Читать книгу Easy to Kill - Footner Hulbert - Страница 9

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At the earliest possible hour next morning Mme. Storey and I went openly to the Howard Van Tassels' house. It would have been foolish to go on making believe we were not working for them after we had been surprised and identified at the gates.

We found the old couple in a pitiable state of consternation. Mrs. Van Tassel's social training prevented her from crying and carrying on in any vulgar fashion, but in spite of the aid of make up she looked like an old, old woman. Her husband seemed to be nearer than ever to the point of dissolution. He shook as if palsied and was unable to get his breath. I thought how much better for all of them if he could only die and have done with it; but you couldn't suggest that to a man worth a hundred million dollars.

They received us in the library at Balmoral. The door of the room was locked, and an armed servant was stationed outside. The Van Tassels had complete confidence in their servants, and it is only fair to say that it was never betrayed. Dickerman, the valet, was in the room with us. They put their chief trust in him, and he did everything for them. A plain, sober sort of man, he was devoted to his master; but he was too much softened by years of house service to be of much service in an emergency.

Mr. Van Tassel was in such dread of assassination that he kept in the darkest part of the room, farthest from the windows. His wife, observing this, said, bitterly: “There is no danger of pistol or knife, because such crimes can be proved. He will strike invisibly!”

Nevertheless, the old man turned his chair with its back to the windows. He took little part in the discussion which followed.

Mme. Storey told them bluntly that the detectives they were employing were little better than crooks, and that one of them at least was in the pay of the man who signed himself “The Leveler.”

It was therefore arranged that Dickerman should pay them off at once with a bonus, and ship them back to New York, whence they had come. We had six dependable men in Newport and as many more were to arrive at noon. These were to report to Dickerman one by one during the day. Some were to patrol the grounds, and others who could wear evening dress like gentlemen were to mix among the guests that night. Crider was already in the house.

“Can you handle a gun?” Mme. Storey asked Dickerman.

His pale, meek face turned whiter still. “No, madam,” he said, helplessly. “I've never had any occasion.”

“Then you won't mind if we give Mr. Van Tassel an additional body guard,” she said. “It won't be any reflection on you. A young man with a steady nerve and quick on the draw. I recommend Crider. He won't shame your guests tonight. He'll be instructed to keep within a yard of Mr. Van Tassel under all circumstances.”

They welcomed this suggestion.

The party they were giving that night complicated matters very much. Mme. Storey asked if it couldn't be postponed, but neither of them would hear of it. World famous singers had been engaged and were already on their way to Newport. For many years this musical party had opened the season at Newport, and it would create a scandal to cancel it at the last moment.

“But on the score of Mr. Van Tassel's health?”

“Everybody knows he's no worse than usual,” said his wife.

She agitatedly suggested that they might cause Word to be sent to Nick Van Tassel that he wasn't wanted in the house. But this roused the old man to a tremulous passion of protest.

“No! No! No! We can't be sure yet that he's back of it. And he'd come, anyhow. He'd force a scandal.”

It was clear he feared scandal no less than death.

“I don't see that anything is to be gained by forbidding him the house,” said Mme. Storey, soothingly. “We can watch him as well here as any place else. I'll detail my keenest man for that purpose.”

Dickerman hastened to give the shaken old man his drops.

“Wouldn't it be less of an ordeal if you remained in your room tonight?” suggested Mme. Storey, kindly.

He still shook his head. “It would make too much talk if I didn't receive.”

Mrs. Van Tassel nodded approvingly, and I began to see that these people regarded themselves as equivalent to royalty. They felt that it was up to them to show themselves to the people, whatever might happen.

“As soon as I have spoken to everybody I will go upstairs,” he added.

I need hardly say that the party at Balmoral was completely different from that at the Dump. For twenty five years the Howard Van Tassels had given a series of musicales during each season, and it had come to be regarded as a Newport institution. Dull as ditch water, Mrs. Lysaght said, but the invitations were prized like bids to the king's levee. To be seen at Balmoral constituted complete social recognition. In other words, this was big time stuff as compared with the continuous at the Dump.

