Orchids to Murder E-Book

Hulbert Footner

• Herausgeber: Ktoczyta.pl
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Beschreibung

Amos Lee Mappin is a great detective. A sad man came to him asking him to find his granddaughter, Mary Stannard. The detective soon discovers that she has stood up her wedding party. Mappin found several strands and many clues through which he can find Mary.

Leseprobe

Contents

CHAPTER I

CHAPTER II

CHAPTER III

CHAPTER IV

CHAPTER V

CHAPTER VI

CHAPTER VII

CHAPTER VIII

CHAPTER IX

CHAPTER X

CHAPTER XI

CHAPTER XII

CHAPTER XIII

CHAPTER XIV

CHAPTER XV

CHAPTER XVI

CHAPTER XVII

CHAPTER XVIII

CHAPTER XIX

CHAPTER XX

CHAPTER XXI

CHAPTER I

JERMYN, Amos Lee Mappin’s lean, leathery man-servant, entered his master’s bedroom and coughed discreetly. Though it was nearly nine o’clock on Monday morning, Mr. Mappin, making a little rounded hill of the bedclothes, was still slumbering peacefully. There had been a late party on Sunday night. He awoke and looked at Jermyn with a not altogether friendly eye. That stolen hour of sleep in the morning was so delicious!

“What is it, Jermyn?”

“Sorry to disturb you, sir. Major Dunphy is here.”

Mr. Mappin scowled. “Good God! that crashing bore!” He glanced at the clock on the dresser. “Nine o’clock! What on earth does he want?”

“He didn’t care to tell me, sir. He apologized for coming so early. He appears to be extremely agitated, sir.”

“He’s easily agitated. Why did you let him in?”

“How could I avoid it, sir? He mentioned the name of his granddaughter, Miss Stannard. She seems to be lost, sir.”

Lee stared at Jermyn with a changed expression. After a moment he swung his legs out of the bed. “Miss Stannard? What the devil! He didn’t expect to find her here, did he? It’s some absurd notion that he’s got in his head. I’ll get rid of him as fast as I can.”

“He’s waiting in the living room, sir.”

“All right. Make me some coffee. I’ll have breakfast after he goes.”

Jermyn retired and Lee got out of bed. He thrust his feet into a pair of morocco slippers, wound a white silk muffler around his neck, and shouldered himself into one of the gaudy dressing gowns he affected at home–this one was crimson in color. He didn’t have to brush his hair because he didn’t have any, except a fringe around the base of his skull.

In the living room, a huge chamber with a balcony high above the East River, he found Major Dunphy sitting stiffly on the edge of a sofa, impatiently slapping his thigh with a pair of chamois gloves. Early as it was, the Major’s toilet had been performed with his usual care. Beside him on a table lay the hard-shell derby hat that he continued to wear after everybody else had left them off. The only thing missing was the customary carnation in his buttonhole. This denoted a considerable state of perturbation.

The Major was over seventy, and had the look of having been preserved under a thin film of paraffin. His still plentiful hair was unnaturally black, but his heavy eyebrows were genuinely black, and under them his eyes still burned with a kind of irascible fire. He wriggled forward on the sofa and pushed himself up with his hands. His bodily movements were somewhat restricted owing to the fact that when he was dressed to go out, he had too much chest and too little belly for his age. He commenced a perfunctory apology to Lee, but it was clear he didn’t mean a word of it, being far too full of his own grievances.

Lee waved the apology aside. “I knew it must be important,” he said, “or you would have telephoned. Sit down, Major.”

The Major performed that somewhat complicated evolution. “My granddaughter has disappeared!” he said, more in anger than sorrow.

“How do you mean, disappeared?” asked Lee patiently. “I talked with her yesterday on the telephone.”

“Mary left the house sometime before nine o’clock last night,” said the Major. “Without a word of good-by,” he added bitterly.

Lee, glancing at the old face twisted with self-pity and resentment, could not feel surprised. “Well, she’s a free agent,” he said mildly.

“But the circumstances were so suspicious; so many lies were told, I don’t know what to think!”

