Death Lights a Candle Read online

“No buts, Prue. Bert said he’d love to have any one who’d come, you said you’d come if Rena would, and she’s said she’d come. You can’t back out.”

  “But Ginger—the—cat——”

  “Is he here? Well, bring him along. If he’s out, I’ll get him by the time you come down.”

  And in a state of complete confusion, I followed Rena into the bedroom.

  “You know,” she said, powdering her nose, “I think it must have been Fate that prompted me to buy some new clothes in New York. And I think, Prue, that we’re going to have a very funny time.”

  “I agree,” I told her, “with the last. I think that the noise of the Mantini machine-guns would have been considerably less nerve-racking than the grinding of Bert’s false teeth when he catches sight of us.”

  “Where you goin’?” Phrone asked as we came out. “We’re going visiting,” Rowena told her calmly. “You stay right here. We’ll be over every once in a while. Will you put Ginger into his basket? Thanks. Yes, we’ll be over.”

  “Who you visitin’?”

  “Mr. Stires.”

  Phrone raised her eyebrows, chuckled and glanced toward the telephone.

  “Head-lines,” Rowena whispered as we went out the door. “Head-lines, if only local ones. We’ll be news very shortly.”

  She never, I reflected later, spoke truer words.

  There were to be head-lines, but they were not going to be so restricted. And we were News, with a capital N.

  CHAPTER TWO

  THE LATE MR. STIRES

  INSIDE of ten minutes, a harassed-looking butler was ushering us into the huge sun-room of Adelbert Stires’s new house.

  The four men sitting there greeted John vociferously, and while they slapped one another on the back I took the opportunity of sizing up the guests with whom I was to live for the next ten days.

  At first they seemed remarkably alike. It took a second glance to show me how very different they actually were in spite of their dark gray suits and somber ties.

  I recognized Denny James, of course, at once. He had a jaunty note about him that was lacking in the others, and not only his blue eyes, but his whole face, twinkled when he spoke.

  Victor Blake I knew from the many pictures I’d seen of him. He stayed rather on the edge of the exuberant group and swung his eye-glasses back and forth on their wide black ribbon. He looked more like a professor of archeology than a financier. The young fellow beside him was obviously his son Junior. He had all the hallmarks of an expensive prep school and of Harvard,— and his exquisite spats annoyed me.

  John had said that Cary Hobart resembled Douglas Fairbanks, and he did. He had a tanned, out-of-door look, and even his little mustache was bleached by the sun.

  Denny James caught sight of me and walked over. “It’s good to see you, Prue! I know I’ve put on weight, but you’re just the same. Just as good-looking as you were twenty-seven years ago.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” I said, sensing rather than actually seeing Rowena’s amused glance. “This is Rowena Fible.”

  Denny laughed. “And your mind works much the same way, too. Miss Fible, I knew your father and I still read the papers.”

  He introduced the other men.

  “Mr. Blake,” Rowena said as she shook hands with him, “I came on this party for two reasons, one of which was to have you sit to me. May I do a head of you? Or shall I put on my coat and go home?” Blake laughed pleasantly. “My son’s been at me for some time to have a portrait done and a bust will do just as well. I’d be delighted. What do you think, June?”

  “Fine idea,” June said. “And tell me, Miss Whitsby, aren’t you Bill Porter’s Snoodles?”

  I shuddered as I always do whenever any one uses the absurd nickname that my niece and her husband evolved when they were children.

  “She is,” John said. “And even though she makes faces, she loves the name. Tell me, where’s Desire?”

  “She’s up-stairs.” Denny chuckled. “Is her name really Desire? Cass Allerton was a prophet. What’s the news of Bert?”

  “He’ll be here for dinner,” John answered. “He’s coming in the electric.”

  “He doesn’t drive an electric,” Rowena sounded incredulous.

  “He does. It’s an old brougham that he loves. He won’t drive anything else. I’ve hoped for years that it would fall apart, but it doesn’t seem to. He goes so slowly that he never has accidents and I don’t think any one ever even bumped a fender of it. It leads a charmed life. Oh——”

  He stopped short as Desire Allerton, followed by a small sniffing Pekinese, entered the room. I looked at Ginger, calmly sitting by my side, and wondered if anything would happen. Ginger dislikes Pekinese as much as I do, but apparently this beribboned object was beneath his notice. I breathed more freely and turned to the girl.

