Complete works of peter.., p.412
Complete Works of Peter Cheyney. Illustrated, page 412
The grounds were deserted. Guelvada went out quietly through the side gate on to the main road. Keeping in the shadow of the palms that fringed the grass verge between the road and the sea, he moved quickly down towards the quay. The place was deserted. Most of the boats were back and tied up after the evening's run. Few of them would go out again, except those that went out after midnight for shark.
Guelvada moved along the rear end of the quay. Tied up nearest the shore he recognised Jacques's boat from the description Mellin had given him. Guelvada moved as swiftly and silently as a shadow. In a minute he was in the cockpit of the boat. He opened the door on the left of the cockpit that led into the cabin. Then he began to search expertly and with incredible speed. He went through everything in the cabin. At the bottom of a locker used for odd papers and magazines he found what he wanted. There were three sun caps—old, going at the seams, screwed up in a ball, under a roll of Miami newspapers. He smiled amiably.
He put one of them into his pocket. He came out of the cabin; looked around. He left the boat. Walking alongside the wooden pier in the shadows he reached the main road. He sighed. He lighted another cigarette. He walked back towards the Leonard Hotel, singing an old Spanish love song.
CHAPTER VII.
I
ISLES lay back in his bath; drew placidly on his cigarette; he thought it was a good thing to give a woman her head, especially a woman like Thelma Lyon.
The tropical Miami sun came through the cracks of the screen window; formed amusing arabesques on the walls and on the ceiling. Isles flicked the cigarette ash over the edge of the bath on to the floor and wondered how long this quiescent period would continue. But life was amusing. Isles remembered that not so very long ago he had been in England and broke. Now he was in Miami, well housed, well fed, with money in his pocket. He was doing the best he could for Johnny Vallon, even if it wasn't very much of a best. But that wasn't his fault. He had no doubt that in time Thelma would talk.
He wondered just what she would have to say and just how true it would be. He shrugged his shoulders. Always Isles had had an open mind about women's confidences. Sometimes they were true. Sometimes they were told for a purpose. But it did not matter to him. Why should it?
He got out of the bath; took a cold shower; dressed himself. When he had finished he regarded himself in the cheval glass. He thought he did not look too bad. Freshly shaven, in a white linen suit, a silk shirt and a quiet tie in contrast to the gorgeous neckwear which Americans were sporting, he thought he might pass easily as almost anything—he grinned to himself—even something remotely approaching a gentleman.
He shut and locked the bedroom door behind him; walked down the long passage-way that led to the Lyon apartment. Arrived, he tapped on the door. The negro maid opened it.
She said: "Good mornin', Mistah Isles. The missus is in the dining-room. Will you go right in?"
Isles said: "Yes, Mary Ann." He grinned at her cheerfully. He walked across the hallway into the dining-room.
She was seated at the breakfast table. She wore a pale green, chiffon house-gown. The room was cool and quiet.
She said: "Good morning, Julian. I hope you enjoyed your night in the town last night. Did you have fun?"
He sat down at the table. He said: "Good morning to you. I did not have a lot of fun and I didn't have a lot of no fun, if you know what I mean. I kept to the outskirts. I thought it might be a wise thing for the moment."
She nodded. "Possibly... although I don't imagine that there is a police alarm out for you." She poured coffee for him.
Isles took the cup. "I wonder why you think that?"
She said: "I'll tell you in a moment." She got up from the table; walked to the window; pulled the transparent curtain to one side. She stood looking out on to the flower garden. She said: "I suppose you've wondered why I haven't talked to you yet."
"Not particularly." Isles smiled at her. "I'm a patient man, you know, and after all, it's only a couple of days since I made my first appearance here. I thought perhaps you wanted to think things out."
She turned to him. She stood, her back to the window, looking at him. "You are right. I have been thinking things out. Most of the time I've been wondering if you're going to believe me."
Isles asked: "Has that been worrying you a lot?" He began to butter toast.
