Going Going Gone Read online

  “Then you didn’t care what was in the chest,” Asey said thoughtfully. “You only wanted the chest itself.”

  “Exactly. I knew that the treasures and trinkets I’d been thinking about had long since disappeared. I simply wanted the chest. Sharp was obviously so upset at the size of my bid, and people seemed so generally dumbfounded, it occurred to me that I should follow your cousin Jennie’s suggestion of having the chest opened. Otherwise, the local people would always think I’d known that something of great value had been secreted in it, and feel that I’d bought the thing solely for this reason.”

  “What did you think it might contain?” Cummings asked curiously.

  “I had the impression that John had kept some old books of grandfather’s in it. When Sharp found it was locked, he made some announcement to the effect that it was full of books of no particular value. I truly didn’t engage in any speculation at all about its contents, doctor. They didn’t interest me in the least,”

  “I s’pose.” Asey said, “you knew that your brother had a habit of keepin’ a lot of cash around loose in his house?”

  “John kept all of his money in bills,” Gardner returned. “I gathered from a chance remark of Quinton Sharp’s that he thought it was an after effect of the market crash, but John always did keep as much money in cash as he conveniently could, even before he retired. As he got older, he became more obstinate about having nothing but bills and silver. All of us have our peculiarities, and that happened to be John’s.”

  “It’s a nice peculiarity if you can afford it,” Cummings commented.

  “And it isn’t so very peculiar, after all,” Gardner said. “I, for example, don’t like the sound of clocks ticking. There isn’t a clock in my apartment, unless the servants have some out of my sight and hearing. My sister Harriet – Mrs. Turnover – doesn’t like the colour yellow. She won’t permit a yellow flower to grow in her garden, and she goes around wrenching up anything she suspects of having yellow bloom. Al’s mother, my other sister, disliked cats. John didn’t like stocks or bonds or saving accounts or first mortgages. John liked cash.” He made a little gesture. “You see what I mean. It’s all the same sort of thing, really.”

  “I should say that it was the same sort of thing,” Cummings observed. “It was just one of those human quirks that doesn’t amount to a hill of beans – until John died. Probably no one ever gave a thought to the matter of his keeping money around until then, when the announcement of the auction brought up the possibility of someone’s getting something for nothing.”

  “I meant to ask before,” Asey said. “Just when did John die, anyway?”

  “Three weeks ago,” Cummings said. “He phoned me and asked if I’d stop by with some medicine for his cough, and he dropped dead shortly after I came. He’d had a bad heart for years. I think if he hadn’t retired and taken things easy, that heart would have caught up with him long ago. But what about that loose money? No one found it hidden inside of anything, did they?”

  “Not according to Sharp,” Gardner said. “I’m sure that everything was very thoroughly searched, too. I saw one old lady blowing through the spout of a tea kettle – apparently reassuring herself that nothing in the nature of a few bills had been hidden in it. And I noticed that people who bought pictures at once tore the backing off, as if they expected to find money between the paper and the picture itself. No, I personally agree with Sharp. I don’t think that anyone found any of John’s cash in any of the articles that were purchased at the auction. Why, just a chance fifty-cent piece in the bottom of an old vase would have caused a terrific hullabaloo, don’t you think, Mr. Mayo?”

  “Wa-el,” Asey said, “you also got to consider that the good people of this town ain’t dull, especially about money. There’s always the chance they might have found some, or maybe even all of your brother’s money, but was too smart to let on about it.”

  “That’s an angle that escaped me!” Cummings said. “And it shouldn’t have. Because only this morning my wife asked me in a dreamy voice if you’d have to put it down on the income tax if you happened to buy something that had all of John Alden’s money in it. When I told her I thought it should be listed under the Windfall Department, she said, ‘Oh dear, then no one should tell if they get it, should they? Because if nobody knew you had it, you wouldn’t have to put it on the tax!’ Now my wife is no Hetty Green, but if she could figure that far, I’m sure that a lot of others at least figured as far, if not farther!”

  “Jennie didn’t.” Asey said with a grin. “Jennie would have broadcast it from the top branch of the nearest tree!”

