ellery quietly. “Then why did you say before, Mrs. Godfrey, that Mr. Marco was the first to retire from the game?”
“Oh, I don’t know! I can’t remember everything. This is so utterly impossible...”
“Quite understandable. But we must get truthful answers, Mrs. Godfrey; a good deal may depend upon the faithfulness of your collective memories... Mr. Munn, when you went upstairs Marco was still in this room playing?”
“That’s the ticket.”
“Did you see him, or hear him, when he followed you upstairs?”
Munn snapped: “He didn’t follow me.”
“In a manner of speaking,” said Ellery hastily. “Did you?”
“Naw. I told you I went right to bed. Didn’t hear nothing.”
“And you, Mrs. Munn?”
The beautiful woman cried: “I don’t know why we have to answer questions, questions, questions, Joe!” in her shrill voice.
“Shut up, Cecilia,” said Munn. “Mrs. Munn came upstairs just as I was crawlin’ into bed, Queen. We’ve been sharing the same room here.”
“I see,” smiled Ellery. “Now, Mr. Munn, I take it you’ve known Marco for some time?”
“You can take it, but it won’t do you any good. You’re all wrong, partner. I never saw that lily-faced guy in my life before we came up here.” Munn shrugged his broad shoulders carelessly. “Not much of a loss, I’d say. Down in Rio a gig like him wouldn’t last long among white men. Matter of fact,” he continued with a hard grin, “I don’t cotton to this society stuff at all, now I’ve sampled it — with all due respect to Mrs. Godfrey. Cecilia and me, we’re goin’ to beat it the hell out of here first chance we get, aren’t we, hon?”
“Hush, Joe!” said Mrs. Munn fiercely, casting an anxious look at Mrs. Godfrey.
“Er... but you did know Mrs. Godfrey, of course?”
The big man shrugged again. “Nope. I just got in from the Argentine four, five months ago; met Mrs. Munn in New York and we got hitched, y’see. Made a pile of jack out there, and I guess jack talks in any man’s country. We got an invite to come up here to Spanish Cape, that’s all I know. Sounded kind of funny, but hell! I’m not scared of the tony crowd any more the way I used to be.”
Mrs. Godfrey’s hand came up in a sudden helpless, frightened gesture, as if she were trying to stop Munn or ward off a danger. He looked at her with a sudden narrowing of his bleak eyes. “What’s the matter? Did I let out somethin’ I wasn’t supposed to?”
“Do you mean to say,” demanded Ellery softly, leaning forward, “that you had never met, never heard of the Godfreys before you received an invitation to spend a few days at their summer home?”
Munn stroked his big brown chin. “You’ll have to ask Mrs. Godfrey that,” he said abruptly, and sat down.
“Why—” began Stella Godfrey in a choked voice; her nostrils were pinched and she looked about to faint. “Why — I’m always asking... interesting people out here, Mr. Queen. Mr... Mr. Munn seemed a refreshing personality from what I read about him in the papers, and then I... I’d seen Mrs. Munn when she was Cecilia Ball in several Broadway revues...”