She smiled. "You're pretty cute, aren't you, Julian? May I ask why you should think that whether I told you the truth or not hadn't been worrying me?"
"Yes." Isles's voice was cheerful. "You see, I've been told an awful lot of things by an awful lot of women in my life... some of them true, some of them not true.... But in the long run it doesn't matter, you know, because nobody could go on telling lies successfully—permanently—if you see what I mean."
"I see what you mean. Well"—she smiled again—"supposing I don't talk? Supposing I give you permission to ask questions? That might make it easier."
Isles refilled his coffee cup. He said: "I take it that the original story you told me about Mrs. Nicola Steyning and her naughty daughter isn't quite true. It might be half-true or a quarter true, but it wasn't the real reason why you wanted someone to go to Dark Bahama, was it? That's the first thing. The next thing is," he went on, "you really wanted John Vallon to come out here for you. You really didn't want me to come, did you? But someone had to come, so when you couldn't get him you had to settle for me. What about those two things for a start?"
She walked slowly over to the mantelpiece; helped herself to a cigarette; lighted it.
She said: "Believe it or not, there was quite a lot of truth in what I told you. There is a Viola Steyning on the island and her mother is Mrs. Nicola Steyning. Did you think she didn't exist?"
Isles shrugged his shoulders. "I thought there might not be a Mrs. Nicola Steyning. I thought the girl might be some relative of yours in a jam, and that you didn't want to divulge the fact."
She shook her head. "She isn't a relative of mine and, as I told you, she's a pretty tough proposition. She does much too much drinking and, I believe, occasionally takes a little dope. She's in a bad way, that girl."
Isles nodded. "I gathered that. And you wanted her got away from Dark Bahama. You wanted her removed from there either by guile or force. Is the suggestion that if she were somewhere other than Dark Bahama she wouldn't get drunk or do the other things, or is it that she might cause you more trouble if she stays there?"
"Your guess is fairly correct," she said. "And the answer is also the answer to your second question as to whether I really wanted John Vallon to go there. Yes, I did. I'll tell you why. When I was on the island—before I returned to England and met you—I was quite happy—almost contented, one might say. Unfortunately, a man arrived. I'd known him a long time ago, Julian. He wasn't a very nice man."
He said: "I understand. Was he making things tough for you or her?"
She said: "He might have made things very tough for both of us. First of all—and I've got to admit this, Julian—he knew one or two things about me that weren't very good. He had some rather stupid letters that I'd written to him years ago—the sort of letters that I wouldn't like to have made public. When I was out on the island Mrs. Steyning—Viola's mother—met a friend of mine in London who told her that I was there. You must understand that at this time I didn't even know Viola Steyning. But her mother had heard one or two not very good rumours about her, so she wrote to me. She told me that she thought the girl was making a fool of herself. She asked me if I could see her; if I could do anything about it. I wrote back and said I'd try.
"I went to see Viola. I liked her, but quite candidly, I think she's a hard case. She's still beautiful, young, wealthy and headstrong, and she's got to the state where she's half-tight most of the day and quite tight after about six o'clock in the evening. Not a very nice situation."
Isles nodded. "Not very good for her. But what did it matter to you? She wasn't your daughter."
She said: "It mattered to me this much; that the man I was telling you about began to pay Viola attentions. Unfortunately, she seemed to fall for him too. He's an attractive devil. Perhaps she regarded him as somebody to lean on. It was quite obvious to me what he was after. What he wanted was her money. This man is a despicable cad—a hopeless type. Now are you beginning to understand?"
Isles, his mouth full of buttered toast, nodded. "It sounds to me like the old story. Perhaps I could make a few suggestions as to the finish. You go to your new friend Viola and you tell her this man's a bad lot. But she thinks she's in love with him. So she tells you to go to hell because she believes you're jealous. I suppose he's pretty good looking. He must be good looking."
She asked quickly: "Why?"
"Well, he must have had something for you to fall for him in the old days." He smiled cheerfully at her.
She said: "You're very logical, aren't you, Julian. Yes, that's true. She thought I was jealous."
