Читать книгу Orchids to Murder - Footner Hulbert - Страница 7

Table of Contents

IN the Atlas Garage on East Fifty-first Street, Lee said to the manager: "Can I see Mr. George Restorick's cars?"

The manager looked him over. "Did you bring an authorization, sir?"

"Why no. When I called up Mr. Restorick's office this morning, I was told he had gone out of town. His agent referred me to you."

"That's right. I was ordered to put the two cars in dead storage, but I haven't got around to it yet. Which car was you interested in, sir? I didn't know he was thinking of selling. That's the coupé back of you. It's waiting to be washed."

"That's the one," said Lee. "Let's look it over."

"Beautiful custom-made job," said the manager. "Mr. Restorick don't employ a chauffeur while he's living in town and his cars ain't taken out much. He says taxis are cheaper. Even a millionaire looks after the pennies."

"They always do," said Lee.

"The limousine hasn't been out since God knows when," the manager went on, "but this job was called for at eight-thirty last night, unexpected. I took it up to Mr. Restorick's house myself."

"Did you see him?"

"No, sir. I just left it standing under the porte-cochère and dropped the keys through the letter slot. That's our custom. Mr. Restorick returned it himself about two o'clock. I offered to drive him home, but he said it was only a block or two and he wanted the walk. Nice man, Mr. Restorick; easy as an old shoe."

"Right!" said Lee. "A fine fellow!"

"When he come in last night I noticed he'd picked up some mud under the fenders, and I says: 'Been for a drive in the country, Mr. Restorick?' And he says: 'Just up to my place in Fairfield County, Connecticut. I'm going away tomorrow and I had to get some papers.'"

"Was he alone?"

"Yes, sir."

While the man was talking, Lee made a close and attentive examination of the car's interior. Afterwards he said: "Will you open up the luggage compartment, please? I want to see how much space there is."

When the cover was lifted, Lee, producing a pocket flashlight and a magnifying glass, searched the interior inch by inch. The manager stared, thinking this a strange procedure on the part of a prospective buyer. Jack could guess what Lee was looking for, and an involuntary shiver passed through his body.

"Just as I feared," said Lee. "They design a fine, spacious compartment for luggage and then fill it with a couple of spare wheels. Close it up."

"You could have it rigged to carry the spares on the running-boards without much expense," suggested the manager. "Let me give you a run in it, sir. If you're thinking of buying, I won't have the battery taken out."

"No," said Lee. "After all, it's not exactly what I want. Many thanks for your trouble."

"No trouble to show a car, sir."

"Look," said Lee, "tell me something as man to man. When Mr. Restorick came back with the car last night, how did he look?"

The manager's eyes widened. "Police?" he asked.

"Associated with the police," said Lee. "I can see you're a wise guy, and can keep your mouth shut."

"Sure! But Mr. Restorick! A man of his sort ... Good Lord! Well, since you ask me, mister, he looked decidedly upset. He looked like a man who had lately stopped a haymaker."

"Much obliged," said Lee. "Let's go, Jack."

"But ... my God, mister! They say Restorick's got half the money in the country. A man like him ... absconding!"

"Oh, nothing like that," said Lee. "Say nothing about my visit today. If there's anything in it, it will all come out in the end."

Back in their own car, Jack said: "Well, that's pretty conclusive!"

"Hardly that," said Lee. "Just another suspicious circumstance. If Restorick drove up to his country place last night for an evil purpose, he would hardly tell the garage-man where he had gone. He didn't have to tell him."

"They always make one mistake," insisted Jack. "What's our next move, sir?"

"How much gas have you got?"

"I filled up last night. It's still registering three-quarters."

"Do you want to drive me up to Connecticut?"

"Sure! I was hoping you'd say that."

"I don't expect anything to come of it. But it's something we should not neglect."

They left town by the Hutchinson Parkway. Jack's car was a small convertible but it was too cold to drive with the top down. Indeed, there had been a light frost the previous night; but the spring flowers in the parkway were blooming bravely. They paused in Stamford to make inquiries and had no difficulty in learning that the Restorick country place lay eighteen miles north of Bridgeport on the road to Danbury.