Lee’s eyeglasses glittered. They afforded a certain cover for his eyes; otherwise the old man must have seen that he was thinking: Well, if Mary has finally walked out on the old leech, I for one wouldn’t be surprised.

Jermyn entered to tell his master that the coffee was ready.

“Will you join me?” Lee asked the Major.

The old man’s voice quavered. “I don’t mind if I do, Mr. Mappin. I wasn’t able to eat any breakfast.”

Lee felt a momentary compassion for him. He was a horrible old man and everybody disliked him; still he was old.

The coffee was poured. Jermyn retired from the room. The Major, holding his cup in a hand that trembled a little, sipped the contents gratefully.

“And so I come to you for help,” he went on. “You have had so much experience in such matters and I believe that you are Mary’s true friend–perhaps the only one she has.”

“Indeed I wish to be her friend,” said Lee heartily. “I seem to renew my youth when I am in her company. She has that effect on one. I am very, very fond of her.”

“Oh, everybody falls for Mary!” sneered the Major.

Lee looked at his cup and let that pass. “Better tell me the whole circumstances,” he said. “I don’t understand your references to lies. Mary has such a candid character.”

“Not with me!” said the Major. “I’m the old nuisance that has to be lied to and shut up.”

Lee said nothing.

“As you know,” resumed the Major, acid and garrulous as an old woman, “the play closed unexpectedly on Saturday night though it was a sellout at every performance. It was given out that the star, Lily Sartoris, has had a nervous breakdown. That’s a fake. Everybody knows that the Sartoris woman is furious because my Mary stole the play. I happen to know that Wilson Carsley wished to give Mary the star part and continue, but Mary refused because she said she wanted a vacation. Mary herself didn’t tell me anything–she never does, but I had that on the best authority...”

Lee interrupted. “Well, never mind about Lily Sartoris; let’s stick to Mary.”

“After the performance on Saturday night she went to a late party, as usual,” the Major continued bitterly. “Nobody cares if I spend my nights alone. All day yesterday she and Lottie Vickers, her maid, were busy in her room over some mysterious preparations. When I went to the door I was shooed away with scant ceremony. I didn’t see Mary to talk to her until dinnertime, and then she was absent-minded all through the meal. I addressed my remarks to the empty air. At the end of the meal she merely said she had decided to go up to the inn at Greencliffe Manor in Dutchess County to stay until Lily Sartoris recovered. She’d be leaving shortly before nine o’clock, she said. She was tired, she claimed, of late parties and empty gabble and drinking, and wanted a complete rest in the country in spring. And all the time her eyes were sparkling with anticipation. Anybody could have seen that she was lying.”

The Major paused and took a swallow of coffee with a very wry face. “When I naturally remonstrated with her at having this sprung on me,” he resumed, “and pointed out that I would be left alone in the house every night–our two servants sleep out, as you may know–she said she had arranged to have Lottie Vickers sleep in while she was away–small comfort Lottie would be to me! I confess that such a total disregard for my comfort made me a little angry. When I continued to question her about this sudden desire for the country, she merely looked at me without speaking and went up to her room and closed the door. This was something new, because in the past, when I ventured to remonstrate with her, she at least condescended to hear me out. So to rebuke her, I went to my room.”

Lee’s level look at the Major suggested that he was asking himself: What can one do with such a selfish old ass?

“I did not see her again,” the Major went on. “She did indeed leave somewhere around nine o’clock. It was not until I heard the telephone ringing downstairs at quarter past nine that I realized I was alone in the house.”

“Who called up?” asked Lee.

“Nina Gannon,” said the Major sourly, “Mary’s special and particular pal.”

“What did Mrs. Gannon want?”

“Wanted to know where Mary was. Said she had a date to meet her at nine o’clock and she hadn’t turned up.”

“‘Well, she’s gone,’ I said. ‘Where was she to meet you?’ Nina hesitated before answering and then said: ‘At my place.’ So I guessed she was lying. I said: ‘Mary told me she was going up to Greencliffe Manor tonight.’ ‘Oh, that would be later tonight,’ said Nina. When I attempted to question her further, she hung up... Nina Gannon does not like me,” the Major concluded resentfully, “and I must say that her sentiments are heartily reciprocated. I have always considered her to be an unfortunate influence on Mary.”