The immense old fashioned drawing rooms were thrown together, and lighted with thousands of bulbs sparkling in crystal chandeliers. The hundred and fifty guests did not make a crush, of course; that would have been vulgar. Ponselle and Martinelli were to sing, and there was a string quartette.

It was gossiped around town that the talent was costing ten thousand dollars. Newport rolled this item over its tongue with as much gusto as any other small town.

The mellow light was flattering to Mrs. Van Tassel. In a marvelously draped black velvet gown with her famous diamonds hung all over her, she looked quite superb. In fact, she had ceased to be a mere woman; she was a show piece. Her old husband, too, though he could not keep his mouth closed, looked almost impressive. The aura of a hundred millions surrounded him. One could never have guessed from their pleasant talk and laughter what a hell of fear they were living through. They were game in their way. Crider, bland and good looking in his evening clothes, was never far from the old man's side. All the family jewels in Newport were given an airing, it seemed—mostly decorating the bodies of dowagers that they could do very little for. There were, however, a number of young people present also; all of the bluest blood. Some exquisite young creatures. But I heard several people remark that Mme. Storey was the handsomest woman present.

She was wearing a Fortuny gown of crushed velvet, dyed in such a manner as to make it appear iridescent. Colonel Franklin was her cavalier.

It was a swell show and one that I was never likely to see again. I could have enjoyed every minute of it, sitting in a corner, had it not been for the heavy feeling of anxiety that dragged me down.

Certainly we had taken every precaution that was humanly possible, short of calling in the police, which Mme. Storey had urged from the first. Just the same, to us who were in the know there was a sense of foreboding in the air.

I was aware of Nick's entrance some moments before I saw him. His arrival anywhere always caused a certain kind of stir that you could not mistake.

For me tonight his coming was almost unbearable.

He entered the room with a smile that suggested he was perfectly well aware of the fear and hatred he inspired in that house—and enjoyed it.

He was very much the fine gentleman tonight, moving through the rooms, conversing agreeably, and occasionally kissing the hand of a bediamonded dowager. The silly old fools fairly purred with gratification. Once, seeing me watch him, he winked at me out of a perfectly grave face, and I—I grinned back at him in a silly, lallygagging fashion. I couldn't help it, though I despised myself for it. I hated to look at his high colored, confident face, but when he was out of sight it was worse, wondering what he was up to.

A little later I was standing in the hall, waiting for a word with Mme. Storey, when I heard whispered voices coming through a bank of ferns at my back.

A woman's voice: “I can't stand it, Nick!”

And his voice roughly replying: “What the hell, Evelyn. You know the compact.'”

“You don't keep it!” she retorted. “With Ann.”

“Oh, hell!”

They moved away.

While I was talking with Mme. Storey he came up from the other side alone. He must have guessed now what he had to expect from us, but it only seemed to stimulate him. “By the Lord, Rosika,” he cried, (It had come to that!) “you are kaleidoscopic tonight! You shimmer like a pomegranate skin!”

“A seedy fruit,” she murmured. He was going to kiss her hand, but she drew it away. “Be American,” she said good naturedly. “It suits you better.”

He passed on, laughing. “He knows we are watching him,” I whispered. “Surely he would never dare try anything here!”

“I can't tell how far vanity may carry him,” she answered, somberly. “He has a Jehovah complex.”

Benny Abell passed by, looking quite the little gentleman. It was his job not to let Nick Van Tassel out of his sight as long as he remained in the house.

When all the guests had arrived, old Mr. Van Tassel and Crider quietly slipped into the elevator, and a load was lifted from my mind. Surely nothing could happen to him in his own room, I thought, with both Crider and Dickerman in attendance. These two were to remain with him until morning.

The concert was opened by the string quartette. From their expressions I judged that most of the people present were more impressed by the sense of their own importance than the music of Beethoven.

The seats were not arranged in rows like a concert hall; people sat about easily and naturally as in any drawing room, only a little more crowded than usual. I heard an elderly Peter Arno type near me murmur to her friend, “The Van Tassels do everything so nicely and simply, you would never suppose that....” She left her sentence in the air.