  I think she was one of the most striking young women I’ve ever seen. Her hair was amber rather than red, and her eyes really were violet. Her finger-nails matched the bright blue dress that swirled around her ankles. She would have attracted attention anywhere, but here, with no competition, the effect was almost overpowering. The men had smiled when Denny joked about her name, but I noticed that they were unable to take their eyes of! her. I did not blame them.

  John introduced Rowena and me as her official chaperons, and she bowed formally.

  “Won’t you have tea?” I asked from my place at the table.

  “No, thanks.” She shook her head. “But Pup would love a cake. I hope your cat doesn’t go for him.”

  “He won’t,” I assured her, “if he hasn’t already.” I was amazed by the girl’s voice. It was hard and metallic and she had a certain accent which I couldn’t place; then I remembered that she’d lived in France all her life. Rowena had shivered when she heard it, but Rowena always was inclined to exaggerate the Boston a.

  “Don’t you want to see your room?” John asked.

  “I’ll take them up,” Denny offered. “I’ve just been over the place and I want to see if I can find my way around without having to call for help.”

  I picked up Ginger and we followed him out into the hall.

  “That cavern you just passed through,” he informed us, “is the living-room. It reminds me of the Grand Central Station. Dining-room and library on the right. Nice library. Red leather and enough ash-trays. Beyond them in the other wing are kitchens and all that. This,” he opened a door at the farther end of the hall, “is the way to the game-room. It’s built like a ship’s cabin and it’s got port-holes. Up-stairs,” we mounted the curving staircase, “is confusion. John’s here at the head of the stairs, Bat’s rooms are on the front, here you are. The yellow room.”

  He opened the door to one of the most beautiful rooms I’ve ever been in.

  “Yellow walls, yellow curtains, yellow everything. I’m willing to wager it’s got a yellow tub and—er— yellow towels. Mine are all green and it makes me seasick. The rest of us are along the hall or in the other wing. Isn’t this an establishment?”

  “It is,” Rowena said. “And there’s another floor?”

  “And more rooms and an attic and servants’ quarters in the other wing and over the garage. Bert can always run a hotel if business flops. Dinner’s at seven. I’ll stop by for you. I say, what do you think of the girl Desire? I’ve finally decided her proper place in history.”

  “Where?” I demanded.

  “She should have been a Sabine woman. Only if she had been, the situation with the Romans would have been reversed, if you see what I mean. How about some bridge after dinner, you two and Blake and I? Good. We’ll side-track the rest.”

  And after dinner he side-tracked them very nicely. Adelbert had not turned up and the men speculated as to the number of times his battery had short-circuited. All of them knew the electric.

  John and Hobart played billiards, and Desire and June sat in a corner and conversed in low tones. Denny called the girl’s dress a Gunga Din model, but I noticed that both he
and Victor Blake seemed to gravitate in its direction when either was dummy. It spoiled more than one shot at the billiard table, too.

  At eleven o’clock, Rowena yawned. “I’m going to bed. Wonder where Bert is now?”

  “I’m getting worried about him,” Hobart answered. “I should think he’d call us if anything was wrong. He was to do some business for me and I want to hear about it.”

  “Well,” Rowena said, “at least he’s not had an accident. You always hear about them. So I——”

  “Speaking of accidents,” John interrupted, “I meant to have told you about the news broadcast before dinner. One of your late household was taken for a ride.”

  “One of the Mantinis?” Rowena demanded in mock horror. “My pals?”

  “Yes. One of the henchmen was thrust in front of a machine-gun and held there. I’ve, forgotten his name.”

  Rowena shook her head sadly. “I’m glad it didn’t happen while I was around. And I do hope it wasn’t the one I taught to say ‘Thank-you-yes’ and ‘Thank- you-no.’ He was sweet, and he had the nicest chest notes. Prue, let’s run along. Coming, Miss Allerton?”