"And," continued Isles, "I suppose you next considered going to see him. Perhaps you did go to see him. And then I imagine you got a rather nasty surprise. I should think, if this story is going to run true to form, he told you to mind your own business, and he also told you that unless you stopped interfering and got out of the way he was going to have a few words with Viola, and tell her about you. Maybe he even threatened to show her your letters."
She nodded her head. She said cynically: "You're quite right, Julian. As you say, it's an old story—a thing that's always happening to women—even intelligent women like myself. It shows that we seldom learn very much about men."
Isles said nothing. He drank some more coffee.
She went on: "I thought it was time I had a rest from Dark Bahama, so I went back to England. I went back first of all because I wanted to meet Viola's mother—Mrs. Steyning. It was quite true when I said she was in a nursing home. She was in such a state of nerves about her daughter that I hadn't the heart to tell her the whole truth. So I told her that Viola was getting on fairly well; that she had sent all sorts of messages to her mother; that I was going back to Dark Bahama and returning to England in a few months, and that I could more or less promise her that when I came back I'd bring Viola with me."
Isles said: "I see. Now I'm beginning to understand."
"I thought you would, Julian. I knew I hadn't a chance of bringing the girl back with me. I knew that by the time I got back to Dark Bahama this man might have poisoned Viola's mind against me. I thought the safest thing for me to do was to go to Johnny Vallon; to ask him to go out and somehow get the girl away. You know Johnny's pretty cute; very clever, and he can be very tough. I thought he'd manage to do it even if no one else could. I thought he'd do it for me."
Isles grinned. "That's what I'd have thought. Tell me, Thelma, was Johnny another affaire of yours? Is that why you thought he'd do it?"
She smiled a little sadly. "You're only half-right, Julian. One time—quite a long time ago—before Johnny took over the Chennault business—I thought there was a chance of him and I being married. I met him during the war. But when I came back I found he was very much married to a Miss Madeleine Thorne."
Isles nodded sympathetically. "That's the way it goes, my dear. Well, that's that."
She asked: "Julian, do you believe what I've told you?"
He got up; lighted a cigarette; began to walk about the room. He said: "Yes, I believe you. This is one of the things that happen to women like you. The trouble is you're too beautiful."
"It hasn't got me anywhere, Julian."
He grinned. "It seldom does. Beauty is like a two-edged sword. I forget who said that, but somebody did some time—even if it was only me. So what does 'X ' do now? Am I still employed by Johnny Vallon or am I to return and mark the case closed, or what am I to do?" He sat down in the armchair; stretched out his long legs.
He went on: "There's another little point; we mustn't forget that I'm a murder suspect. Or am I? And maybe it wouldn't be easy for me to go back to Dark Bahama, supposing——"
"Supposing what, Julian?"
"Supposing you asked me to," he said.
"I wouldn't worry too much about that if I were you—about being a murder suspect I mean. Because I think I'm going to ask you to go back."
He sat up. "Now this begins to be very interesting. So I am to go back. What do you think I shall be able to do on that charming and mysterious island? I should imagine that directly I show my nose I shall be thrown in the can, and I'm rather tired of that process. It wasn't so long ago that I succeeded in getting out of another one by the skin of my teeth. I'd hate to go back unnecessarily." He smiled. "Of course if you want it I'll go back for you. Chennault Investigations never lets its clients down—well, not much."
She said seriously: "Listen to me, Julian. One thing we know. There's no particular hue and cry out for you; otherwise it would have been in the papers here. Remember that a murder on one of the Bahama Islands is news—big news. There's been practically nothing in the papers. If the Miami police had been looking for you they'd have found you. It's my belief that they're not even looking for you; that no one has asked them to."
Isles said: "That's very interesting. Why do you think that?"
"Work it out for yourself. You saw the Commissioner of Police on the night when you discovered this murdered man. You told him a story that must have sounded extraordinary, but you don't think he'd be so stupid as not to check on that story, do you?"
