Going Going Gone Read online

  “I called him first thing, when I got back here this mornin’.”

  Asey said. “An’ Jennie called him a dozen times while I was catchin’ up on my sleep, an’ I called him again just before you come. Nobody answers – doc, what about Chris Bede? Did he come to your office?”

  “I never set eyes on him, and he never called. My wife has certain peculiarities,” Cummings said, “but she is magnificent with messages. If she’d even thought it was Chris who called, even if he hadn’t given his name, she’d have put the fact in parentheses after noting the call and the time – you ever happen to see my phone message lists?”

  “Don’t know’s I ever did,” Asey said.

  “ ‘Woman called at 9.02. No name, no message. (It was that blonde with the nose who hired the Harding cottage year before last; I recognized her voice. She’s got Snow’s place this year and she has a boil and can’t sit down, because her maid told someone at Red Cross yesterday. Will call later, probably didn’t want to tell me where the boil was.)’ No,” Cummings said, “she can’t keep accounts to save her life, but she can take messages! Hm. I suppose everything works out for the best, doesn’t it?”

  “I come to much the same conclusion after I finally found them decoys,” Asey said. “While I’d run out of gas, still an’ all I’d found – where’s my – doc, did you take that bacon?”

  “Why, Asey, did you want it?” Cummings asked solicitously. “You’d got up from the table and were smoking, and I naturally assumed you were all finished! Dear me, I’m awfully sorry, but there’s virtually nothing I can do about it now – sugar gingerbread, Jennie?” He removed two slabs from the plate she brought in. “Fine! Nothing I like any better to top off my lunch with than hot sugar ginger-bread!”

  “I should think you’d be ashamed of yourself, stealing Asey’s bacon and eatin’ up all the food in the house! “Jennie sounded profoundly irritated, but Asey knew she would have been a lot more irritated if the doctor hadn’t touched a thing. “Now, I’ve got to know what you plan to do, Asey! I can’t have anything happen again like last night, when everything went to wrack and ruin for your not turnin’ up! I could’ve cried over that cheese souffle, and the steamed pudding boiled into a rock! Now you tell me just exactly what you’re plannin’ to do to-day, and just exactly what time you’ll be home!”

  “Wa-el,” Asey said, “I’m goin’ over to Solatia’s, hopin’ that Hanson come an’ rescued the cop, an’ assumin’ if he ain’t come here to talk with me yet, he must still be over there, fine-tooth combin’ around. I’m goin’ to try an’ locate Paul Harmsworth an’ have a few words with him. I’m goin’ to find Quinton Sharp an’ ask him some questions. An’ I’m goin’ to pay a call on the minister of the Congregational Church.”

  “Gracious! “Jennie said in surprise. “Gracious goodness! You’re goin’ to call on him of your own accord, after all the trouble I’ve had bullyin’ you into just goin’ to church with me once in a while? Oh.” She sniffed. “I see! I s’pose you only mean you’re goin’ to call an’ ask him some old questions, too!”

  “Uh-huh. I want to see if he really did sit next to Al Dorking every minute at the auction,” Asey said, “an’ also if he knows for a fact that the sea chest was full of books when Dorking flipped the spring lock with his knife an’ slammed the lid down before the auction began. I’m also awful interested to know what kind of—”

  “Dorking’s lying to you!” Cummings interrupted with his mouth full of ginger-bread. “I told you so when you first told me about that!”

  “Why, doc?”

  “Why is he lying? Because – oh, well, I suppose someone could have unlocked it again afterwards, if they’d happened to have the key,” Cummings said. “I suppose Gardner Alden or Mrs. Turnover could have had one of their dear old grandmother’s keys handy. That possibility hadn’t occurred to me, I’ll admit. Is that another one of your projects, to find out about a key?”

  “If I can prove that Solatia Spry wasn’t in that chest up to the start of the auction,” Asey told him, “I’ll derive considerable satisfaction from that one fact. I won’t even ask for gramma’s keys. Then, after the minister, I’d like to sit an’ ponder on who biffed me, an’ let the air out of my tyres, an’ who tied me up, an’ what Chris Bede was up to, if it was him I seen prowlin’ around last night at Solatia’s. An’ I’m sort of toyin’ with the notion of goin’ over an’ chattin’ with that other antique dealer – what’s her name? That Miss Pitkin,”

  “Eunice Pitkin?” Cummings leaned back and roared with laughter.

