Эллери Куин - The Devil To Pay

“You’re a sportsman, aren’t you, Mr. Jardin?”

“If you’ll make your point—”

“You’ve won golf championships, you’re a crack pistol shot, you beat this man Pink in the California Archery Tournament last spring, you’ve raced your yacht against the best. You see, I know all about you.”

“Please come to the point,” said Rhys coldly.

“You fence, too, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

Glücke nodded. “It isn’t generally known, but you’re also one of the best amateur swordsmen in the United States.”

“I see,” said Rhys slowly.

“He even twied to teach Solly!” shrilled Miss Moon. “He was always twying to make him exercise!”

The Inspector beamed. “Is that so?” he said. And he turned and pointedly looked up at the puce-colored wall above the fireplace.

A collection of old weapons hung there, decorative pieces — two silver-butted dueling pistols, a long-barreled eighteenth-century rifle, an arquebus, a group of poinards and dirks and stilettos, a dozen or more time-blackened swords: rapiers, sabers, scimitars, jeweled court-swords.

High above the rest lay a heavy channeled blade such as were carried by mounted men-at-arms in the thirteenth century. It lay on the wall obliquely. A thin light streak in the puce paint crossed the medieval piece in the opposite direction, as if at one time another sword had hung there.

“It’s gone!” squealed Winni, pointing at the streak.

“Uh-huh,” said Glücke.

“But it was there at only four o’cwock!”

“Was that when you saw Spaeth last, Miss Moon?”

“Yes, when I came back fwom shopping...”

“Is it polite to inquire,” murmured Mr. Queen, “what the beauteous Miss Moon was doing between four o’clock and the time Mr. Spaeth was murdered?”

“I was in my boudoir twying on new gowns!” cried Miss Moon indignantly. “How dare you!”

“And you didn’t hear anything, Miss Moon?”

Ruhig glared. “If you’ll tell me what right—”

“Listen, Queen,” snarled Glücke. “You’ll do me a big favor if you keep your nose out of this!”

“Sorry,” said Ellery.

Glücke blew a little, shaking himself. “Now,” he said in a calmer tone. “Let’s see what that sticker was.” He went to the fireplace with the air of a stage magician about to demonstrate his most baffling trick, and set a chair before it. He stepped up on the chair, craning, and loudly read the legend on a small bronze plaque set into the wall below the streak in the paint. “‘Cup-hilted Italian rapier, seventeenth century,’” he announced. And he stepped down with an air of triumph.

No one said anything. Rhys sat quietly, his muscular hands resting without movement on his knees.

“The fact is, ladies and gentlemen,” said the Inspector, facing them, “that Solly Spaeth was stabbed to death and an Italian rapier is missing. We’ve pretty well established that it’s gone. It isn’t in this house and so far my men haven’t found it on the grounds. Stab-wound — sword missing. It looks as if Solly’s killer took the rapier down from the wall, backed Solly into that corner there, gave him the works, and beat it with the sword.”

In the stillness Mr. Queen’s voice could clearly be heard. “That,” he complained, “is precisely the trouble.”

Inspector Glücke slowly passed his hand over his face. “Listen, you—” Then he turned on Jardin and snapped: “You weren’t by any chance trying to teach Solly a few tricks with that sword this afternoon, were you?”

Rhys smiled his brief, charming smile; and Val was so proud of him she could have wept. And Walter, the beast, just sat there!

“Figure it out for yourself,” said the Inspector amiably. “Frank says you were the only outsider to enter Sans Souci late this afternoon. We have the missing piece from your coat in substantiation, and we’ll have the coat very shortly, I promise you.”

“I’d like to see it myself,” said Rhys lightly.

“You’ve admitted to at least two quarrels with the dead man, one only this morning.”

“You left something out,” said Jardin with another smile. “After our tiff in this room this morning, I saw Spaeth again. He walked over to my house — I mean the one I vacated today.” Val started; she had not known that. “We had another little chat in my gymnasium, as a result of which I walked out on him.”

“Thanks for the tip,” said Glücke. “You’d better begin to think about keeping such facts to yourself. Got that, Phil? Well, you had a nice strong motive, too, Jardin — he ruined you and, from what I hear, he wouldn’t do what you asked, which was to put his profits back in Ohippi and salvage the business. And last, you’re a swordsman, and a sword was used to polish him off. You may even have got him off guard by pretending to show him some kind of fencing maneuver.”

“And what was he doing,” said Rhys, “parrying with his arm?”

They looked across the room at each other. “Tell you what, Jardin,” said the Inspector. “You sign a full confession, and I’ll get Van Every to guarantee a lesser plea. We could easily make it self-defense.”

“How nice,” smiled Rhys. “At that, I could almost take my chances with a jury, couldn’t I? They’d probably thank me for having rid the world of a menace.”

“Sure, sure! What do you say, Mr. Jardin?”

“Pop—” cried Val.

“I say I’m innocent, and you may go to hell.”

Glücke eyed him again. “Suit yourself,” he said shortly, and turned away. “Oh, Doc. You finished?”

Dr. Polk was visible now, rolling down the sleeves of his coat. The detectives were strung out around the room; and Val, looking out of one eye, saw that the heap in the corner near the fireplace was covered with newspapers.

“Pending autopsy findings,” said Dr. Polk abruptly, “you may assume the following: The wound was made by a sharp-pointed instrument, the point at surface terminus of entry being roughly a half-inch wide. It just missed the heart. I should say it was made by the missing rapier, although I’d like to see the thing before making a positive statement.”

“How about the time of death?” demanded Glücke.

“Checks with the watch.”

Mr. Ellery Queen stirred restlessly. “The watch?”

“Yes,” said the Inspector with impatience, “his arm banged against the wall as he sank to a sitting position in that corner, because we found his wrist-watch smashed and the pieces of shattered crystal on the floor beside him. The hands stopped at 5.32.”

Rhys Jardin chuckled. Even Glücke seemed surprised at the pure happiness of it. It bothered him, for he kept eying Jardin sidewise.

But Valerie knew why her father laughed. A wave of such relief swept over her that for an instant she tasted salt in her mouth. She felt like laughing hysterically herself.

Solomon Spaeth had been murdered at 5.32. But at 5.32 Rhys Jardin had been entering the self-service elevator at the La Salle with Val, on his way from their apartment to the lobby downstairs to wait for Walter.

5.32... Val’s inner laughter died in a burst of panic. Rhys was all right now — nothing could touch him now, with an alibi like that. But Walter... It was different in Walter’s case. At 5.35, with Rhys in full view of Mibs Austin in the La Salle lobby, Val had telephoned Walter and Mibs had spoken to Walter and even recognized his voice.

If Inspector Glücke should question the little blonde telephone operator, if she should tell him about that call, where Walter was, fix the time...

Val caught a blurry glimpse of Walter’s face as he turned away to stare out the side windows into the blackness of the grounds. There was such agony on his face that she was ready to forgive anything just to be able to take him in her arms.