“Where’d you meet him?”
“At a party.”
“How long did you let him—” He choked and finished with a vile, blistering phrase.
“Two... two weeks. While you were away.”
He slapped her again. She buried her reddened face in her hands. “In my apartment?” They could scarcely hear his voice.
“Y-yes...”
His hands bunched in his pockets. She looked up and at their concealed bulk with slow horror. “Did you write him letters?”
“One.” She was whispering now.
“Love stuff?”
"Yes..."
“You changed maids while I was away, didn’t you?”
“Yes.” There was the strangest note in her whisper, and he looked at her sharply. Ellery’s eyes narrowed.
Munn stepped back and strode about the grove like a leashed animal, his face a thundercloud. She watched him with almost panting anxiety. Then he paused.
“You’re getting a break,” he said with a snarl. “I’m not going to kill you, see? Not because I’m softenin’, understand, but because there are too many bulls around here. If this was out West, or down in Rio, I’d have wrung your neck instead of slappin’ you around like a nance.”
“Oh, Joe, I didn’t mean to do anything wrong—”
“Don’t yap! I’m liable to change my mind. How much did that Marco bastard suck out of you?”
She shrank away. “D-don’t hit me again, Joe! Most... most of that money you put... in my account.”
“I gave you ten thousand dollars for spendin’ money while I was away. How much did he get out of you?”
“Eight.” She looked at her hands.
“Was it this gig that got us the invite to come up here to Spanish Cape?”
“Y-yes.”
“I thought it was the bunk. What a sucker I’ve been!” he said bitterly. “I s’pose that Constable dame and this Godfrey woman were both in the same boat. Why the hell else should the fat one commit suicide? You didn’t get that letter back from him, did you?”
“No. No, Joe, I didn’t. He fooled me. He wouldn’t sell. When we got here he asked me for — more. He wanted five thousand. I... I didn’t have it. He said I should get it from you, or he’d turn the letter and — and the maid’s statement over to you. I told him I didn’t dare and he said I’d better. Then — somebody killed him.”
“And a good clean job, too. Only thing is he didn’t get the right kind of killin’. They handle those things better down in South America. They can do wonders with a knife. Did you bump him?”
“No, no, Joe, I swear I didn’t! I... I’d thought about it, but—”
“Naw, I guess you didn’t. You haven’t got the guts of a louse when it comes to the real thing. Not that I give a damn. Hell, that crooked mouth o’ yours couldn’t tell the truth if it tried. Did you find that letter?”
“I looked for it, but” — she shivered — “it wasn’t there.”
“So it’s on the level. Somebody beat you to it.” Munn scowled thoughtfully. “That’s why the Constable critter threw herself over that cliff. Couldn’t stand the gaff.”
“Joe. How did you — know?” whispered the blonde woman.
“Got a call a couple of hours ago from somebody with a voice that smelled bad. Told me all about it. Offered the letter and the maid’s written story for sale. Ten grand. Sounded kind of hard up. I said I’d think it over — and here I am.” He slowly tilted his wife’s face upward. “Only that horse-thief doesn’t know Joe Munn. He’d ‘a’ done better to go to you direct and have you steal some dough.” His fingers were biting cruelly into her flesh. “Cele, you and I are through.”
“Yes, Joe...”
“As soon as this murder stink blows over, I’m goin’ to get me a divorce.”
“Yes, Joe...”
“I’m goin’ to take that jewelry away from you — all the stuff I gave you that you loved so damn’ much.”
“Yes, Joe...”
“The La Salle roadster goes to the boneyard. I’m goin’ to burn that mink coat you bought for winter and that you haven’t worn. I’m goin’ to make a bonfire out of every stitch of clothes you’ve got, Cele.”
“Joe...”
“I’m goin’ to take your last cent away from you, Cele. And d’ye know what I’m goin’ to do after that?”
“Joe... I”
“I’m goin’ to kick you out into the gutter where you can play in the manure with all the rest of the—” For some time his voice went dispassionately on, in a catalogue of American and Spanish obscenity that made the listening men writhe. And all the time Munn’s fingers dug into those stricken cheeks, and his black eyes burned into hers.
Then he stopped and pushed her face back gently, and he turned on his heel and marched off down the path toward the house. She sat crouched on the bench, shivering as if she were cold. There were blackish welts on her face; they looked black in the moonlight. But in her attitude they sensed a queer and extraordinary gratification, as if she were also incredibly surprised to find herself still alive.
“My fault,” frowned Ellery as they made their way rapidly but cautiously back toward the house in Munn’s footsteps. “I should have anticipated that call. But so soon! How could I? The creature must be in the last stages of desperation.”
“He’ll call again,” panted Moley. “Munn practically said so. Munn’ll tell him to go to hell — he won’t pay — but then maybe we’ll get a line on where this guy is callin’ from. For all we know it may be from the house itself. Those extensions—”
“No,” snapped Ellery. “Let Munn alone. There’s no reason to expect that the call will be any more traceable than the first. And we might spoil everything. We have one card left to play — if it’s not too late.” He quickened his stride.
“Mrs. Godfrey?” muttered Judge Macklin.
But Ellery was already lost under the Moorish archway.
Chapter Thirteen
Foul Deeds Will Rise
He knocked insistently on the door of Mrs. Godfrey’s sitting-room. To their astonishment it was opened by the millionaire himself, who thrust his ugly face pugnaciously up at them and scowled.
“Well?”
“We must speak with Mrs. Godfrey,” said Ellery. “It’s on a matter of the utmost importance—”
“These are my wife’s private quarters,” snapped Godfrey. “We’ve been hounded from pillar to post until my patience is exhausted. As far as I can see all you’ve accomplished is a lot of talking and running about. Can’t this ‘important’ matter wait until morning?”
“No, it can’t,” said Inspector Moley rudely, although he had no idea what was in Ellery’s mind; and he pushed past the millionaire into the room.
Stella Godfrey rose slowly from a wide couch. She was dressed in something both voluminous and thin, and her mules were on bare feet. She drew her négligée about her with a queer light in her eyes that puzzled them — a soft, dreamy, almost peaceful expression.
Godfrey marched himself in his brocaded dressing-gown to her side, standing a little before her in a protective attitude. The three men exchanged startled glances. Peace had come at last to the house of Godfrey — a peace and understanding that had not existed before. The little man, then, was even more amazingly unpredictable than his reputation... They could not help visualizing at this moment the convulsed fury on the face of Joseph Munn as he loomed over his wife in the gardens. Munn was the beast, the primitive man with a simple psychology — a savage sense of possession, a blind agony venting itself in the impulse to hurt, to batter, to crush when that sense of possession was outraged. But Walter Godfrey’s was a civilized, almost an effete, psychology. For more than a score of years his wife, while faithful to her marriage vows, had virtually not existed for him; and yet when he discovered that at last she had violated those vows, he recognized her existence, apparently forgave her, and began once more to devote himself to her! Of course, it might have been the unfortunate fate of Laura Constable that drew him to her; the stout woman had been a tragic figure, even in silence, and her shocking end had cast a pall over the household. Or perhaps it was the proximity of danger, the overhanging threat of the law, the fusing property of common fears. At any rate, the Godfreys were as tenderly reconciled as the Munns were irremediably ruptured; that much was evident.