  She glanced at us over her shoulder. “Not yet.”

  “Good night, then.” And we left.

  As I opened the window before slipping into bed I heard gales of laughter issuing from the game-room far below.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “Shingle King returns,” Rowena said sleepily. “He’s been told who his chaperons are and that’s the result. I hope he doesn’t rout us out of the house. This bed’s awfully comfortable. Prue, why didn’t you ever marry Denny?”

  I pretended not to hear.

  “Oh, very well! But I think he’s very nice. Are you really asleep? Go ahead and snore, if you want to. But he’s very nice.”

  I did not disagree.

  We woke up the next morning to find that snow was beginning to fall. Some had even drifted in on Ginger’s basket; he was lying in front of the radiator and his tail waggled dejectedly.

  At breakfast the seat at the head of the table was empty.

  “Bert’s a late sleeper,” Rowena remarked.

  “It’s not that,” John said, clearing his throat. “Fact is, he’s not turned up yet.”

  “But I thought he came last night,” I said. “We heard a lot of noise——”

  “That was Denny’s famous story atyout the Bishop and the house-party,” Hobart remarked. “But I’m worried. I think we should call Boston and see if Bert left and if he’s still intending to come.”

  “He’ll turn up around noon,” John said confidently. “He probably made a late start and spent the night somewhere en route or else he started before daybreak this morning. If he doesn’t get here by luncheon, we’ll investigate.”

  “Eight jilted jests,” June remarked. “I thought it was only debs who were late to their own parties. Snoodles,—I can’t call you Miss Whitsby,—gobble down that pancake and we’ll play some ping-pong. Won’t you join us, Miss Fible?”

  “Thank you, no. I’m going over to my house and get some plasteline I have packed away there. I’m going to compel your father to be sculpted.”

  It was so dark in the game-room we had to switch on lights. Outside the snow was falling in thick drifting flakes and the waves in the bay were almost black.

  “I thought we might have a snow flurry,” I commented, “but I’ll admit I didn’t take a northeast blizzard into account. I hope this doesn’t turn into the sort of thing that will go down in history as that ‘storm of thirty-two.’ Bill Porter was down at his house here in the last blizzard and he couldn’t set foot outside for three days. They were drifted in completely and there was nothing larger than a twelve-inch coal shovel to dig themselves out with.”

  “Fun,” June said. “I’ve always wanted to be in a storm like that.”

  “You may yet,” I told him, and by noon it seemed that I was right. After lunch John called in William and told him to lay in a stock of logs and to see that some stores in the garage were brought into the house.

  “Now,” Hobart said impatiently, “what about calling Bert’s factory?”

  John went up-stairs without answering. His face was long when he returned.

  “He left yesterday around noon,” he said. “Planned to come right down from there.”

  “Can’t you call his mechanic and see if there’s been any trouble?” Blake suggested.

  “William’s brother-in-law, Tom, does all the work on the electric. He drove Desire down yesterday. Bert would have called here.”

  “We’ve got to do something,” Hobart insisted. “This business he was to do for me was important. It’s a matter of considerable money, and I’ve got to know about it. I think you should call in the police. We’ve dallied long enough!”

  William came in. “I beg your pardon, but do any of you gentlemen know anything about the electric system? It’s off. Tom and Mr. Blake’s man can’t fix it, and we can’t get the electricians by phone, ft won’t work.”

  “What’s that mean?” John asked.

  “Storm,” Rowena told him. “The wires are down or else they’ve shut off the current.”

  John shook his head. “I don’t know what we can do, William, if that’s the case. You’ll just have to manage.”

  William nodded dubiously and left.

  “Now,” Hobart said, “about Bert. I think we’d best call in the police.”

  “You seem to forget,” Blake said, “that Bert has very definite ideas about publicity. He’d never forgive us if we put the police on his trail and it all got into the papers.”

  “I have an idea,” Rowena announced. “Prue, where’s Bill Porter’s Man Friday? That Cape Codder who looks after him. Couldn’t he help?”

