Craig started to speak, but Alexia replied, “You know everything I know of him, Lieutenant. He’s been here about a month. He’s waiting for his call to the army.”
“Let me see. According to his story he went to school in Southern California.”
“I believe so,” said Alexia. “Didn’t you check his statements? I understood that was part of your job.”
“You are quite right,” said Nugent, unruffled. “I’m afraid I’ve forgotten his home. I mean the name of the town. What was it, Brent?”
“Pete’s home?” said Craig. “I don’t know. I know where he went to school. I think he lived somewhere near Monterey. I’m not sure. Does it matter?”
“Do you remember his most recent address?” asked Nugent.
“Well, he had to come from somewhere,” said Craig. “I think he said Hollywood. He was trying to get a job in the movies. I do remember that. I suppose a Hollywood address is the logical surmise in that case. Besides that’s where he knew Bill Sheridan.”
“Bill Sheridan!” said Nugent. “Who’s he?”
“Fellow Pete knows. And I know. Went to school with Pete; that is, university. He-Bill, I mean-was in my class at prep school. Yes, I’m sure Pete came from Hollywood here.”
“Is that your impression, Mrs. Brent?”
“Really,” said Alexia. “If you’ve forgotten, I’d suggest your asking him. Peter is nothing to me, you know. I never saw him before Conrad met him at the inn, in the village, and brought him here.”
“That was about a month ago.”
“Yes,” said Alexia. “Lieutenant, why are you asking me about Peter? I was under an impression that you had not omitted him in your general inquiry. I can’t confirm anything about him, if that is what you want.”
Nugent got out a little black notebook and turned a few pages. “Ah,” he said. “Yes, you were both right. It was a Hollywood address he gave us.” I was sure somehow, in spite of his quiet voice that he had remembered all along and thus had only been testing Craig and Alexia-but testing them for what (aside from their knowledge of Peter and of Nicky) I didn’t know. He said, “Yes, of course, how could I have forgotten! And Nicky”-he turned another leaf. “Nicholas Senour, brother-in-law to deceased. M-m-m. Apartment on East Fifty-sixth street in New York. Lives mainly at Brent home. Traveled extensively in Europe as a child; last trip made in…” He squinted hard at the writing, although from where I stood it looked perfectly neat and legible and said, “Can’t make this out. When was his last trip abroad, Mrs. Brent, and where did he go?”
“It was in 1937,” said Alexia, “and he went to Italy.”
“I don’t seem to have his occupation down here either. What does he do for a living?”
Alexia bit her full underlip. “He doesn’t do anything,” she said.
“Oh. You inherited money, I presume. You and your brother.”
She hesitated and then said, “A little. Not much.”
“I see.” He closed the book suddenly and leaned forward. “Mrs. Brent, what about those checks made out to your brother? Were they for any specific service? Please answer.”
She waited a few seconds, her eyes shadowed again by her dark eyelashes, then she looked up. “Lieutenant, that has nothing to do with my husband’s death, or with the murder of Dr. Chivery. Nicky needed some money, of course; he’s young and has no source of income. My husband knew that it would please me if he saw to it that Nicky had a little money, that’s all.”
“And Nicky lives here, mainly?”
“Yes. Since my marriage, at any rate. Before that we shared his apartment in New York.”
“So you know most of his friends?”
“Why, I-yes, I should think so,” said Alexia.
“Did he know Peter Huber?”
“No, of course not. None of us knew him.”
“Were any of your friends at all interested in politics?”
“Why, I-really, I don’t remember.” There was a tinge of uncertainty in her voice, yet it was nothing that seemed exactly significant. It was more as if she could not discover the trend of Nugent’s questions.
If so, she was soon enlightened however. For Nugent leaned forward, his lean face suddenly as sharp as a hatchet. “Who is Frederic Miller?” he asked again, abruptly.
But he got the same answer. “I don’t know,” said Alexia. “I don’t have the faintest idea.”
And again looked white and intent.
In the end, Nugent seemed to accept her denial. He said. “Try to think back, Mrs. Brent; try to remember.” And added, “You told me that you had not seen Drue Cable since last night when you saw her going from this room to her own room. You are sure you didn’t see her at any later time?”'
“Perfectly sure,” said Alexia.
“You don’t know where she is?”
“Certainly not. She wouldn’t have taken me into her confidence before she escaped, I assure you.”
“Did you send her a message of any sort?”
“No,” said Alexia, and rose. “If that is all, Lieutenant…”
He nodded. “Send Mrs. Chivery in here, will you please?”
Alexia went away rather abruptly. She looked a little shaken, it seemed to me, but by no means ready to break down and tell all. If, that is, there was anything for her to tell. It was entirely possible that the habitually secretive look in her small, beautiful face was merely a look and nothing else. Still, it seemed to me that she must have known something of the Frederic Miller checks. After all, they had been found in the cupboard in her own room. That was not, however, proof and I realized it.
Maud must have been in the hall, for Alexia had scarcely gone when Maud appeared silently in the doorway and, at Nugent’s gesture, came in. She was preceded by a wave of violet sachet; her taffeta petticoat rustled sibilantly and her little dark eyes had brown pockets around them.
“May I ask a few more questions, Mrs. Chivery?” began Nugent and, as she gave a brief, birdlike little nod, he asked her pointblank, as he had asked Alexia, if she knew anything of a man named Frederic Miller. And when she thought for a moment, fixing her bright eyes upon him and tilting her black pompadour to one side, and then finally said that she didn’t, he told her of the checks and showed them to her.
She looked at them for a long time and very thoughtfully; studying the dates, the endorsements, the cancellations. She looked at them indeed for so long a time and with such an intent and thoughtful expression in her whitely powdered face that I was suddenly conscious of the fact that I was watching and listening intently for her reply. And so were Nugent and Craig. I glanced at them and they were watching her as intently as she was examining the checks. But when she looked up she said flatly, “No, I don’t know anything about them.”
Nugent said slowly, “Mrs. Chivery, is there anything those checks, or anything about those checks, reminded you of? Just now when you first saw them?”
“N-no,” she said, and handed him the checks.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes. That is…” she hesitated. And then said with a kind of plunge, “That is, for a moment I thought-but I was quite mistaken.”
“What did you think?” said Nugent very gently.
“I was mistaken,” said Maud. “The dates are wrong.”
“Wrong for what?” asked Nugent.
“Wrong for-well,” said Maud again with a kind of burst, “wrong for the kind of investment I thought he might have been making.”
Nugent leaned back in his chair. “You’d better tell me exactly what you mean, Mrs. Chivery.”
“But it-it has nothing to do with the murder. I can’t tell you. I…”
“What investment?” said Nugent. And I remembered Maud’s fuzzy phrases about Spain and jewels and said suddenly, surprising myself, “Spanish jewels?”
At which she shot me a dark, intent look. And said simply, “Yes.”