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[Pg 209] <h2>CHAPTER XX</h2> <h3>AT THE COUNTRY CLUB</h3> The country club, when I walked up its lawn, was noisy with the hammering and jawing of its decoration committee. Out in the glass belvedere, like superior goods on display, taking it easy while every one else worked, I saw a group of young matrons of the smart set, Ina Vandeman among them, drinking tea. The open play she was making at Worth troubled me a little. He was the silent kind that keeps you guessing. She'd landed him once; what was to hinder her being successful with the same tactics—whatever they'd been—a second time? Then I saw Edwards' car was still out in the big, crescent driveway, showing by the drift of twigs and petals on its running board that it had been used to bring in tree blooms from his ranch; the man himself crossed the veranda, and I hailed, "Any place inside where you and I could have a private word together?" "I—I think so, Boyne," he hesitated. "Come on back here." He led me straight across the big assembly room which was being trimmed for the ball. From the top of a stepladder, Skeet Thornhill yelled to us, "Where you two going? Come back here, and get on the job." She had a dozen noisy assistants. I waved at her[Pg 210] from the further door as we ducked. Strange that honest, sound little thing should be own sister to the doll-faced vamp out there in the showcase. Edwards made for a little writing room at the end of a corridor. I followed his long, nervous stride. If the man had been goaded to the shooting of Thomas Gilbert, it would have been an act of passion, and by passion he would betray himself. When I had him alone, the door shut, I went to it, told him we knew the death was murder, not suicide, and that the crime had been committed early Saturday night. Before I could connect him with it, he broke in on me, "Is Worth suspected?" "Not by me," I said. "And by God, not by you, Edwards! You know better than that." I held his eye, but read nothing beyond what might have been the flare of quick anger for the boy's sake. "Who then?" he said. "Who's dared to lisp a word like that? That hound Cummings—chasing around Santa Ysobel with Bowman—is that where it comes from? I told Worth the fellow was knifing him in the back." He began to stride up and down the room. "The boy's got other friends—that'll go their length for him. I'm with him till hell freezes over. You can count on me—" "Exactly what I wanted to find out," I cut in, so significantly that he whirled at the end of his beat and stared. "Meaning?" "Meaning you are the one man who could clear Worth Gilbert of all suspicion." "What do you know?" The big voice had come down to a mere whisper.[Pg 211] Plenty of passion now—a passion of terror. I spoke quickly. "We know you were in the study that night, with a companion," and I piled out the worst of his affair, as I'd read it in the diaries, winding up, "Plain what brought you there. Quarrel? Motive? Don't need to look any further." Before I was done Jim Edwards had groped over to a chair and slumped into it. A queer, toneless voice asked, "Worth sent you to me—a detective—with this?" "No," I said. "I'm acting on my own." "And against his will," it came back instantly. "What of it?" I demanded. "Are you the coward to take advantage of his sense of honor?—to let his generosity cost him his life?" "His life." That landed. Watching, I saw the struggle that tore him. He jumped up and started toward me; I hadn't much doubt that I was now going to hear a plea for mercy—a confession, of sorts—as he stopped, dropped his head, and stood scowling at the floor. "Talk," I said. "Spill it. Now's your time." He raised his eyes to mine and spoke suddenly. "Boyne—I have nothing to say." "And Worth Gilbert can hang and be damned to him—is that it?" I took another step toward him. "No, Edwards, that 'nothing to say' stuff won't go in a court of law. It won't get you anywhere." "They'll never in the world—try Worth for—that killing." "I'm expecting his arrest any hour." "A trial! Those cursed diaries of Tom's brought[Pg 212] into court—My God! I believe if I'd known he'd written things like that, I could have killed him for it!" I stared. He had forgotten me. But at this speech I mentally dropped him for the moment, and fastened my suspicions on the woman who went with him to the study. "All right," I said brutally. "You didn't kill Thomas Gilbert. But you took Mrs. Bowman to the study that night to have it out with him, and get six pages from the 1916 book. She got 'em—and you know what she had to do to get 'em." "Hold on, Boyne!" he said sternly. "Don't you talk like that to me." "Well," I said, "Mrs. Bowman was there—after those diary leaves. I heard Barbara Wallace imitate her voice—and Chung recognized the imitation. You know—that night at the study—the first night." He took a bewildered moment or two for thought, then broke out, "It wasn't Laura's voice Barbara imitated. Did she say so?" "No, but she imitated the voice of a woman who came weeping to get those pages from the diary; and who else would that be? Who else would want them?" "You're off the track, Boyne," he drew a great, shuddering sigh of relief. "Tom was always playing the tyrant to those about him; no doubt some woman did come crying for that stuff—but it wasn't Laura." "By Heaven!" I exclaimed as I looked at him. "You know who it was! You recognized the voice that night—but the woman isn't one you're interested in." "I'm interested in all women, so far as their getting[Pg 213] a decent show in the world is concerned," he maintained sturdily. "I'd go as far as any man to defend the good name of a woman—whether I thought much of her or not." "This other woman," I argued, not any too keen on such a job myself, "hasn't she got some man to speak for her?" Edwards looked at me innocently. "She didn't have, then—" he began, and I finished for him, "But she has now. I've got it!" As I jumped up and hurried to the door, his eyes followed me in wonder. There I turned with, "Stay right where you are. I'll be back in a minute," ducked out into the hall and signaled a passing messenger, then stepped quickly back into the writing room and said, "I've sent for Bronson Vandeman." He settled deeper in his chair with, "I'll stay and see it out. If you get anything from Vandeman, I miss my guess." <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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