Simple! at ten thousand dollars a throw!

I had taken a seat near one of the doors into the hall. A highly finished young man named Reggie Mygatt attached himself to me, but he was much too ornamental to have fallen naturally to the share of plain me, and I suspected he was another sleuth of Nick's. However, I made the most of him. It was flattering to be singled out by such a one.

As the program proceeded I noticed that some of the young people were slipping out, couple by couple, through the French windows at the rear. The roofed terrace or porch lay outside these windows. Evelyn Suydam and Bill Kip; Ann Livingston with a man I did not know; and many others. Finally Nick Van Tassel strolled out, with his cousin Cornelia hanging to his arm. She was the Howard Van Tassels' youngest child. Her obvious fondness for the hardboiled Nick must have been an added drop of bitterness in her parents' cup.

By and by I noticed that somebody had turned out the lights on the terrace. This seemed natural enough.

I saw Benny Abell standing by the rear windows, and I suspected he was in rather a difficulty. As an unattached male he would have been too conspicuous out on the porch among all the couples. I couldn't help him out without betraying the fact that he was one of our men. However, Benny was a person of great resource. He succeeded in picking up one of the young lady guests—a not very attractive one, and they went out together.

The concert went on. Madame Rosa Ponselle finished singing a brilliant aria from one of the operas, and a little storm of well bred applause swept through the rooms. As the famous prima donna stepped down from the low dais between the front windows, Mrs. Van Tassel, meeting her, graciously shook her hand, thanking her as if she were not paying her a cent. Never will I forget the fatuous pleased smile on all faces, everybody putting on their best company manners—and how those faces suddenly went blank with horror.

For as quiet settled on the room, the sound of heavy dull blows echoed through the house—frantic repeated blows. From upstairs.

For a moment everybody remained as still as if paralyzed. Mrs. Van Tassel's face became ghastly under her rouge, and her clenched hands went to her breast. A low cry broke from her, she staggered a step or two toward the door, and suddenly went down full length on the floor in her velvet and diamonds. Everybody near was too much stunned to catch her.

The dull blows went on; there was the sound of splintering wood; and a panic seized the well dressed crowd. It was all the more dreadful because they made no loud noise; only breathless gasps, low cries, and pushing for the door. I was in the back drawing room. When I sprang up my companion caught hold of me.

“Sit still!” he commanded, in a strained whisper. “It's the only thing to do.'”

But I wrenched myself free and ran out into the hall. Quick as I was, many people had already pushed out of the front room and formed a dense mass, cutting me off from the stairs. It is strange what one takes note of at such moments. I cannot forget one little man all doubled up who ran back and forth behind this crowd like a rat seeking a way of escape.

Poor little Cornelia Van Tassel ran in from the back, screaming: “What's the matter? Oh, mother!...Mother!” Those awful blows continued.

Several men started up the stairs. In the excitement the elevator was forgotten. It was right beside me. While I stood there at a loss, my arm was grasped and I was whisked inside, and the door closed before I knew what was happening. It was Mme. Storey. She pressed a button, and we reached the second floor as soon as those on the stairs.

We were thoroughly familiar with the plan of the house. We ran directly into Mr. Van Tassel's study, and through it into his bedroom. Every detail of that picture is bitten on my memory—the luxurious old fashioned room; the heavy carved bedstead, covers neatly turned down, awaiting its occupant; Dickerman crying and wringing his hands together; Crider beating on a further door with a small, heavy chair. The legs of the chair had broken off. Crider's face was crimson with his efforts, and his dress coat had split right down the back.

As we entered, the door went in. There was a bathroom beyond. I saw immediately that the window was open and the screen raised. A narrow window, but wide enough to admit the body of a man.

Howard Van Tassel lay huddled in a dressing gown on the tiled floor. His eyes were open, his face fixed in ghastly lines of terror. A glance showed that he was beyond aid.

“Keep everybody out,” Mme. Storey murmured over her shoulder to Dickerman.

In obedience to a nod from her I pulled down the window screen.