  “Asey Mayo’s the very man,” I said, feeling stupid not to have thought of him myself. “Asey Mayo’ll find Bert for you, and he’ll probably fix the electricity and the telephone to boot.”

  “What are Asey Mayo?” June asked.

  “I remember,” John said thoughtfully. “He’s the the fellow that saved Bill Porter from being convicted in the Sanborn murder. He’s the sort of person every one expects to find on Cape Cod and rarely does. A sort of jack of all trades, and he used to go to sea. How could we reach him, Prue?”

  “Heaven only knows,” I said. “But I wish Heaven would send him here.”

  William came back into the room.

  “Miss Whitsby, there’s a man here who wants to see you. Shall I show him in?”

  I nodded, wondering who it could be. And the next minute in walked Asey Mayo, clad in hunting boots and corduroys, his rakish Stetson in hand.

  He grinned pleasantly and came over to me.

  “H’lo, Miss Prue. I heard in town that Phrone said you was here an’ I kind of thought I’d run over an’ see if you’d heard of Bill ’n’ Betsey lately.”

  “I have,” I said, shaking hands. I turned to the rest. “Let me present Asey Mayo.”

  There was a chuckle from Denny James. “Is it thought control, Prue, or does Heaven always send him when you’re in need?”

  “What’s wrong?” Asey asked. “Who’s in need?”

  “Sit down,” I said, “and take off your coat and I’ll tell you.”

  He pulled off his wool-lined canvas coat with its innumerable pockets and took a seat before the fire. I told him about Adelbert, and he nodded when I got through.

  “I shouldn’t worry. If he’s in the ’lectric, he’s got bat’ry trouble or else flats. I drove one of them machines for Bill’s father an’ there ain’t no end to the way they can act up.”

  “John,” Hobart ignored Asey’s opinions, “I’m still in favor of calling in the police.”

  “What p’lice you want?” Asey asked interestedly.

  “Town? State?”

  “Any will do,” Hobart said coldly.

  “Then s’pose you tell me what you want done. You see, you sort of got the p’lice right here.”

&nbs
p; “What d’you mean?” I asked. “Where’s Slough Sullivan?”

  “He went up to Harwich to work an’ the town ’lected me sheriff to fill his place. I didn’t have that crazy Bill to look after, so I took the job. I’m sort of mixed up with the state an’ county, too. They been havin’ a crusade like on rum-runners an’ they drafted a lot of us in. Yessir, you tell me what you want done an’ I’ll do it.”

  “What would you advise?” Blake asked.

  “ ’F I was you, I wouldn’t do much of anything. Storm’s bad an’ it’s goin’ to be worse. ’Lectricity’s gone already. Ain’t much chance of Stires gettin’ lost an’ I don’t think he’d of come to grief without you knowin’. Sure he left Boston?”

  John nodded. “At eleven-thirty yesterday. And I don’t think he would have changed his mind.”

  “Can’t tell. He changed it ten times about that wharf I built him out front. Miss Prue says he was goin’ to do some business. Now, he’s a shrewd one. Sure he ain’t playin’ tricks?”

  “If Bert Stires has dared to double-cross me,” Hobart exploded.

  “Calm down,” Blake advised him. “You don’t know that he has, Cary. I’d defer my outburst. I agree with Asey. The storm is bad and if Bert is on the road he’ll have to wait over. There’s really nothing we can do.”

  Asey nodded. “If the phones was goin’ it might be dif’rent. I had a time gettin’ over here an’ I’m goin’ to have a worse one goin’ back. Miss Prue, I’ll come over again to hear about them Porters.”

  He was putting on his coat when William entered. His face was smudged and his bald head gleamed with perspiration.

  “What’s the matter now?” John demanded. “Is the house on fire?”

  “It’s the stoves, sir. They don’t work without the electricity and Lewis can’t manage over a fireplace.”

  “Ain’t you got no oil stove?” Asey asked.

  “Everything’s electric.”

  Rowena got up. “I’ll go get my oil stove. Asey, will you drive me over? Phrone’s got the wood stove and she doesn’t need another.”

  “I’ll get it,” Asey said. “No need for you to bother.”

  “I want to go over anyway.” And she went after her coat.