This communication made Lee look vaguely anxious, because he knew that Nina Gannon was honestly Mary’s friend.

“So I went to bed,” the Major continued. “I spent a miserable night, tossing and turning; never closed my eyes. At eight this morning the telephone rang again. In the meantime I had switched the connection to the phone in my study on the third floor. It was Nina Gannon again. Wanted to know if I had heard from Mary. Sounded anxious. I said no. I couldn’t get anything out of her. She made believe to pass it off as of no account. I then called up the inn at Greencliffe Manor and was told that Miss Stannard was not stopping there, and that no reservation had been made for her.”

“If she wanted quiet and seclusion she would have registered under another name,” suggested Lee.

“I thought of that,” answered the Major. “I asked and was told that no new guests registered after dinner last night. No reservations have been made for any single young lady. That very seriously disturbed me so I came to consult you.”

“Well, I’m sure everything is all right,” said Lee with more confidence than he felt. “You can’t apply ordinary standards to our brilliant and famous Mary. Very likely there is a message from her waiting for you at home now.”

The Major shook his head. “The cook and housemaid came at the usual hour this morning. I left word with them that I was coming to your apartment, and told them to relay any message that might arrive. Nothing has come.”

Lee made an effort to conquer his dislike of the old man. “I’ll dress and have a spot of breakfast,” he said heartily. “Then I’ll go back to your house with you, and we’ll see what is to be done, if anything. Or perhaps you’d prefer to go right back and let me follow?”

“I’ll wait for you,” said the Major.

Lee and the Major made their way on foot to Mary Stannard’s house. After a series of parts in unsuccessful plays, when Mary finally found herself in the money she had rented this little furnished house far east on Fifty-second Street, around two corners from Lee’s apartment house. Once a low-class neighborhood, it had become one of the most fashionable addresses in town. The old-fashioned little brownstone front, one of a long row, had been altered into a smart English basement dwelling with all the modern gadgets. The former basement entrance was now the front door.

A smiling housemaid admitted them. Clearly she had no suspicion that there was anything wrong. No messages had come during the Major’s absence, she said.

The kitchen lay to the right of the entrance hall and the back part of the former basement now constituted a charming dining room with the whole rear wall of glass, looking out on a garden gay, at this season, with narcissi, jonquils and early tulips.

While they were in the dining room, the Major suddenly said: “I forgot to mention that Mary received a male visitor last night shortly before she disappeared.”

“So?” said Lee. “Who was it?”

“I don’t know. At a few minutes past eight I heard the front doorbell ring. The servants had just gone home. I went out in the hall and leaned over the stair rail to listen. I heard Mary go down to the door, and I heard the rumble of a man’s voice, but I couldn’t hear anything that was said. She brought him up to the living room and went in and closed the door. I don’t know how long he stayed. She must have let him out very softly, because I heard nothing though I left my door open. Or perhaps she went with him.”

This sounded a little fishy to Lee. “Didn’t you look out of the front window?” he asked.

“Yes. There was a red convertible coupe standing in front of our house. It had a khaki top which was up. When I looked again later, the car was gone, but of course I can’t be sure that Mary’s caller came in it. It was a fine car, bigger than a Ford or a Chevvy; at that distance I couldn’t tell the make or read the license number.”

“So,” said Lee. “Let’s take a look at the garden.”

“Why?” asked the old man in surprise.

“No particular reason. While I’m here I want to see everything.”

Outside the dining room there was a narrow, stone-paved terrace where one could breakfast in warm weather. A tiny fountain played near by. Back of the terrace a rock garden with some winding steps ascended to the level of the original back yard. Both the rock garden and the flat beds above were bright with spring flowers. Against the back fence rose an ailanthus tree.

Lee strolled between the flower beds. All had been freshly dug and cultivated. “How beautifully kept it is,” he murmured.

“Mary spent a ridiculous amount of money on it,” said the Major peevishly.