  “What’s so funny about that?” Asey wanted to know.

  “Well, I can see where you’d feel you should question her,” Cummings said, “but you might as well save your precious gas, Asey. I know Eunice. She’s one of my patients. She’s short, and blonde, and wide-eyed, and she just misses lisping by the skin of her teeth. And she hasn’t the strength in her right arm to cut a lamb chop, if one materialized by some miracle. And she couldn’t by any stretch of the imagination wield a fish knife the way that one was wielded. She broke her right arm this spring, you see, and messed up the cartilage. And she’s completely helpless and clumsy with her left hand. No co-ordination at all. You’ll simply be wasting your time on Eunice – although I’m sure Eunice would adore seeing you. She’s forty-three, and she coos. How many more calls do you intend to make?

  “If he makes only one more,” Jennie observed tartly, “that’ll take him over into next week, and I want to know about dinner to-night! What time will you be home here, Asey? I’ve got to know!”

  “When all the miscellaneous items I been talkin’ about is settled,” Asey assured her, “I’ll start for home. An’ I’ll phone you before I start, too.”

  “And then,” she said, “I s’pose you’ll manage to run out of gas on the way?”

  “I think I’m safe now,” Asey said. “Ellen put a five-gallon can of gas in the roadster. She didn’t mention it, an’ I didn’t, mention it, an’ neither of you ask me any rude questions about it, because I don’t know any answers. You couldn’t prove by me that that gas can didn’t float down from heaven on a parachute, with angels fillin’ it as it dropped. Now, are you comin’ with me, doc?”

  “I’m on my way to the hospital,” Cummings said. “Probably people are sending out posses to track me down and drag me there, right this minute – want to know an interesting fact about Mrs. Turnover, Asey?”

  “She was a lady knife thrower in a circus, maybe?” Asey asked hopefully.

  “At a bright and early hour this morning,” Cummings said, “Mrs. Turnover dropped into the hardware store to buy some crowbars.”

  “Crowbars? What on earth for?” Jennie asked. “She’s the last person I’d ever think of as buyin’ one crowbar, let alone some!”

  “She’s taking up the floor of John Alden’s shed, she told the hardware girl. Of course they didn’t have any crowbars, but she bought a few assorted ersatz implements. In her estimation, Asey,” Cummings said with relish, “you are God’s gift to the detective world, a man who could just take a brief gander at an old sea chest and know that her grandmother kept pink shells in it. You’re one of the finest men she was ever privileged to meet. She says her nephew, who rarely approves of anyone, concurs. He also thinks you are highly amusing.”

  “An’ I s’pose,” Asey said, “that her dear brother Gardner thinks I’m a peach, too. Huh! You makin’ it all up as you go along, doc?”

  Cummings shook his head. “I pick up little tidbits as I ply my rounds,” he said. “Several people, for example, asked me if I knew why you and Mrs. Turnover were throwing things out of John Alden’s windows in the middle of the night, and Old Baker at the Inn told me sorrowfully he didn’t know what to think of you after seeing you joy riding with Ellen in her wrecker, He said it was real late when the two of you passed his house – both of you, furthermore, were laughing like mad. I dare say the minister’ll give you a good talking to, if it’s found out that you spent the
remainder of the night pursuing both Madison women. You’ll probably never be able to hold your head up again – by the way,” he added with a touch of professional curiosity as he followed Asey to the door, “how does that lump of yours feel to-day, anyway?”

  “It’s dwindlin’ all the time,” Asey said. “By to-morrow, it ought to be down to a baseball, like you said. So long, Jennie. Don’t worry about dinner. I’ll let you know when I’m comin’. I’ll be seein’ you, doc. You got a rough idea of where I’ll be in case you got any desire to hunt me up.”

  “Oh, I’ll keep your itinerary in mind!” Cummings assured him ironically as he got into his car. “Without any doubt, if I can’t locate you in one place, I’ll be sure to stumble on you in another. Probably with two more lumps. Or looking like another Gordian knot. Or pursuing a few more women.” He snickered.

  “Maybe Eunice Pitkin!”

