'But your suspicions were aroused by something?'
'Yes.'
'By what?'
Simeon March stood up. His jaw was set. 'I d rather not say.' He chewed his cigar. 'I want you to make an independent investigation. If you find anything, come to any conclusion, I want to know about it. That s all.'
'All right.' Crane stood up, too. 'Does anyone know Miss Fortune and I are detectives?'
'No one.'
'Not even your son, Peter?'
'Not even Peter. And nobody must know, you understand? That s why I ve had you pose as an employee of the advertising department. I want you to mingle with John s friends without arousing suspicion.'
'It s a good setup,' Crane said. 'Provided I can write advertisements for washing machines.'
'If you get in trouble I can arrange for a New York agency to write them for you.'
'Maybe I ll turn out all right,' Crane said.
'The only thing I don t like about the scheme is the agency s idea of your pretending to be married.'
'Colonel Black thought a married couple would mix more easily.'
'But aren t you likely to compromise Miss Fortune?'
'It s like taking a secretary on a business trip,' Crane said. 'Nobody thinks anything of that now.'
'Well, it s her problem.' Simeon March chewed his cigar. 'When will you have something for me?'
Crane raised his shoulders. 'It s a pretty large order. Especially when there s such a lapse of time.'
'Do as much as you can.' Crane said, 'I ll keep…'
Carmel March entered the room, smiled at Crane, said, 'He s a slave driver, isn t he?' Then, to Simeon March, 'Dad, I ll run along with Peter.'
'All right.'
She smiled again at Crane. 'Good night.'
'Good night.'
She was taller than Crane had thought, and she walked with long, graceful steps. She had a beautiful figure. He watched her until she went out the door. She smelled of gardenias.
'How long had John been married?' he asked Simeon March.
'Six years.'
'Any children?'
'No.' Simeon March s face was expressionless. 'None.'
Crane thought he caught a note deeper than irony in Simeon March s tone. He debated about his next question for an instant, then decided to ask it. Certainly, the trend of the conversation invited it.
'Did they get along well?' he inquired.
Simeon March shook his head. 'No.' He walked to one of the windows overlooking the driveway. 'John was a serious boy. He was a worker…' His voice died away.
'And Carmel?'
'She didn t help him. She liked to go out. Parties, dancing…'
Crane walked to the window, stood just in back of March. 'And when John wouldn t take her out she went out anyway?'
The old man didn t answer.
Crane asked, 'Is there a motive which would link the deaths, Mr March?'
'I can t say.'
'Can t or won t?' Simeon March was silent.
There were voices in the drive. Peter March was helping Carmel into a green convertible with white-wall tires. She was laughing and they heard her say, 'You re going to have a swell shiner tomorrow, Peter. I know the signs.'
'I ll say you gave it to me,' Peter said. 'I ll tell everybody you got tight and let me have it.'
Crane said to Simeon March, 'You must have had a reason for hiring detectives. You must suspect someone.'
'I do.'
'Who?'
Simeon March shook his head. 'I told you I d rather not say. I don t — '
Carmel March s voice was very distinct. 'Let s do go and get tight, Peter,' she called.
Peter went around the car. 'All right.' He got in and backed down the driveway. They were laughing about something. The car disappeared behind a row of elms.
'John… now Peter!' Simeon March stared at the empty driveway, suddenly wheeled on Crane. 'There s your murderer! Tie a rope around her neck, Detective. Stand her on the gallows.' His voice was hoarse, almost indistinct. 'I ll see the trap is sprung.'
CHAPTER III
Breakfast was served by a large colored lady who arrived at seven-thirty and said her name was Beulah. She brought with her a young colored girl to assist in the housework.
Crane felt pretty well. He hadn t had enough sleep because he had spent an hour before going back to bed telling Ann Fortune of the deaths from carbon monoxide and of Simeon March s accusation of Carmel, but then he hardly ever had enough sleep. Between the cereal and the eggs, he tried to piece together the scraps of paper thrown by Peter March in the living-room wastebasket. Ann came to the table.
'Any luck?'
She was, he had to admit, a nice example of what nature could do in the way of a blonde. She was wearing a pair of blue lounging pajamas which contrasted very well with her tanned skin and her eyes, turquoise this morning.
'Not much.' He grinned at her. 'Aren t you going to kiss me good morning?'
It appeared that she wasn t. She sat across the table from him, pulled some of the scraps to her. Deftly, she pieced together two liquor bills. They were for June and July and showed by their size that Richard March had entertained extensively.
Crane assembled one more, and then Ann found a more interesting note; written on half a sheet of fine linen paper in purple ink. It was dated July 15, and read: Darling,
Can t make Brookfield this W. E. Business. Stop Dairy.
Delia
Crane was interested. 'That sounds as though Richard was up to something immoral.' The second letter, also in violet ink, read: S. is sprung. He s heard something, so be careful if you can t be good. I hope you can t.
Delia
'Ah!' Crane drunk the last of his coffee. 'Trouble looms.'
Ann said, 'It s awfully ominous. Bill, what does sprung mean?'
'Freed from a bastille.'
'Oh!' She looked to see if he was serious, then asked, 'What s a heister? I ought to know words like those, hadn t I, if I m to catch criminals?'
He told her a heister was a stick-up man. 'S. sounds nasty,' Ann said. 'Going around hearing things.'
'He probably wouldn t overlook a week end.'
'Not with a passionate woman like Delia.'
Crane spoke to her severely. 'How can you tell Delia is passionate? I think she s very reserved, just signing her name to the letters.'
'The violet ink,' Ann said. 'You don t write business letters in violet ink.'
'It depends upon what business you re in,' Crane said.
Beulah brought more coffee. 'Is everything all right, ma am?' she asked Ann. 'It s fine, Beulah.'
Crane leaned back in his chair, sighed mournfully. 'I suppose I d better report to March amp; Company.'
