Fletcher Flora - The First Golden Age of Mystery & Crime MEGAPACK™ - 26 Stories by Fletcher Flora

“Don’t you believe that they did?”

“I don’t know. I think I do. What do you think?”

“On the surface, it seems a reasonable assumption, but it leaves a lot of loose ends.”

“That’s it. That’s what disturbs me. Too many loose ends. I don’t like loose ends, Mr. Hand. Will you try to tie them up for me?”

“Find out where Constance Markley went?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You mean you won’t?”

“I mean I probably couldn’t. Look at it this way. The police have far greater facilities for this kind of thing than any private detective, and they’ve tried without success. Or if they did find out where Constance Markley went, it was obviously not police business and was quietly dropped. Either way, I’d be wasting my time and your money to try to find her now.”

“Don’t worry about wasting my money.”

“All right. I’ll just worry about wasting my time.”

“Is it wasted if it’s paid for?”

“That’s a good point. If you want to buy my time for a fee, why should I drag my heels? Maybe I’m too ethical.”

“Does that mean you accept?”

“No. Not yet. Be reasonable, Miss Salem. If Constance Markley and Regis Lawler went off together, they might be anywhere in the country or out of it. The West Coast. South America. Europe. Just about anywhere on earth.”

She finished her tonic, lit a cigarette, and let her head fall slowly against the back of the wicker chair as if she were suddenly very tired. With her eyes closed, the shadows of her lashes on her cheeks, she seemed to be asleep in an instant, except for the thin blue plume of smoke expelled slowly from her lungs. After a few moments, her eyes still closed, she spoke again.

“Why should they do that? Why disappear? Why run away at all? Women are leaving husbands every day. Men are leaving wives. They simply leave. Why didn’t Constance?”

“People do queer things sometimes. Usually there are reasons that seem good to the people. You said Mrs. Markley was an intense sort of person. You said she’d suffered a tragedy that nearly unbalanced her mentally. You implied that she hadn’t been happy with Graham Markley. Maybe she just wanted to go away clean — no connections, no repercussions, nothing at all left of the old life but a man she loved and the few things she’d have to remember because she couldn’t forget.”

“I know. I’ve thought of that, and it’s something that Constance might possibly have done, as I remember her.”

“How do you remember her?”

“Well, as I said, she was intense. She was always excited or depressed, and I could never quite understand what she was excited or depressed about. Ideas that occurred to her or were passed on to her by someone. Impressions and suggestions. Things like that. Little things that would never have influenced most people in the least. She was pretty, in a way, but it took quite a while before you realized it. She had a kind of delicacy or fragility about her, but I don’t believe that she was actually fragile physically. It was just an impression. She didn’t appeal to men, and I never thought that men appealed to her. In the year we lived together, she never went out with a man that I can recall. Her parents had money. That’s why I lived with her. I had practically no money at all then, and she took a fancy to me and wanted to rent an apartment for us, and so she did, and I stayed with her until near the end of the school year. I married a boy who also had money. Never mind me, though. The point is, we went away from school, and I didn’t see Constance again. She was angry with me and refused to say good-by, I’ve always been sorry.”

“How did she happen to meet and marry Graham Markley?”

“I don’t know. Graham is susceptible to variety in women. Probably her particular kind of intangible prettiness, her fragility, something happened to appeal to him at the time they met. I imagine their marriage was one of those sudden, impulsive things that usually should never happen.”

“I see. How did you learn so much about her? Not back there in the beginning. I mean after she married Markley. About her baby, her affair with Lawler, those things.”

“Oh, I picked up bits from various sources, but most of it I learned from Maria. She was maid to Constance, you see, when Constance and Graham were living together. When I came along and moved into this apartment, I sort of acquired her. Graham still had her and didn’t know what to do with her, so he sent her over to me. Isn’t that strange?”

“Convenient, I’d say. Did Maria see Constance Markley the night of her disappearance?”

“Yes. She helped Constance dress. Apparently she was the last person that Constance spoke to.”

“May I speak with her for a moment?”

“If you wish. I’ll get her.”

She got up and walked barefooted off the terrace into the black and white tiled room, and I drank the last of my gin and tonic and wished for another, and in about three minutes, not longer, she returned with Maria. She sat down again and told Maria that she could also sit down if she pleased, but Maria preferred to stand. Her small brown face was perfectly composed, and expressionless.

“What do you want me to tell you?” she said.

“I want you to answer a few questions about Mrs. Markley,” I said. “Constance Markley, that is. Will you do that?”

“If I can.”

“Miss Salem says that you saw Mrs. Markley the night she disappeared. Is that so?”

“It’s so. I helped her dress for the evening.”

“Did she go out alone?”

“Yes. Alone.”

“Do you know where she was going?”

“I assumed that she was going to see Mr. Lawler. She didn’t tell me.”

“Did she go to see Mr. Lawler often?”

“Twice a week, maybe. Sometimes more.”

“How do you know? Did she confide in you?”

“More in me than anyone else. She had to talk to someone.”

“I see. Were you devoted to Mrs. Markley?”

“Yes. She was very kind, very unhappy. I pitied her.”

“Because of the death of her child?”

“Partly because of that. I don’t know. She was not happy.”

“Did you approve of her affair with Mr. Lawler?”

“Not approve, exactly. I understood it. She needed a special kind of love. A kind of attention.”

“Mr. Lawler gave her this?”

“He must have given it to her. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have gone on with him. That’s reasonable.”

“Yes, it is. It’s reasonable. And so are you, Maria. You’re a very reasonable woman. Tell me. What was your impression of her the night she disappeared?”

“Pardon?”

“Her emotional state, I mean. Was she depressed? Cheerful?”

“Not depressed. Not cheerful. She was eager. There’s a difference between eagerness and cheerfulness.”

“That’s true. Besides being reasonable, Maria, you are also perceptive. Did she seem excessively agitated in any way?”

“Just eager. She was always eager when she went to see Mr. Lawler.”

“Do you think that Mr. Markley was aware of the relationship between his wife and Lawler?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t show much interest in anything Mrs. Markley did. Not even when the child died.”

“All right. Just one more question. Maria. What time did Mrs. Markley leave here?”

“About eight. Perhaps a few minutes before or after.”

“Thank you, Maria.”

Maria turned her still brown face toward Faith Salem, who smiled and nodded. The maid nodded in return, three times, and went away. Faith Salem stood up abruptly, standing with her legs spread and her hands rammed into the patch pockets of the short white coat.

“Well?” she said.