  “That so?” Cummings retorted. “It was Jennie who’d first brought up the income tax problem, at Red Cross yesterday, you’ll be happy to know! Well, Mr. Alden, if your brother had money around, and you know he had it, where do you think it went? Where was it, anyway? Did you know where he kept it?”

  Gardner shook his head. “John’s money was none of my business. I did suggest to him, when we first spoke of his will, that perhaps he ought to make some specific disposition of any cash he might have on hand at the time of his death, and he laughed and promptly ordered me to leave all his relations a silver dollar apiece. He added – jokingly, of course – that he’d figured things out very exactly, and that he planned to have his heart and his capital expire at the same time. Then he changed the topic. I think it’s quite possible that he may have had some private plans about his money that he didn’t wish to discuss with anyone, even with me.”

  “You think that he may have given it away, or disposed of it, thinkin’ that he wasn’t goin’ to live very long?” Asey asked.

  “Well, if he did, Asey, he must have been clairvoyant!” Cummings said. “Because there was a man who certainly didn’t know he was going to die when he did! Why, I was with him at the time, and I didn’t know – he simply started across the room to get his tobacco pouch, and fell on the way! He’d been telling me about his garden, and how he planned to buy an almost-new sail-boat from someone over in Chatham – and a very expensive boat it was, too! Oh, no, Asey! John wasn’t like old Timothy Henrick over in Weesit – remember Tim? Everytime he had a stomach ache, he used to call all his relations together, and mournfully present each one with what he called a tribute. Next day, when he felt better, he’d march around and collect all the spoons and cups and saucers he’d given away. Indeed, no! John expected to live a good long time, and I’m sure he hadn’t done any disposing! Can’t you even guess where he might have kept his money, Mr. Alden?”

  “I can’t tell you what might have become of it, or where he kept it. As I’ve said, his money was John’s own business. He never asked me where I kept mine, and I never asked him where he kept his. I think,” Gardner got no from the table, “that the drug-store man rather wishes we’d leave so that he could close up. He’s fidgeting around back of the counter – shall we go?”

  “Tell me,” Asey said as they walked out again on to Main Street, “did you know Solatia Spry at all?”

  “I’d met her at John’s a number of times. They were good friends. I always thought of her as a woman of charm, and of excellent taste,” Gardner said. “She has often bought things for me. Only last month, she got me some really fine pewter tankards I’d been hunting for a long while.”

  “Did you happen to see her over at the auction?” Asey inquired.

  No, Mr. Mayo, I didn’t. I was watching for her, too. I was particularly anxious to see her before the sale began. I – er – I’m sorry to say that she and I had rather a heated argument over the telephone this morning,” Gardner said hesitantly, and Asey felt the doctor’s elbow nudging him. “She had a client for whom she wished to buy John’s china, you see. She told me honestly that she intended to get that china at any price, and I told her just as honestly that I intended to buy every piece of it myself. This all happened when I still meant to buy up everything, you understand. The upshot of it all was that she hung up, and refused to talk to me when I phon
ed her again later.”

  “D’you mean,” Asey was thinking of the cut phone wire, “that she wouldn’t talk to you, literally, or that she just didn’t answer the phone?”

  “Both. After she hung up, I waited a few minutes and called back, and when she heard my voice, she hung up. Later, she didn’t even bother to answer the phone at all. I really regret that Solatia and I had words the last time we spoke together.” Gardner sounded genuinely sorry. “I had something important to tell her, and because of our argument, I never got the chance to. I – er—” he started to add something, and then seemed to change his mind.

  “I seen you over my way, not very long before the start of the auction,” Asey said casually, “I wondered if perhaps you might’ve been droppin’ by at Solatia’s house, or had maybe happened to’ve seen her, since her place’s more or less in the same neighbourhood.”

