“How long has Solomon been dead?”
“Five years.” McGee's eyes darted from me to the window. “Five years Sunday.” The eyes came back to me and then went to the waste-basket. “On Sunday his body will be on view.”
“Five years and they still look at him?”
“It's quite a sight, if you don't mind the odour.” I asked some more questions about the Vineyard. The colony had been founded in 1868 by the first Solomon, a carpenter from Ithaca, New York, who had a revelation one Sunday afternoon. He convinced his family and some of the neighbours that God wanted them to go into a new land. They'd finally settled in Paulton, then a village in the range country, and planted grapes they'd brought from New York. From the first the settlement had been called Solomon's Vineyard.
The men lived in one building, McGee said, and the women in another. All the property belonged to the colony. The children were kept in a third building. The Brothers became prosperous, selling vegetables, dairy products and wine. People came from all over the country to join them, giving up their personal wealth to the Vineyard when they took the vows.
“Not a bad racket,” I said.
The original Solomon died in 1889 after he had picked a five-year-old boy to succeed him, McGee said. When the boy was sixteen, he became head of the colony. He was called Solomon, too, because he was supposed to have been inhabited by the spirit of old Solomon. Under this Solomon the colony became rich and large. He was the one who'd died five years ago.
“Why haven't they picked a third Solomon?” I asked. McGee wasn't sure. He thought possibly it was because Solomon had announced he was going to return. “The Day of Judgment?”
“I think so,” McGee said, “but I'm not sure, Mr. Craven. It's something they don't talk about.”
“Where does the Princess fit in?” I asked. McGee's eyes leaped from the floor to me. “What do you know about her?”
“She was on my train.”
McGee said: “Solomon used to take trips incognito. One time he came back with her. He put her in charge of the women and called her Princess. I don't know where he found her.”
“Well, she ain't hay,” I said.
We talked for a long time about getting the Grayson girl out, but neither of us had any good ideas. I figured it wasn't much good trying again by the way of the courts, and kidnapping was out. I asked McGee if we couldn't show her the colony was phony. That would make her want to get out, and then everything would be Jake.
“Yes,” McGee agreed, “but where are we going to find something to show her?”
“What about those two California dolls?”
“Dead.”
“The hell they are!”
McGee fondled his hands. “A most singular coincidence, Mr. Craven. One died soon after the case collapsed. And a month later the other passed away giving birth to a child in the Vineyard hospital.”
“They don't fool out there, do they?” I said. McGee put his hands palm up on his desk and raised his shoulders in a shrug.
“Isn't there somebody who'll talk?” I asked. “Give me a day,” McGee said. “I'll try to think.”
CHAPTER SIX
IN THE street sunlight stabbed my eyes. The air felt like it had been blown out of one of those driers they use in barber shops. I got a cab and told the driver to take me to 569 Green Street. Carmel Todd. I wondered what she wanted with me.
It was a big, two-story brick house set among elms on a lot that must have been a half-acre. I went up on the porch and pushed the bell. I could hear chimes in the back of the house. Near the top of the door was a funny eight-sided window with eight panes of different coloured glass. It looked like a picture I once saw of an enlarged snowflake. A cute Negro maid opened the door a crack.
“Carmel Todd.”
“Carmel don' feel good today.”
“She sent for me.”
“Oh.” The door came open further. “Then she must feel better.”
“Yeah, she must.”
The maid stepped back with the door. She had on a black silk uniform with white culls and collar. She had dust-coloured skin and rouge on her cheeks.
“You know her room, mister?”
“I forget.”
“Upstairs and the last one down the hall to the left.”
There were oak stairs at the end of the hall. I peered at the living-room as I went by. I saw an Oriental rug on the floor and a combination radio-phonograph and expensive-looking furniture and sonic lamps with tassels. I went up the stairs and down a hall and knocked at the last door on the left.
“Who's there?”
“Carmel Todd?” I asked.