The thought flitted through Lee’s head: A body could have been buried under one of the flower beds and the whole raked over neatly afterwards. He glanced speculatively at the Major. He’s old, thought Lee, but he seems able. I suppose he would be Mary’s legal heir. But she couldn’t have left much, she was so extravagant.

Lee examined all the flower beds with renewed care, but could find no evidence that the subsoil had been thrown to the surface in any place. Looking around, he noted that the back windows of the house on either side commanded a view of the yard. In the next street there were apartment houses with scores of windows looking down on Mary’s flowers. There was a tiny shed leaning against the back fence, masked with privet. It was not locked and Lee, glancing inside, saw the usual array of garden tools, spade, shovel, rake, hoes, clippers, etc.,–nothing else. None of the tools betrayed signs of having been used within the past twelve hours.

“What’s in your mind?” asked the Major nervously.

“Nothing as yet,” said Lee.

CHAPTER II

RETURNING indoors, Lee and the Major ascended to what had been the parlor floor of the original house. It had now, saving the stair well, been thrown into one long living room with windows looking on the street at one end and looking out on the garden at the other. Among the sameness of most New York rooms, it had an original and attractive aspect, and that was why Mary had taken the house.

The housemaid was cleaning the room. On top of a basket of trash lay a white cardboard box about ten inches long, and Lee picked it up. It bore the business card of Schracht, a florist on Lexington Avenue. Also in the basket lay a sheet of oiled paper and the outer wrapping of the box.

“When did this come?” asked Lee.

“Don’t know,” grumbled the Major.

“Must have been sometime yesterday, sir,” said the maid. “I tidied the room yesterday morning.”

Lee examined the wrapping paper. “No address on it,” he said. “The giver must have brought the flowers. We may suppose that it was a man. Did Miss Mary have any gentlemen visitors yesterday?”

“No, sir. Not up until the time I went home at eight o’clock.” She curtsied and edged out of the room.

“There was one came after eight, as I told you,” put in the Major.

“Surely,” said Lee. “Then he must have brought the flowers. And since no flowers were found, she must have worn them when she went out.”

Lee kept the box. “I may need it later,” he said. Nothing else of special interest was found in the living room, and they proceeded to Mary’s own suite on the floor above. It consisted of two large rooms with bathroom and wardrobes between; in front lay Mary’s sitting room with a south exposure, in the rear her bedroom. Both rooms were gay with chintz upholstery and hangings. In the boudoir, Mary’s desk was open and it had the look of having recently been cleaned out. A little heap of charred paper lay in the fireplace.

“Looks as if she was clearing out for good!” said the Major with excessive bitterness. “Leaving me with this house on my hands! I have no money to keep it going!”

“Nonsense!” said Lee sharply. “It would be totally unlike Mary to leave anybody in the lurch like that. Some explanation will be forthcoming before long.”

Meanwhile Lee knelt before the fireplace. On the edge of the charred papers lay two scraps only partly burned through. One bore the name of a place, Elkton, Maryland; the other showed part of a person’s name in the same writing; it looked like McCallum. Lee examined the quality of the paper closely and held each piece to the light. They were clearly parts of the same sheet. He showed them to the Major.

The old man shook his head sullenly. “Means nothing to me,” he said.

Lee transferred the scraps to an envelope from Mary’s desk and thence to his pocket. “They may provide clues,” he said, “if we find that we are going to need clues.”

All the other papers in the fireplace had been completely destroyed.

In the middle of Mary’s bedroom lay a suitcase large enough to hold dresses, and a matching case, both very smart and expensive. It was evident from the weight that they had been packed. Yet the wardrobes were still full of other clothes.

“You see, she has not gone for good,” said Lee.

“We’d better see what’s inside those cases,” said the Major.

Lee shook his head. “I don’t like to search among her things until I feel that it is necessary. In an hour we may be laughing at our fears.”

Nevertheless, the Major proceeded to try the locks. “They’re locked,” he said. “We’ll have to break them open.”

“Let them alone for the present,” said Lee.

They heard a ring at the front door and eagerly looked up.