  He heard Gardner draw his breath in sharply, and they strolled along the sidewalk in silence for a full minute before he answered. “It’s strange, isn’t it,” he said at last, almost as if he were talking to himself, “how a tragic incident like this affects you. I’m afraid that I’ve never really appreciated until now the mental anguish my clients sometimes have suffered even when they, too, were entirely innocent of any wrong-doing. As a matter of fact, Mr. Mayo, I was over on your lane because I wished to consult with you, and it was Solatia Spry whom I wished to consult you about.”

  “So?”

  “At the time, I thought of the situation only as something which might prove disagreeable to Solatia if someone didn’t take a firm hand,’ Gardner said, “and nip it in the bud. I want you to understand that despite our argument as to who was going to get John’s china, I wished her to have a fair chance at it – of course, I thought then that the bidding would be largely confined to Solatia and myself. I didn’t know then that Mrs. Madison had made up her mind to outbid anyone who dared open his mouth.” Cummings nudged Asey again. It was a sly, subtle little nudge, and quite adequately conveyed the doctor’s impression that Gardner Alden was trying to pull a little wool over their eyes.

  “The instant you unlocked that chest this afternoon,” Gardner went on, “I knew I should at once tell you about this, but I found myself holding back. I knew that if I told you, I should also have to explain to you why I had not warned Solatia, in person. And that explanation would force me to disclose my argument with her, and might very conceivably give you the erroneous impression that she and I were mortal enemies – er – you follow me?”

  “Uh-huh.” Asey wanted to add that he was way ahead of him, too.

  “On one hand, because she was a friend, of John’s, and a person whose friendship I also valued, I wished to see her murderer brought to justice, and I wished to aid you in every way toward that end. On the other hand, because of these papers,” he tapped the brief case under his arm, “because of the work I have to do this week, because I haven’t the time to stay here in town, I did not – er – well, I could not bring myself to tell you, as we all stared into that chest, that I had angered her and – er – argued with her – er – I wonder if I make myself clear?”

  “Uh-huh,” Asey said. “You just don’t want to get mixed up in a murder. S’pose we got down to brass tacks, Mr. Alden, an’ leave your mental anguish out of it, for the time bein’. Just why did you want to consult me about Miss Spry?”

  It involved a bald man, Gardner told him rather glibly, who had sat in front of him in the bus coining to town that morning.

  “A bald man?” Something clicked in Asey’s mind. He remembered Jennie’s mentioning a bald man who’d bid a lot at the auction.

  “Yes, he was talking with another, a younger man, and because I heard the auction and John’s name mentioned, I listened to their conversation,” Gardner said. “I gathered that they were bound for the auction, and that they expected Solatia to be the principal bidder. And I received a very definite impression that the pair intended, if they possibly could manage it, to prevent Solatia from attending the sale.”

  “I see. An’ you mean to tell me,” Asey’s voice had a purring note which made Cummings prick up his ears, “that you wasn’t goin’ to bother mentionin’ this either to me or to the cops?”

  “Er – as I’ve already told you, I knew that I should, Mr. Mayo, but – er—”

  “You didn’t. I see. Exactly what was the plans of this pair?”

  “I don’t know. At certain points in their conversation, they spoke in whispers,” Gardner said. “I can’t tell you what they were planning, nor could I swear on oath that they were actually planning any mischief at all. It’s only that I got the impression, from some of the snatches I heard, that they meant to keep Solatia from attending the sale.”

  “What sort of snatches?” Cummings wanted to know. “What did they say?”

  “I can’t quote them exactly, doctor, but things like ‘If she gets there,’ and ‘If she gets there in time,’ and ‘Unless she has wings, we’re all set,’ and ‘By the time she gets there.’ They mentioned specific pieces of John’s furniture, as if they’d seen them and were acquainted with them. They referred to John’s highboy at least a dozen times.”

  “What did this pair look like?” Asey asked.

  “The older man was bald, middle-aged, rather rumpled looking, and the younger fellow – well, if you had to describe him in a hurry, you might sum him up as one of those undersized fellows you see around race tracks.”

  “Huh. Did you see ‘em at the sale?”

  “The bald man was there and bid often, although Mrs. Madison rode him right out of the picture on the best items. You see, Mr. Mayo, when I phoned Solatia, my primary purpose was to warn her that Harmsworth—”

  “Oh, so you knew this bald man!” Asey interrupted. “A friend of yours, perhaps?”