  “Who knows?” Asey said. “You might even find me helpin’ Mrs. Turnover to turn over her shed floor with a lot of ersatz crowbars!”

  Turning his roadster into Solatia Spry’s drive-way some fifteen minutes later, he discovered that her yard was filled with cars. At least it contained four, and that was more than he had seen parked in one place since the auction, the previous afternoon.

  He recognized the official, two-tone blue police car, and knew that Hanson had finally arrived. But the other sedan and the two battered beachwagons weren’t vehicles which he knew, or connected with anyone in particular.

  The place was curiously quiet, he thought as he got out of the Porter and walked toward the house. Usually you could hear Hanson a mile away, even when he was talking in a low voice.

  “What goes on here, kiddies?” he murmured. “Has this whole mob of people been bound an’ gagged? Did this contingent meet up with the biffer? Why can’t I smell Hanson’s cigar, for goodness’ sakes!”

  He grinned reminiscently at the side door, stepped with caution into the entry, and listened for a moment.

  The house was perfectly still.

  “Hanson!” Asey used his quarter-deck bellow. “Hey, Hanson, where are you?”

  No one answered, but he heard a rustle, and then the sound of footsteps.

  “Hanson! What in time!” It was Hanson, approaching him on tiptoe. “Hey, what goes on here? Playin’ Quaker Meetin’?”

  “Ssh!” Hanson said.

  “What’s the mat—”

  “Ssh!” Hanson shook his head severely, and beckoned to him. “Sssh!”

  More than mystified by the whole hushed proceeding, Asey followed him through the house, and into the front parlour.

  Riley was there, sitting bolt upright in a straight-backed chair. Riley’s man, the one who had encountered both the biffer and the rope trickster, sat next to him.

  Two local men he knew, both of them wearing what Jennie would have called funeral faces, sat over by the fire-place. Standing between them, with one elbow resting on the mantel, was Gardner Alden.

  And over on the horsehair sofa, sobbing quietly but with a certain fixed determination, was a short, blonde woman.

  “What in time,” Asey said, “is the mat—”

  “Miss Pitkin!” Hanson said in a whisper. “That’s Miss Pitkin!”

  “What’s wrong with her? What’s wrong,” Asey added, “with all of you? I don’t know’s I ever seen a more melancholy little group! What are you so sad an’ despondent about, anyway?”

  “She did it!” Hanson whispered.

  “Who did what?”

  “Miss Pitkin! She killed Solatia Spry!”

  “If you could speak up a wee mite, Hanson,” Asey said, “I could probably hear you. Who did what?”

  “Miss Pitkin.” Hanson continued to whisper. “She killed Solatia Spry!”

  “You sure of it?” Asey inquired.

  “Of course I’m sure! She admitted it!” Hanson barely breathed the words.

  “Then why,” Asey said, “don’t you come right out an’ say so in your regular voice? Why whisper?”

  Hanson pointed toward the sofa, where Miss Pitkin was still sobbing.

  “I know, I see her there,” Asey said. “But if she’s guilty, an’ if you’re sure of it, then why be so everlastingly secretive about it?”

  Hanson went through an elaborate pantomime, at whose conclusion Asey shook his head.

  “I’m awfully sorry,” he said. “I just don’t get it! If she’s guilty, I’m mighty glad you got her. But now you got her, I don’t see why you let her sit there sobbin’ while the rest of you all sit there an’ watch. You ain’t plannin’ on lettin’ her keep this up indefinitely, are you?”

  “Miss Pitkin,” Gardner Alden said in a low voice, “has been exceedingly hard to handle, Mr. Mayo. She admitted her guilt, she agreed to write a full confession, and then she dissolved in tears. If anyone has spoken above a whisper, she’s screamed and said that if she was distracted by loud voices, she simply wouldn’t be able to write a single word. Then she’s sobbed some more.”

  “She hasn’t screamed at me none,” Asey said, “an’ I ain’t whispered. What’s the jist of this, anyway? Will someone take a chance, an’ speak up an’ tell me?”