“Now we’ll learn something,” said Lee.

Somebody came up the stairs. Lee looked out through the door and his anxious face lightened at the sight of Lottie Vickers, Mary’s maid at the theater; middle-aged, portly, comely and good-natured. She carried a satchel containing her night things.

“Come in here, Lottie,” said Lee. “We’re anxious about Miss Mary. She went away last night without leaving any word. Do you know where she’s gone?”

Lottie betrayed no alarm, but her reply was guarded. “She told me she was going to the country for a rest, Mr. Mappin. I am to sleep in her room until we hear from her further.”

“But where did she go?”

Lottie hesitated before answering. “She didn’t tell me, sir,” she said, glancing at the old man.

Lee observed the glance. “Major,” he said cajolingly, “will you excuse me for a few moments? I want to have a little talk with Lottie.”

The old man flared up irascibly. “What have you got to say to her servant that I shouldn’t hear?” he demanded. “Am I nobody in my own house? Sent out of the room like a child!”

Lee took his arm and eased him toward the door. “You get me wrong, Major,” he murmured soothingly. “I don’t want to keep anything from you. It was only because I thought I could persuade this woman to talk more freely if you were out of the way. She’s probably scared to death of you.”

The Major refused to be mollified. “Secrets! Secrets! Secrets!” he grumbled. “I’m fed up with secrets!” However, he allowed Lee to lead him out of the door and to close it after him.

After waiting a moment, Lee opened the door again. The Major was still lingering outside. Lee said nothing. The Major started stumping downstairs, puffing out his cheeks and looking very angry in an effort to save his face.

Lee returned to Lottie. “Miss Mary told her grandfather that she was going up to Greencliffe Manor last night,” he said.

“That’s what she told me,” said Lottie. “I didn’t like to let on. She generally has to keep things from him because he carries on so hateful.”

“Quite,” said Lee. “But Miss Mary didn’t go to Greencliffe Manor. She made no reservations there. She isn’t there now.”

They looked at each other with a growing anxiety. The woman’s hand stole to her breast.

“There is no reason that I can see why she should lie to you,” said Lee.

“No, sir ... Oh, my poor young lady!”

Lee began pacing the room. “Good Lord, don’t carry on!” he said irritably. “There may be nothing in it. But I can’t just sit still and do nothing. You must help me, Lottie. You were in her confidence.”

“Only just so far, Mr. Mappin. She’s the kindest and friendliest mistress I ever had and I love her like my daughter. But she never talked about her personal affairs. I didn’t expect it of her. I only served her in the theater, you know. She said she didn’t need a maid at home.”

“You were here yesterday, helping her pack?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And she gave you no clue then as to what was passing in her mind?”

“Well, sir, it did come to me that she was plotting something.”

“Plotting!” said Lee, coming to a stand.

“Oh, in a perfectly nice way, sir. As if something very nice was before her. I could tell it from the lift in her voice and from her eyes.”

“Her eyes?”

“They looked starry, Mr. Mappin. That means only one thing.”

“Who is the man?”

She hesitated. “You won’t tell him?” she said, pointing downstairs. “He hates him.”

“I shall not tell him.”

Lottie hung her head. “I’m afraid,” she stammered; “I’m afraid it’s Mr. Jack Fentress.”

“Oh God!” groaned Lee. “He’s not fit to tie her shoe!”

“That’s what I say, sir.”

Lee paced the room savagely. “My beautiful, clever Mary! There seems to be a sort of electrical quality in that young man that no woman can resist. It’s only physical. I never thought Mary would fall for it.”

“She’s a woman, too, sir,” said Lottie softly.

“Are you sure you’re right about Fentress, Lottie?”

“Pretty sure, sir. She’s been going with him since before I started to work for her. He never came around the theater much, but she saw him outside. She had his photograph in the drawer of her dressing table at the theater, and looked at it often.”

“I never suspected such a thing!” groaned Lee.

“If you’ll excuse me, sir, Miss Mary was a deep one, meaning it in a perfectly nice way. She never talked about her personal affairs. I’ve heard her say with a laugh that it was the only way she could avoid lying. She never lied. But she could keep her mouth shut.”

