Safer Dead

‘Let’s go on a step or two before we get to the proof,’ I said, my eyes on the gun. ‘Royce gained Frances’s confidence. He kidded her he was in love with her. He had to be careful in case there was a slipup. He went around with her secretly so he couldn’t be connected with her if things went wrong. If she were going to take your place in Paris, she would know, when the news broke, that you two had planned Van Blake’s death, so she had to be taken care of once she had done her job. She had to disappear. It was to be a professional job: a barrel and cement job. Royce knew the guy to handle an assignment like that. He sent for Hank Flemming, a Frisco killer, and fingered Frances to him. When Frances came back from Paris, he was to do the job. The plan began to work. Royce cooked up some yarn that it was necessary for you to remain in Tampa City and yet appear to be in Paris. I don’t know what the yarn was, but when a girl like Frances falls for a smooth operator like Royce she would be prepared to swallow any yarn. You supplied her with money, clothes and your passport. A pair of dark glasses and a floppy hat would turn her into Mrs. Van Blake, leaving for Paris. Millionaires’ wives get preferential treatment at the passport barriers. No one looked at her twice. You took care to send her to the George V hotel instead of to your usual hotel, the Ritz. She was accepted at the George V because they didn’t know her, and she stayed there for four days. What you didn’t foresee was that a girl named Joan Nichols who had a talent for making friends with the wealthy, should force her company on Frances, thinking she was the famous and rich Mrs. Van Blake. You may be interested to know one of my colleagues has been to Paris, and we now have witnesses to prove Frances stayed at the George V under your name.’

‘I see.’ She moved restlessly. ‘But that doesn’t prove I killed my husband, does it?’

‘It upsets your alibi. But don’t let’s rush this. Let’s take it by dates. On August 2nd, you appeared to leave for Paris. I guess you got no further than Royce’s place where Frances was waiting. She went to the airport in your place and took off for France. You remained out of sight with Royce. You were pretty thorough in your plans. You and Royce had taken care to have watertight alibis. Who, then, from the police angle, had killed your husband? This is where you over played your hand. You supplied the killer. You knew Ted Dillon made a habit of poaching on the estate. On the night of August 5th, you came here with a gun and waited for him.’

‘Do you imagine anyone would believe that?’ she interrupted, her eyes glittering. ‘How was I to know he was coming?’

That pulled me up short. This was a point a smart attorney would pick on. She would have to know for certain that Dillon planned to poach that night. The whole success of her plan relied on him coming.

I stared at her, then looked around the room, and the nickel dropped. There could only be one explanation: she and Dillon had been lovers. That was why he had come so often, knowing, with her behind him, he wasn’t likely to run into trouble.

‘Yes; I had missed that point,’ I said. ‘Why else would you have a place like this, buried in the wood, nicely furnished, even to a bar, unless it was a meeting place? Did Van Blake know?’

‘You’re very quick, Mr. Sladen,’ she said. ‘Yes, he knew, but there was nothing he could do about it. He wouldn’t give me a divorce, no matter what I did. That was the main reason why I had to kill him.’

My hands suddenly turned clammy. She was now admitting she had killed her husband, and that meant she had made up her mind to silence me.

‘How was it no one heard the shot when you killed Dillon?’ I asked.

Her fixed smile began to get on my nerves.

‘If you must know,’ she said, ‘I muffled the gun with a cushion.’ She moved the gun so the barrel once more pointed at me. ‘It doesn’t make much noise.’

‘Did you experience a pang when you killed him?’ I asked. ‘Or did you feel he had served his purpose and it was just one of those things?’

Her cold, lovely face was expressionless as she said, ‘What else have you found out? You certainly seem to have been very busy.’

‘Let’s talk about your husband’s murder. He was in the habit of taking an early morning ride,’ I said. ‘You spent the night here, with Dillon under the boards.’ I paused while I looked at her. ‘I wonder if you had bad dreams that night or perhaps you don’t dream?’

She shook her head.

‘I’m one of those fortunate people who don’t dream.’

Her cold bloodedness began to make me sweat.