  “When Riley and I came about an hour and a half ago,” Hanson paused and looked nervously toward the sobbing figure on the sofa, “I walked in and found her in this room, Asey. She tried to duck me, but I grabbed her, and all these letters you see on the table fell out of her pocket. Just as I was taking a look at ‘em, Riley called out he’d found Jimmy,” he indicated the other cop, “bound and gagged outside by the bushes. Riley never expected to find Jimmy out there, you understand. He just thought he’d take a look around before he came in. Well, after he found Jimmy, then he found Mr. Alden, bound and gagged out by the back door!”

  So!” Asey said. “So! I gather that was your bicycle I seen here last night, Mr. Alden?”

  Gardner, tight-lipped, nodded stiffly.

  “I accused her of tying them both up,” Hanson went on. “She’s so small, I didn’t honestly think she really could have, see, but I thought if I accused her anyway, I’d probably find out the truth quicker, see? You know how it always is, Asey.”

  “Uh-huh.” Asey well knew how it always was. Hanson bellowed out accusation after accusation at the top of his powerful lungs, and from the “I – never! – I never – I – only – I – only’s..” that he got in response, a reasonably true picture of the situation ultimately developed. It was an extremely exhausting process for everyone but the indefatigable Hanson himself, and it wasn’t very subtle. But it undoubtedly brought results. “Uh-huh. An’ Miss Pitkin admitted she done it, huh?”

  “She admitted it right off the bat!” Hanson said. “Then I took a look at the letters – that’s her motive, see, those letters she wrote to Solatia Spry.”

  “You mean, she killed Solatia Spry because she wanted to get them letters back?” Asey asked.

  “No, no, no! They show why she wanted to kill her, see? And then after she killed her, she realized that she had to get the letters back, see?”

  Asey nodded, and privately decided it had taken an incredibly long time for Miss Pitkin to achieve such a realization.

  “This,” Hanson went on rather pompously, “is one of those murders that wouldn’t have happened last year, or the year before. This’s something on a new line, see?”

  “Wa-el,” Asey drawled, “I don’t know’s I’d call murder by stabbin’ anything particularly new, Hanson! I s’pose if you. looked into the matter far back enough, you’d find out that the first feller who happened on a nice pointed bit of branch most probably stabbed one or two of his friends with it before the point got too dull.”

  “You don’t understand, Asey! It has to do with rationing, see?”

  “With rationing?”

  “That’s right. This Miss Spry was the chairman of the ration board, and it seems like she and this Miss Pitkin was in the same business. Antiques. And Miss Spry wouldn’t give her any gas to get around and get an
tiques with, see, or any tyres for her car. Get it? She was in a position where she had her rival dealer hamstrung. I read through some of those letters, Asey, and I tell you, they’ve been having it hot and heavy for some time! Pitkin here, she’d asked nice, then she’d asked a little tougher, and then she’d got good and sore, see? The last letter was threatening, pure and simple. And there was something in it about this auction yesterday, too. I didn’t spot the significance of that part, but Mr. Alden did. You tell him, Mr. Alden.”

  Gardner cleared his throat.

  “She’s been in correspondence, apparently, with Solatia’s rich client in San Francisco,” he said. “The man who’d told Solatia to buy John’s things for him at any price. It is my impression that Miss Pitkin told him that she could secure the things far more cheaply than Solatia could – that she’d take less commission, or even none at all. Then, you see, she held that over Solatia’s head.”

  “Huh,” Asey said. “You mean, if Solatia didn’t crash through with gas an’ tyres, Miss Pitkin was goin’ to cut her out with her rich client by what amounted to a bit of underhanded price cuttin’?”

  “It was all insinuated rather than actually stated in the letters,” Gardner said pedantically. “Whether or not Miss Pitkin actually had been in contact with this collector, I don’t know. I shouldn’t feel justified in stating that as a fact. It’s entirely possible, of course, that she may have been making it up out of whole cloth in order to bully Solatia into giving her the extra gasoline and the new tyres she wanted. Speaking for myself, I rather doubt that she had any dealings—”

  “She admitted it!” Hanson interrupted. “When I accused her of trying to louse up Miss Spry’s deal, she admitted it! You heard her! She admits everything, Asey. She admits tying up Jimmy and Mr. Alden, and stealing these letters – or trying to. She admitted the works. She never even tried to get out of it, or hedge, or anything.”

  Asey looked thoughtfully from Riley’s cop, Jimmy, to Gardner Alden.