marriage.
Peter was explaining it to his father that he had wanted to destroy Richard s personal documents before the house was occupied. 'I just thought of it,' he said.
Simeon March demanded, 'Did you call the police?'
'If you call the police there ll be publicity,' Peter warned.
Crane said, 'The man spoke of getting the papers for someone.'
'It sounded like blackmail,' Peter said.
'Blackmail a dead man?' Simeon March grunted. 'Huh!'
Crane thought with considerable pride that he had guessed correctly about Richard. He wondered how long he had been dead.
'This sounds like a mystery drama,' Ann said.
'Doesn t it, though?' Carmel March said.
Simeon March stared at her. 'You could have prevented this,' he growled. 'You had a whole year to destroy Richard s papers.'
Carmel asked, 'Why should I have thought to destroy them?' Her voice was brittle.
For a moment her eyes met his in a defiant stare, then Simeon March swung around to his son, ' You could have done it.'
'I should have,' Peter admitted. 'But I never thought until today.'
Simeon March s anger made his eyes topaz yellow. 'Stupid,' he snarled.
Crane thought he d hate to cross the millionaire. He wasn t the kind of man you d try any slick business tricks on. To avert a further explosion, he said, 'Will anyone have a drink?'
'I will,' Ann said. 'I always will.'
The others accepted, too. Carmel offered to help get ice and glasses, but Ann refused.
'Sooner or later I m going to have to explore that kitchen,' she said. 'It might as well be now.'
'I ll go along as a bodyguard,' Crane said.
Glistening with porcelain and chromium, the kitchen looked as fancy as the ones in magazine advertisements. There was a double sink, an electric stove, an electric dishwasher, and the largest refrigerator Crane had ever seen. He opened the refrigerator door gingerly.
'What s the matter?' Ann asked.
'I was afraid a corpse would come tumbling out.'
'Richard s?' Ann asked.
'Someone s,' Crane said. 'It s a poor case where they haven t got a corpse tucked around the house.'
Ann found a tray and high glasses in the pantry. 'I think it s a nice case.'
'You would.' Crane jerked out a rubber ice tray, squeezed cubes of ice into one of the sinks. 'I saw you giving Peter March the gladeye.'
She said, 'You were rubbering at Carmel, too.'
He found some seltzer and they went into the living room. After everyone had a drink Simeon March said:
'Crane, I d like to have a word with you.'
'Dad, no business now,' Peter said. 'This is the middle of the night.'
'We ll only be a moment,' Simeon March said.
Crane followed him into the library, sat down beside him ok a leather davenport. 'D you know why you re here?' Simeon March asked him.
All four walls of the library, except where there were narrow windows and a high fireplace, were lined with books. Most of them were bound in leather with illuminated titles, largely in gold; and they ran in matched sets. Crane decided they had been bought for appearance, rather than reading.
'I ve got a rough idea,' he said.
'Then I won t have to tell you…'
Crane interrupted him. 'I wish you would.' He hadn t the least idea what the case was about, but he thought he ought to bluff. 'I d like to get the straight story.'
'All right.' Jerkily, Simeon March produced two cigars. Crane started to duck, so violent was the motion. 'Have one?' asked Simeon March.
'No, thanks.'
'Don t smoke?'
'Yes. Cigarettes.'
'A woman s smoke.'
This satisfactorily settled, Simeon March told his story. As he went along Crane felt a thrill of excitement. The case, if facts bore out the old man s inferences, looked like a humdinger.
Nine months ago, in February, Richard March had been discovered dead at the steering wheel of his sedan beside the Country Club at the conclusion of the dance. A defective heater had been blamed for his death by a coroner s jury.
'Your son?' Crane asked.
'My late brother s son. Joseph March s son.'
Crane thought Mr March sounded as though he expected him to know who Joseph was, so he nodded as if he did know.
'Was there a defective heater?' he asked.
A look of grim humor came into Simeon March s wrinkled face. 'I don t know. Nobody inquired.'
'But why not?'
'People accepted his removal gratefully, without inquiring into whys and wherefores.'
'He wasn t popular?'
'He was a complete wastrel.'
'Didn t he work for March amp; Company?'
'Yes and no.' Simeon March discovered the cigar was out. 'Damn this thing!' He violently struck a match. 'Richard was general manager in charge of sales.' Air made a sucking noise through the cigar. 'But I never heard of his working.'
Crane nodded. 'And then-'
Simeon March took a long pull at the cigar, blew the smoke out hard. 'And then my John died.'
He told of his death without evidence of emotion, but the hand holding the burning match trembled. He didn t look at Crane while he talked.
John had died just a month ago. He had apparently been trying to fix his motor in his garage ('He was a first- rate mechanic,' Simeon March interpolated.) and had been overcome by carbon monoxide. His body was on the floor. The hood over the engine was up and there were tools on the car s running board. Carmel March had discovered him.
'His wife?' Crane asked.
'Yes.'
Crane reflected that Carmel seemed pretty cheerful for a widow of a month s standing. She was wearing black, but her attitude…
He broke this train of thought to ask: 'How did the doors happen to be closed? A mechanic should have known — '
'There was a strong wind that day. Supposed to have blown the doors shut.'
'Two carbon-monoxide deaths.' Crane frowned. 'Quite a coincidence. What was the coroner s verdict?'
'Like the other-accidental.'
'Well, there are a lot of accidental deaths that way… and a lot of suicides.'
'John wouldn t kill himself.'
'What about Richard?'
'Richard was drunk when he died.' Simeon March s voice showed his dislike for Richard. 'You don t kill yourself when you re drunk.'
'I never have,' Crane admitted. He scratched the back of his neck. 'Do you have any proofs of murder?'
'Do you think I would have hired you if I had?'
