Читать книгу Sinfully Rich - Footner Hulbert - Страница 5

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Mrs. Charles Warrington Ware occupied a triplex apartment at the top of the most expensive building on the Avenue. Bethesda had leased it for her. Two walls of the vast living room were painted white and the other two black, thus immediately establishing a modernistic atmosphere. Down at one end was an arrangement of primitive African sculpture—very primitive; other decorations included big wooden bowls of colored glass balls placed here and there on the floor; modernistic sculptured animals on stands and surrealist paintings on the walls. In the beginning Mrs. Ware had felt obliged to avert her eyes from the primitive sculpture and the surrealists, but she became accustomed to them in time, and all her sophisticated friends agreed with Bethesda, that the whole effect was très-chi-chi.

At nine o'clock on the morning following the over-publicized hay ride, Miss Day Radnor rang the bell of the apartment as usual, and was admitted by Cummings, the butler. Brown-haired Miss Radnor, who favored severely tailored suits and hats as if she was determined to hide how pretty she was (but only thereby emphasized it), looked a little out of place among the grotesques, but she worked there. She said:

"Weren't you up very late last night, Cummings?"

"Moderately so, Miss."

"And already on the job?"

"Well, I like to see that things get properly started in the morning, Miss."

Cummings did not run quite true to type; his attire lacked something of a butler's superhuman neatness; his coarse black hair had a tendency to fall over his forehead, his features were rugged. But his manner was smooth enough—too smooth, Day Radnor felt; too watchful. It was not quite natural that Cummings should always be the last to go to bed and the first to get up. However, she told herself, it was not her put.

"Have you seen this morning's papers, Miss?" asked Cummings.

"No," said Day, "and I don't want to."

Cummings shook his head sympathetically and sadly.

Day was not going to be drawn into a discussion of the hay ride with the butler. "What time did the party break up?" she asked.

"Madam ordered me to stop serving drinks at one-thirty, Miss. That is earlier than usual. Of course, they soon went after that. I went to bed myself, leaving Alfred on duty. Alfred told me they were all out shortly after two."

"I see." Day was thinking. Evidently the hay ride did not make much of a hit.

"I think Madam had words with Mrs. Prior last night," ventured Cummings. "Alfred told me that ..."

Day shut him off. "Much mail this morning?" she asked briskly.

"The usual basketful, Miss.... Mostly begging letters, I should say," he added sourly. It was odd, Day thought, how jealous Mrs. Ware's beneficiaries were of all her other beneficiaries.

"Naturally," she said.

To the right of the entrance door there was a small, plainly furnished room that was called the "office." This was Day's hangout between the hours of nine and five and often later. Mrs. Ware rarely visited it; indeed. Day sometimes did not see her employer for several days at a time. Her instructions would be transmitted through Cummings or a maid. Cummings followed Day into the office now. Nothing could discourage his attempts to establish an alliance with the secretary.

"That will be all, thank you," said Day; and with a hard look through his lashes he silently went out.

Day dutifully attacked the big basket of mail. Same old sniveling appeals. What a world! Mrs. Ware insisted on having a complete written report of the beggars, and, if she happened to feel in a good humor, would send out checks recklessly without further investigation. How nicely I could use a check! thought Day.

At ten o'clock she rang for a servant, and Cummings promptly appeared again. "Has Mrs. Ware rung?" asked Day.

"No, Miss."

"Then I think she ought to be wakened now."

"Yes, Miss; but we have a standing order not to rouse her until she rings."

"She has an appointment at Helena Rubinstein's at eleven, and you know how important that is to her." Day consulted a memorandum on her desk. Today Mrs. Ware was to have a complete check up from the physician at the beauty clinic, followed by a workout and relaxation under the infra-red rays. After that she had not decided whether to take massage and the ultra-violet rays, or a pasteurized milk bath. She would lunch there, and after lunch she was down for an electro-tonic facial, a molding treatment and a hot-oil manicure. Chiropedicure at the same time, of course, a personality make-up and a coiffure for the evening.

"If she's late it will upset the whole schedule."

"Very well, Miss, I will instruct Kinsey to waken her."

Kinsey, Mrs. Ware's own maid, was lingering over her coffee in the servants' hall. Neat, prim and elderly, she had served some of the greatest ladies of England, and her wage and perquisites from Mrs. Ware amounted to double the earnings of a school teacher. Kinsey knew her own worth. She had to put up with a lot from her aging mistress, and she was apt to take it out on her fellow servants. They called her the Duchess, which did not displease her.

When Cummings entered, Alfred, the second man, was hovering in the background. Alfred was a young fellow who had been chosen for his fine figure. He would have been handsome but for his shifty eyes. This morning the eyes were rimmed with red as if from lack of sleep, and his manner was jittery. When Cummings' eyes fell upon the young man, he said sharply:

"What are you idling about for? I put out the silver to be cleaned."