“You’re right. And you think Fentress has something to do with her peculiar actions yesterday?”

“Pretty sure of it, sir.”

“When did she see him last?”

“At the theater after the show on Saturday night. Miss Mary gave a little party and asked Mr. Fentress and Mrs. Gannon and Ewart Blanding...”

“Blanding!” said Lee, staring. “You mean her chauffeur?”

“Her former chauffeur. There’s a fine fellow, sir. Much above his station. He’s a law student and supports himself by driving a car. Handsome, too. You’ve seen him, sir.”

Lee shook his head. “No. I have been to Mary’s house and to her dressing room at the theater, but, so far as I know, I never laid eyes on her chauffeur.”

“Well, she made a friend of him while he was working for her,” Lottie went on. “The poor young fellow was absolutely gone on her. The real thing. You hear a lot of talk about love, but the real thing is not so common. Blanding was absolutely a goner. He couldn’t hide it. I believe that’s the reason she sold her car and let him go. She said that the car was too great an extravagance for her to keep in town. So she let him go and work for Miss Amy Dordress, the one the newspapers call the poor little rich girl.”

“But she continued to see Blanding?”

“Oh yes, sir. She wouldn’t cut him off all at once. She was too kindhearted. She wanted to ease him out of it.”

“And she asked him to supper Saturday night?”

“Yes, sir. He came to the theater. He and Mr. Fentress didn’t like each other. Started making nasty remarks right off the bat. They went to La Perouse restaurant. Yesterday I asked Miss Mary if they had a good time and she shook her head. Said she was a fool to ask Fentress and Blanding on the same night. So I suppose they quarreled... There was another gentleman asked to the supper party,” Lottie went on, “but he refused to come. Miss Mary was sorry. That was Mr. George Restorick.”

“The real estate millionaire,” said Lee.

“Yes, sir. He’s been in love with Miss Mary, too, for a long time past, but he’s an older man; he had his feelings under better control–though he looks as if he might be a terror, once he got going. Miss Mary depended on him a lot because he had more sense than any of the young men. They were real good friends. Startled me sometimes, they were so outspoken with each other...”

“That was Mary’s way,” murmured Lee.

“Once Mrs. Gannon asked Miss Mary in my hearing why the hell she didn’t take George Restorick and have done with it. Excuse me, sir, but that’s the way Mrs. Gannon put it. And Miss Mary said George was a grand man and any girl would be lucky if she got him. But he was too rich for her, she said; such a life would suffocate her. I heard Miss Mary tell Mrs. Gannon that George Restorick had said he’d be damned if he’d come to her party. They both laughed.”

Lee found Jack Fentress’ number in the telephone book and asked for it at the phone. Lottie started signaling to him, and he put a hand over the transmitter.

“Be careful what you say, sir,” said Lottie. “The old man can cut in on the line from the ground floor.”

“I have that in mind,” said Lee.

At the switchboard of an apartment house, a boy rang Fentress’ apartment, and presently reported that there was no answer. Lee hung up. With Nina Gannon he had better luck. She answered promptly.

“This is Amos Lee Mappin,” he said, “Mary Stannard’s friend. Perhaps you know who I am.”

“Everybody knows Mr. Mappin,” answered Nina’s gratified voice.

“Can I come around and see you for a few moments? I am a little anxious about Mary.”

“Oh, do come, Mr. Mappin! I am anxious, too!”

CHAPTER III

MRS. GANNON occupied a small but very smart apartment just off Fifth Avenue in the thick of things. She was a dark, thin little woman with a passion for keeping what she called her figure. She enjoyed a moderate income as a result of some former marital association–the circumstances were obscure–and she had nothing in the world to do but amuse herself. Her dresses and hats were always a little ahead of the most advanced fashions; she had been nominated as one of the ten best-dressed women. In her sleekness and perfect grooming, she always reminded Lee of a toy black and tan terrier; her sharp, quick voice was like the yapping of such a little dog, too. Lee did not care much for her, but she had one great merit in his eyes; she was devoted to Mary Stannard.