Jack drove as fast as the law allowed. It was half past four when they arrived. There was nothing grand about the place; a characteristic, ancient Connecticut farmhouse with an immense central chimney, it had been improved and extended to suit a modern taste. Like all farmhouses, it stood close to the road, but was partly shielded from view by recent planting. The grounds spread wide on either side and at the back to the edge of a hill. A gigantic tree partly shaded the house, and Restorick had called the place after this tree: Black Maple. As Lee knew, the millionaire was a man of simple tastes. He had inherited the over-ornate city house, but this place was of his own choice.

A freshly painted FOR SALE sign had been planted beside the entrance gate. A car stood in the private drive in front of the porch, and the house door was open. There was a young man in working clothes on the porch.

As they got out, Lee warned Jack with a glance to let him do the talking, and said: "This is Mr. Restorick's place, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Is he here?"

"No, sir. Mr. Restorick is traveling, sir."

"Whose car is that?"

"That's the real estate agent's, sir. Mr. Restorick has put the house up for sale."

"Dear! Dear!" said Lee. "That's a surprise."

"It was a surprise to me, sir, I can tell you," said the young man ruefully.

"What is your job here?" asked Lee.

"I'm the farmer, sir. Barmby is my name. Yonder is my house on a side road beyond the grounds. Last night after eleven o'clock I was wakened in my bed by a horn blowing under my window. It was Mr. Restorick, who had driven up unexpectedly. He drove on to the big house and I dressed and followed him."

"Was he alone?"

"Yes, sir. He told me he would be traveling out of the country for an indefinite period, so he had made up his mind to sell Black Maple. Under my contract, of course, I can't be put off the place without six months' notice, but I hate to change masters, sir. Mr. Restorick is one in a thousand. Are you interested in buying the place, sir?"

"Possibly," said Lee. "I just saw the sign in passing."

"I'll call the agent, sir."

In response to the summons, a smart little gentleman came out of the house, the typical "realtor."

"My name is Mappin," said Lee. "I spoke to Mr. Restorick once about buying this place, but he said it wasn't in the market. Now I see he has changed his mind."

The realtor lost no time in beginning his snappy sales talk. "Yes, sir. The sign hasn't been up an hour and you are our first prospect. We won't have this place on our hands long. It's in absolutely apple-pie order and at a very reasonable price. Everybody wants to buy in the spring. Mr. Restorick would like to sell the contents with it. You could move in tonight if you wished. Will you go over the house while we're here, sir?"

"All right," said Lee.

"I'll stay here and talk to this man," said Jack.

Lee entered a broad, low living room. A clerk was engaged in taking inventory. "There's a front door facing the road," explained the agent, "but this door from the porch is the natural entrance since the driveway passes outside. Two of the original rooms were thrown together to make this living room. Beautiful, isn't it? The furniture and pictures are veritable museum pieces. Back of it lies the dining room. This was the kitchen of the original house with an extension. The original fireplace, you see; said to be the largest in Connecticut. With all the original utensils. A unique feature! The present kitchen wing is modern with every known laborsaving device. Servants' bedrooms above. On the other side of the house is a charming little den or library—look at that Chinese rug, sir! And the entrance hall in front with the original quaint stair! You'll find the date of the house over the front door; 1790." And so on. And so on.

Lee took his own time in following the little man from room to room, using his eyes to the fullest advantage. "That's right, sir," said the agent. "Anybody could see that you are a connoisseur of beautiful things!"

The magnifying glass came out more than once, but Lee was not rewarded by finding even so much as a fingerprint. "The place is extremely well kept," he remarked.

"When Mr. Restorick is not living here, Mrs. Barmby, the farmer's wife, does the sweeping and dusting," explained the agent.

They proceeded to the upper floor. "Four bedrooms and three baths," said the agent. "The wallpapers, you will notice, are all printed from hand blocks. The large bedroom to the north is the master's bedroom. There is room for two more rooms and baths on the attic floor, but as Mr. Restorick did not require the accommodation, he never had them finished."

In the big bedroom, one of the pictures had been taken down and left standing against the baseboard. Behind its place was revealed a little wall safe. Lee tried the door and it came open in his hand. The safe was empty except for a scrap of paper on which was written: "Combination may be obtained from the agent of my estate." Lee's glass revealed male fingerprints on the door, which Lee took to be Restorick's. He had found similar prints in the car.