"Yes, sir, Mr. Cummings," said Alfred, moving toward the door. However, he contrived to delay his departure until he heard what Cummings had to say to Kinsey.

"Miss Radnor says you're to waken the Madam now."

The elderly maid stiffened her already straight back. "What's she got to do with me, I'd like to know! Miss Reduced Gentility! I'm not in the habit of taking my orders from her!"

Cummings glanced at her with indifferent dislike. "Madam has an appointment at the beauty parlor at eleven. She's booked to get the whole works today."

Kinsey jumped up. "I didn't know the hour. I ought to have been informed of it before!" She flounced out.

Alfred, who had no more than stepped out of the pantry door, came in again. His face was as white as paper, his hands clenched as if to keep them from shaking. "Excuse me, Mr. Cummings," he whined, "but I don't feel good. Could I go out to the drug store to get me some medicine?"

"What's the matter with you?" asked Cummings.

"It's my stomach, sir."

"Nonsense! Get cook to give you a dose of bicarbonate. You know you're not permitted to go out on your own business."

Alfred went into the pantry with his head hanging.

When Cummings was left alone his whole expression changed. He stood by the table with his head lowered, thinking hard. His foxy eyes drew closer together; there was power in his dark face; power and infinite cunning. After a while he went to the kitchen door and called Alfred in again. He showed a smoother front to the young man now.

"This man Keppel who came to see the Madam yesterday morning; are you sure that was his name? It's not in the telephone book."

"Keppel or Keppler or Kaplan or some such name," mumbled Alfred.

Cummings clenched his teeth. "She sent me away on purpose!" he muttered. Then to Alfred: "You're certain he was a lawyer?"

"It was on the card he gave me. Down in the corner of the card a string of names and under it 'Attorneys-at-Law, 120 Broadway.'"

Cummings burst out: "Oh, my God! What a fool you are! I told you to watch her carefully while I was out."

Alfred cringed before him. "After he'd gone I watched her," he whined. "And when she came down to lunch I went into the boudoir and looked for the card so I could copy it off for you, but she'd torn it up."

"How did she receive him?" demanded Cummings.

"Real friendly. He stayed an hour. After I showed him into the room she locked the door. I put my ear to it and I heard her say to him: 'I am surrounded by snoopers and spies!' And he said: 'We will keep our voices low.' Then I couldn't hear any more."

Cummings paced the room, struggling to hold in his anger.

"Martin drove her down to 120 Broadway late yesterday afternoon," said Alfred. "You could ask him whose office is there."

"You fool!" cried Cummings. "That's the Equitable! Biggest office building in town. Thousands of tenants!"

"Well, I didn't know," whined Alfred.

Cummings, pausing, looked Alfred up and down with an ugly smile. "Maybe Miss Radnor knows something about this lawyer. Look, you're a good-looking young fellow. And well turned. Can't you get it out of her?"

Alfred's eyes shifted away. "Treats me like dirt, she does. Looks right through me as if I wasn't there."

Cummings started to speak; heard uneven footsteps on the service stairs, and took warning from it. "Get out!" he snarled.

Alfred slipped through the pantry door, flattened himself against the wall behind it, and listened, breathing fast.

The elderly maid, Kinsey, ran into the servants' hall from the corridor with open mouth and starting eyes. "She's gone!"

Cummings seized her wrist and, dragging her back into the corridor, pulled the door shut. "Quiet, for God's sake! Do you want to start a panic here!"

"Gone! Gone!" whimpered Kinsey.

Cummings pulled her along the corridor and into his own little office, closing that door also. "Now keep your head. Miss Kinsey. What do you mean, gone?"

"She's not in her bed. She hasn't slept there all night."

Cummings affected to laugh it off. His face was ghastly.

"Maybe she had a fancy to try another bed."

"I looked in all the rooms. And the bathrooms. And the boudoir. She's not there."

"Maybe she came downstairs. Let's go through the rooms."

They soon satisfied themselves that Mrs. Ware was not in any of the reception rooms. Cummings put his ear to the door of the office. He shook his head.

"Better ask her," whispered Kinsey.

"No! Keep her out of this. She's against us all!"

They returned to the butler's office. "Maybe Madam went home with some of the guests," Cummings suggested. "Alfred says he didn't see all of them go."

"She wouldn't do that," moaned Kinsey. "She had taken a dislike to her friends last night."

Cummings wiped his face. "Oh...she was always taking dislikes. But after a glass or two, you understand...."

Kinsey kept shaking her head. "She wouldn't stay out all night in her evening clothes! How could she show herself in the morning?"

"When she wakes up she'll call up to tell you to bring her things to her."

Kinsey's voice began to break. "Well, telephone, telephone, and find out where she is!"

Cummings hesitated, scowling. "God! It would start such a story going! It would be on the streets in an hour!... Wait! I'll ask the night elevator man. I can bribe him to keep his mouth shut!"