He sat up again. He said: "I'm beginning to see what you mean."
She smiled. "Precisely. You can take it from me that when you left the Commissioner that night he made arrangements to get in touch with Scotland Yard in London. The first thing he'd do would be to check your story. Well, what would happen? Scotland Yard would go and see Johnny Vallon. Johnny would be forced to talk. Probably he wouldn't mention my name but he would confirm your story. He would say that a client had sent you out to Dark Bahama to make an investigation, even although he knew nothing about the mysterious phone call. Johnny, who has a very quick brain, would have guessed that I had suggested to you that somebody would get in touch with you. He'd confirm everything. Do you understand?"
Isles said: "I see what you mean. That once my extraordinary story was confirmed by the Yard, the fact that it was so extraordinary would be in my favour?"
She nodded. "It's my belief that they're not even looking for you; that the police on Dark Bahama are on another scent."
Isles said: "That could easily be." He got up; yawned. "I wonder what this murder was all about."
She moved a little. She stood, one hand on the mantelpiece, looking at him. She said. "Something's occurred to me, Julian. It's only a guess, but it might easily be the truth. You remember I told you at our first meeting in the Hyde Park Hotel that you might have a telephone call from a maid on the island. I suggested to you that this maid was an old employee of Mrs. Steyning's. That wasn't true. The truth of that is this: When I left the island I asked Viola Steyning's maid—a dear old negro woman—to watch the list of arrivals—it's easy enough in a place like Dark Bahama—and when Vallon, as I hoped, arrived at the hotel to get into touch with him; to talk to him and let him know how things had gone in my absence. I sent word to her that you would be coming, not Johnny."
"I see," said Isles. "And this negro maid just dramatised the situation a little bit and thought she'd ring me up at a call-box?"
She said: "That would be sensible of her, if she wanted to meet you secretly, as apparently she did. She wouldn't want the call to come through the hotel switchboard."
Isles said: "That's true enough. So you think——"
She said: "I think this: That it is quite possible that since my absence Viola has got wise to the man I told you of. Maybe she's learned something about him. Maybe he's frightened her. Maybe he's trying to blackmail her. If her maid knew this, as she probably would do—all the servants listen on Dark Bahama—it is quite on the cards that she would have told her mistress that somebody who might be a friend was coming out from England. Maybe it was Viola who wanted to meet you at that house."
"All right," said Isles. "If she wanted to meet me there, why wasn't she there? Why does somebody—some young man—have to be murdered?"
She said: "That young man's name was Gelert. He wasn't a bad type of young man and he was very keen on Viola. It is a great pity that she wasn't as fond of him. Don't you see what might have happened?"
"I've got it," said Isles. "What you mean is this: Viola gets her maid to ring me at the call-box to ask me to meet her at this deserted house—a house belonging to someone else who was probably away—to which she had the key. But she doesn't like the idea of going there by herself so she rings up this young man who was considered to be a friend and asks him to meet her there. Possibly she wants him to hear what she has to say to me. Maybe she was good and scared—leaning on anybody. That's possible."
She said: "It's more than possible, Julian. And it's just on the cards that someone else knew that this meeting was going to take place—this other man. Maybe he knew somehow. Maybe he followed her there, and when he arrived there he found Gelert."
"It could be," said Isles. "Your ex-boy friend has a gun in his pocket. There is a row between the two men. Gelert tells him where he gets off and your ex-boy friend kills him. That's easy enough if two men are in bad tempers and have had a little too much to drink—not an unusual process on Dark Bahama, I imagine. It all adds up. Maybe that's what happened."
"I believe it to be possible, Julian—or something very like that. Now imagine her position. Probably she was present when this murder took place—in a bad state—not really herself. She'd be scared stiff. She probably ran back home and maybe hasn't put her nose outside the door since. She was like that. Like most people who drink too much, she scares easily."
There was a pause. Isles stubbed out his cigarette on the ash-tray. He said: "And so you want me to go back and pick up the pieces."