"Mr. Restorick thought of everything," murmured the agent.

By the time they got downstairs, Lee was thoroughly bored with the brisk little man. "I interrupted you at your work," he said politely. "My friend and I will stroll about the grounds now. There is no need for you to accompany us."

"Just as you please, Mr. Mappin. I'll see you before you go."

In the graveled drive, Lee found the marks of a car which had come and gone before their arrival. Without calling attention to what he was doing, he traced the tracks back to the garage, where the car had turned and gone back. It had not left the drive at any point.

The broad and beautifully kept lawn to the north of the house could not have been disturbed without leaving traces, so Lee kept to the planted borders, giving special attention to an old well, now completely hidden within a circle of cedars. Jack accompanied him, and the young farmer, Barmby, followed a few paces behind.

"Did you get anything out of him?" Lee asked.

"Nothing of any account," murmured Jack.

"Did he stay with Restorick all the time he was here?"

"No, indeed. God knows what Restorick had been up to before he turned on a light in his bedroom. Moreover, he sent the farmer back to bed before he left."

"He couldn't have stayed very long," said Lee, "if he was back in town by two o'clock. It's more than seventy miles."

"Long enough to do his dirty work, I reckon," growled Jack. "Probably drove like a bat out of hell."

Behind flowering shrubs to the west of the lawn stretched cutting beds, a vegetable garden, including grapevines and rows of berry bushes, an orchard. Back of all, within a screen of cedar trees, lay a swimming pool, empty of water.

"The place has everything," said Lee.

To the south and nearer the house, rose the former stable now transformed into an inviting game room with broad windows filling the west end and a terrace outside commanding a lovely view of the valley and its distant hills. There was a suite of guest rooms above, and next door, the garage, empty now. A small, all-service truck was standing in the garage. Lee examined it with particular care. It told him nothing.

To the south of the house stretched another lawn of equal size, rising gradually in the middle to a picturesque, round, rustic summerhouse, completely covered with a vine of white wistaria now in flower. Surrounding the little pavilion was a bed of hyacinths, white, pink and purple, freshly planted out, the whole making a charming springtime bower. Lee walked all around it, gazing at the beauty of the blossoms—and incidentally searching to see if the flower bed had been freshly disturbed anywhere. Apparently it had not. The floor of the summerhouse was about a foot higher than the surrounding ground. This space had been filled in with a lattice of thin wooden strips. Chains had been stretched across the entrance to the little house.

"What are these chains for?" asked Lee.

"To keep anybody from going in," said Barmby. "Mr. Restorick had them put up before I came. He said he suspected that the floor was rotten, and he didn't want anybody to go through and break a leg. He called this hut the gazebo. That was just his fun. It was never used for anything, but he wouldn't have it pulled down because the vine was so beautiful."

Lee leaned over the chain to look inside. In truth, the floor was covered with a scum of earth and the remains of rotting leaves that obviously had not been disturbed in years.

Barmby glanced at his watch. "It's my milking time, sir. I'll be leaving you, if there's nothing more I can do."

Lee gave him a generous tip.

"Do you think you'll be buying the place, sir?" he asked. "I'd kind of like to have you for my boss."

Lee, smiling, shook his head. "I'm afraid it's too big for me to swing."

Lee and Jack went on together. They had now made a circuit of the grounds, and were coming back to the house from the south side. Passing through a screen of pink dogwood in full flower, the finest Lee had ever seen, they entered a rectangular flower garden. The spring flowers were at their best.

"More neatly raked flower beds," murmured Lee.

"What's that, sir?" asked Jack.

"Nothing. Just talking to myself."

Under the open fronds of a peony bush gleamed a scrap of white. Lee picked it up. A lady's little folded handkerchief of the sheerest linen. On the visible corner, a spray of flowers was exquisitely embroidered, in colored threads, odd green and black blossoms.

Jack, looking over Lee's shoulder, gave an agonized cry and clutched his head. "That's one of Mary's wedding handkerchiefs! See! the Investia orchid! She ordered them embroidered specially! Oh God!"

Lee gently smoothed the folded square of linen and put it in his breast pocket. "Come," he said. "Don't let these people see that you are upset. We'll have to come back here again."