  “I have attended many, many auctions,” there was a note of irritation in Gardner’s voice, “and I know by sight many, many buyers and collectors. I know Paul Harmsworth by sight, and by reputation. He is not a friend of mine. I have never done any business with him, and never would. Harmsworth is a faker – by which I mean that he goes around and buys excellent pieces of furniture, here and there, and then has them copied so exactly that he’s often fooled experts into taking them for the originals. He pays enormous prices for a good piece, and of course sells his copies for enormous prices. His attitude, his point of view, his personality, are all exactly what you might expect to find in a man who makes his living in such a manner.”

  “Why didn’t you call him by name at once,” Asey asked, “instead of referrin’ to him mysterious – like as a ‘bald man ‘?”

  “Because,” Gardner snapped back, “I wished to avoid this very situation which has arisen, Mr. Mayo! I didn’t want you to jump to the conclusion that I knew him! I wasn’t attempting to make any mystery out of it, or to keep you from finding out his name. Sharp could have supplied you with that from the sale records! Do you wish me to go on with my story?” he turned around and faced Asey as they reached the Inn.

  “If you will.” Asey stepped on Cummings’ foot just in time to squelch the sardonic rejoinder he knew was about to roll off the doctor’s tongue.

  “I phoned Solatia with the intention of warning her that Paul Harmsworth was in town, and to watch out for any tricks. But before I could mention his name, she started to talk about buying John’s china, and we got into that argument. I never got a chance to tell her about him, and I felt,” Gardner said, “that someone should be told about him, or that something should be done about him.”

  “To a certain extent,” Asey said, “it would sort of be to your interest as well as Solatia Spry’s, wouldn’t it, Mr. Alden? If anything was done to prevent her from gettin’ to the auction, people – knowin’, of course, that you intended to bid for your brother’s things – might maybe think, that you was to blame, mightn’t they?”

  “I assure you,” Gardner said, “that my primary concern was Solatia. Because I had no tangible proof th
at Harmsworth and his friend were planning anything, I couldn’t go to the police. So I went to you, to tell you, and to ask your advice.”

  “I see, Asey said. Privately, he wondered why Gardner hadn’t told Quinton Sharp, who could have phoned Solatia and warned her in the twinkling of an eye. “An’ how’d you get over my way, by car?”

  Gardner described in detail the milkman who’d given him a lift. He described the milk truck, and the route.

  “He left me at the foot of your lane, and after I’d walked a few hundred yards, a man in a Porter roadster drove by. Since everyone who speaks of you,” Gardner said, “always mentions your Porter roadster, I hailed him and asked if he were Mr. Mayo – and he almost bodily lifted me into the car and rapidly drove me to a half-burned boathouse on the shore.”

  Cummings shook with laughter. “I get it, Asey! He hailed Mayo Nickerson in that old Porter you sold him, and Mayo drove him over to the scene of his fire!”

  “He took me,” Gardner said, “for an insurance adjuster he’d been expecting, and he poured figures at me until I finally shouted at him and asked if he were Asey Mayo. He was very apologetic and drove me to your house, but no one was there. It had all taken more time than I’d expected, and, I was worried about getting to the auction, so Mayo Nickerson drove me there. Someone pointed you out as you were talking with Sharp, but you drove away before I could speak to you. There!” he gave a little sigh. “Now I hope that you understand everything, Mr. Mayo!”

  “I think you’ve explained most all I wanted to know about,” Asey said, “except why you washed your hands down at the pond durin’ the middle of the auction.”

  The lights of the Inn porch were dim, but dim as they were, they provided enough illumination to show Gardner’s face turning a sickly, chalklike white.

  “Oh,” he said softly. “Oh, that’s easily explained. John’s typewriter was sold to an eager youth who asked me if I knew how to change the ribbon, and I showed him. During the process, my fingers got smudged, and I went down to the pond to wash up. And it was not during the middle of the auction, Mr. Mayo. It was during the intermission.”