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.”
Which further surprised me.
And before anyone could question or say anything she got up. “I can’t tell you the whole story,” she said. “But I do know that I was approached about an investment, and I believe that Conrad might have been approached, too. But these dates are all wrong. The Spanish jewels-well, never mind that…”
Nugent got up, too. Craig watched intently, yet with no expression whatever in his face. Nugent said, “You’ll have to explain what you mean, Mrs. Chivery. At once.”
“No,” said Maud. “I don’t have to. That’s enough. I don’t know anything about your Frederic Miller checks. Have you heard from the girl?”
“Miss Cable? No,” said Nugent, and looked quickly at Craig and said, “That is, not yet.”
Maud said, “Look here, Lieutenant. I’ve been thinking. I’m not sure that I’ve been on the right side of the-of this affair. I’ve thought from the beginning that the girl, Drue Cable, killed Conrad. But somehow I-well, I don’t think she killed Claud. I don’t know what to do. That is, I have no knowledge that is a clue. I don’t know who killed Conrad or who killed Claud. The only thing that I know of and haven’t wanted to tell you is the matter of the investment I spoke of just now. But I did not make the investment; obviously these checks were not connected with that, either. I’ll tell you all about that, if you want to know. I’ll tell you tomorrow. But not…”
“Why tomorrow?”
“No reason,” said Maud after a moment. “I-no reason. You’ll have to believe me, for I”-she thought for another second or two and then said firmly, “I merely prefer it that way. And it really has nothing to do with the murder of Conrad or the murder of Claud. And it has nothing to do with Drue’s disappearance.” Her lips set tightly together.
And Nugent could not shake her. She merely shook her head obstinately with its high black pompadour and refused to tell him, even when he brought all the force of law and argument against her.
Craig said wearily, “You can’t withhold information, you know, Maud.”
And Maud said, “Can’t I?” And did.