The moment Lee entered her pretty living room, she exploded a bombshell. “Mary and Jack Fentress were to have been married last night.”

“What?” cried Lee.

“It’s quite true. In the chantry of St. Michael’s and All Angels’. Jim Rutledge and I were on hand to stand up with them. But Mary never showed up.”

“Good God!” cried Lee. “Why was she so secretive about it?”

“That was because she knew her friends didn’t think much of Jack... Oh, there’s nothing specially wrong with Jack,” she hurried on, “he doesn’t drink too much–at least no more than anybody else these drinking days–and I never heard anything very discreditable about him. But he has no brains, he has no money, he isn’t even particularly handsome. There’s nothing to him but that curious magnetic attraction that he has for women–and that sort of thing doesn’t last.”

“You have felt it?” murmured Lee.

“Of course I have! The worst of it is, I have felt sometimes that Mary was secretly aware she was backing the wrong horse. But she couldn’t help herself. This has been going on for a long time. She was determined to marry him.”

“I take it you opposed it,” suggested Lee.

“I did not,” said Nina sharply. “I was too much afraid of losing Mary. When a girl is in that state, to oppose her is like throwing gasoline on the fire. She knew I didn’t approve of what she was doing but I never said a word.” Nina put her handkerchief to her eyes. “Ah! my poor Mary was too innocent! A more experienced woman would have known that such a feeling, however powerful, quickly burns itself out.”

“But you said the marriage did not take place,” said Lee. “Perhaps Mary’s better self got the upper hand at the last moment.”

“Not much chance! She was too far gone in love for that. I cannot help but feel that she was prevented from coming. Other men were in love with her. I fear that something terrible has happened.” Nina broke down and wept into her handkerchief.

In such a brisk and self-confident little woman, Lee found it very affecting. “Please, please,” he said in distress. “Don’t imagine the worst until we have something to go on!... Mary told her grandfather that she was going up to Greencliffe Manor Inn.”

Nina nodded. “Yes. That’s what she told me. For the honeymoon.”

“In that case it seems strange that no reservations were made for them.”

“Very strange indeed!” Nina wept afresh.

“Please try to pull yourself together!” begged Lee. “I need your help. Tell me exactly what took place last night.”

Nina called in her sobs. “Well, you know St. Michael’s and All Angels’ Church on lower Fifth Avenue. It has a little chapel that they call the chantry, very popular for marriages. And Reverend Damien Stair, the sporting parson, he’s well liked by the people we know. The wedding was set for nine o’clock. Jim Rutledge and I were on hand in good time. We waited in the vestry off the chapel, chatting with the minister. Jack was late, but only a minute or two. He breezed in with a policeman.”

“A policeman!”

“He explained that he had run through a red light on Broadway in his excitement, and was stopped. He tried to talk himself out of it by saying he was on his way to be married, and since the church was only a block away the policeman came with him to check his story. When he found it was true, he shook hands with everybody and went away.”

“Go on,” said Lee.

“Jack was in the customary state of a prospective bridegroom; dithering with excitement and scared as hell. Kept pulling the ring out of his pocket to make sure he had it. He was carrying a little box ...”

“What was in it?” interrupted Lee.

“I don’t know. It was never opened. Orchids for the bride, I suppose.”

“You didn’t happen to notice what florist it was from?”

“The box was wrapped in plain white paper. There was nothing written or printed on it.”

“How big a box?”

Nina measured with her hands. “About ten inches long, four inches wide and four inches deep.”

“You don’t know what became of it?”

“No. It was lost sight of in the excitement.”

“Well, go on.”

“As the minutes passed without bringing Mary, Jack became wild with anxiety. Jim asked him why the devil he hadn’t made sure of her by bringing her down himself, and he said he wanted to, but Mary wouldn’t allow it because of the old superstition that a bride and groom mustn’t see each other before the ceremony on the wedding day. At quarter past nine I called up Mary’s house and the old man said she had left some time before, he couldn’t say exactly how long.”

“Wait a minute,” put in Lee. “Had the old man been told of the wedding?”