He called up the building superintendent. Yes, the night elevator man slept in the building. He was sleeping now, but he could be roused up if he was wanted.

Cummings sent Kinsey upstairs to open Mrs. Ware's wardrobe and check her evening wraps.

The young elevator man presently came in by the service entrance. He was still partly asleep, and had his coat collar turned up to hide the lack of a shirt beneath. His name was Walter. It woke him sharply when Cummings presented him with a five-dollar bill and swore him to secrecy. When the question was put, he said that Mrs. Ware had not gone out again the previous night after she had come home. He could go on the stand and swear it, he said. It would have been impossible for her to get out of the building unless she had walked downstairs, and as there were twelve flights of stairs, this hardly seemed likely. Cummings promised him another five dollars if he kept his mouth shut until he was released from his promise, and sent him away.

Kinsey came down to report that all of Mrs. Ware's evening wraps, the white brocade with white fox, the green with a Kolinsky collar, the sable coat, the chinchilla, the mink, and the three ermine coats and wraps were all hanging in their usual places. "She wouldn't go out at this season without fur around her," wailed Kinsey.

Cummings considered, scowling and stroking his chin.

"Do you realize...do you realize what this means?" gasped Kinsey.

"What are you getting at?" he demanded harshly.

"It means that... that she is still here!" Hysterics threatened.

"Not necessarily," said Cummings. "She might have been carried down the stairs.... In an elevator building nobody watches the stairs."

Kinsey's eyes widened; she caught her breath preparatory to a scream. Cummings, with a lightning move, stopped it with a hand over her mouth. "Shut up!" he said in her ear, not loudly but with a force that rendered the woman limp.

"What are you going to do?" she whispered. "The police?"

"I'll call her attorney, Mr. MacKelcan," he muttered. "He can take the responsibility."

Sanford MacKelcan lost no time in obeying Cummings' summons. Mrs. Charles Warrington Ware was by far his richest client. "A matter of importance," Cummings had said over the wire in a calm voice, so as not to throw the attorney into a dither before he got there. MacKelcan was the sort of lawyer who never pleads in court; estate management was his dish. He had developed the art of handling rich widows to a fine point; he and Mrs. Ware had always got along famously. He indulged all her whims, and drew up a new will whenever she demanded it. MacKelcan got along well with Cummings, too—on the surface; there was an unacknowledged working agreement between them. They traded information. MacKelcan went out of his way to court everybody who was in any way connected with his client.

Cummings let him in. The butler had recovered his usual smoothness. MacKelcan was a very tall man with a small head having but little hair left on it. His legs were like pipe stems within his trousers, but he had a neat round belly that stuck out unexpectedly above, and for some reason he featured it by wearing a white waistcoat and letting his jacket hang open. He was very energetic; always striding along at top speed with his coat flapping. Also extremely voluble; fond of asking questions and seldom pausing to hear the replies.

"Well, Cummings, how is every little thing? I was surprised to get so early a call. Luckily, it caught me just as I was leaving the office. Dropped everything, of course, to wait upon her exalted majesty, Queen Flora. How is my gracious lady this morning? Nothing wrong, I hope. The spiteful newspapers! You can't believe a word you read!"

"She hasn't seen them, sir."

"Good work! Keep them from her, Cummings; keep them from her; and I'll divert her mind into other channels. Pass on, that's my motto; always pass on to pleasanter things!"

Cummings led the lawyer into the living room so that their voices could not carry through the door of the office. "Something is very, very wrong, I'm afraid, sir."

MacKelcan naturally was appalled when he heard Cummings' story. But he was not nearly so great a fool as his flatulent talk might have suggested; he kept his head; he questioned the butler shrewdly. Yet he was genuinely dismayed; he kept saying: "I can't understand it! I can't understand it! She must be here and she is not here." MacKelcan and Cummings each recognized in the other a superior intelligence; they deferred to each other politely—and never let up in their watchfulness. But everybody (except Day Radnor) who was connected with the rich woman acquired that watchful air.

MacKelcan said to Cummings: "I'm glad you didn't warn any of the people who were here last night, because, of course, if the worst has happened, suspicion will fall upon them first."

Together they made another tour of the apartment, omitting only the office. They overlooked the quiet secretary in there. They opened all the closet doors and looked under the beds. On the third floor there was an immense game room where Mrs. Ware gave her dancing parties, with a garden terrace outside. There were also servants' rooms on this floor. They went through them all. Nothing doing.

MacKelcan attempted to question Kinsey about her mistress' movements the night before, but the lady's maid became so upset he had to give over. They called in Adele to calm her. This Adele, a very pretty girl, was first housemaid. She had come into the household in the first place without Mrs. Ware's previous knowledge, since that lady did not care to surround herself with young and pretty maids. Cummings had engaged her.

While Adele was bringing Kinsey around with smelling salts, Mr. MacKelcan decided that there was no help for it but to call the police.