The Case of the Missing Corpse Page 5

  He paused abruptly and glanced toward Alcott’s prize bottle of Scotch. “Er—may I?”

  At my nod he poured himself another drink.

  Suddenly I caught the sharp tattoo of Pete Alcott’s pencil busy already against the thin wall that divided his bedroom from the room in which we were sitting. I glanced uneasily at Stone. Then I rejoiced in the stroke of good fortune which had impelled him to seat himself on the far side of the room. At the moment he was sipping his Scotch totally oblivious to the sound. “And if he does hear it,” I argued to myself, “I can always blame it on the noisy radiator.” Meanwhile I decoded Alcott’s raps without difficulty.

  “Ask Stone why in hell he happened to go to Wyndham’s rooms at all.”

  I put the question somewhat more civilly to Stone. But even so, I noticed his color mount. He gave an embarrassed laugh and interrupted his narrative. “I went there because—oh, well, it’s rather difficult to explain! You see, I have an insatiable curiosity about life, and even though I half expect to be a missionary when I finish at the University, I get a little fed up on the fruits of the tree of knowledge every now and then. I want the tang of experience, knowledge of men, some understanding of the things that make the wheels of life go round. You understand me, I’m sure.

  “For some inexplicable reason Steve Wyndham always represented the acme of those things to me. It wasn’t simply a matter of his wealth and my comparative obscurity. It went deeper. He had a savoir faire that I lacked and which, from the time I was a kid at school and first saw him after he’d made the football team at Yale, I longed with all the passionate idolatry of eleven to emulate. That’s straight. I don’t think Wyndham even faintly guessed my—er—profound admiration.”

  Stone smiled. “To him, I was just the son of a preacher, who happened to be the friend of a sister,”—his smile broadened, “who had somehow managed to make herself particularly objectionable to him. Not a very good introduction to be sure, but despite it he was always pleasant to me just as he was to every one.

  “Well, last winter I broke down from overwork at College and through Miss Wyndham’s generosity I was sent on a vacation to Havana for my health. On the fatal thirteenth, down on La Playa beach, I ran into Wyndham with a friend of his—a red-headed fellow named Hugh D. Ford. He told me that he was having a poker crowd that night in his rooms and I should come. I knew perfectly well there would be a mixed crowd and high stakes and drinking and all that. You ask why did I go? I went because, as I implied before, I don’t believe in taking myself too seriously.”

  He drained the whiskey and soda at his side and smiled. “You know, I’ve a theory if Adam had known how to laugh, the whole story of Paradise might have been different.”

  “I see,” I said vaguely, devoutly hoping that Alcott’s perception would prove a little better than mine, “And now, on with your story!”

  “Well, as I was saying, Wyndham’s room was crowded when I got there, and it seemed doubly so because the place wasn’t large and the air was thick with the smell of cigars and drink. I wasn’t sorry to see that the Venetian blind at the window was drawn and closed, for I was quite wet and chilly from out of doors and the rain was still coming down in torrents. As I entered, Steve stopped long enough to say ‘Hello,’ then he went on playing his hand. I pulled a chair up and looked on.

  “The crowd was using money instead of chips, and the size of the pile in the centre of the table was a tidy sum. Anyhow, it represented a darn sight more than I’d used at the University in all my three years there. It made my missionary blood rise, and the coolness of those men only exasperated me further. Steve especially. He had just raised the pot and there was not a flicker or a muscle to indicate any tension. He simply didn’t care. I remember thinking how especially well set-up he looked just then, immaculately groomed as always, his face bronzed and hardened from exposure, his keen blue eyes smiling dangerously and radiating the same electric quality of vitality and well-being that he’d had as a youngster. I recall thinking to myself half enviously, ‘Steve’s surely had all the breaks if anyone has!’

  “That was about half past eleven. I never said that again, I can tell you.

  “When the hand was over Steve wanted me to take his place, but on my wallet, I couldn’t, although I didn’t explain why. Steve kept insisting, with that singular lack of imagination that’s so characteristic of fellows who’ve never seen the other side. ‘Oh, come on! I’ve got to clear out of here at twelve anyhow. You’ll just keep the ranks from thinning.’ Steve indicated a small, overnight bag that stood just behind him. I remember one of the men looking up and saying, ‘What do you mean—got to clear out at twelve? We’re just warming up!’

  “Steve laughed. ‘I’d meant to explain before. I’ve got to quit tonight at twelve. Have to, really! You men can keep right on until morning if you want. Along about that time Red ought to be breezing in to keep an eye on you!’ He glanced toward the adjoining room which I gathered was occupied by Hugh Ford. That was the red-headed fellow I mentioned before. He was known to the crowd as ‘Red.’

  “There was a general protest. ‘Yeah. But who’ll feed the kitty if you leave us all alone?’

  “Someone said glumly: ‘Ford won’t, that’s sure! He’s always three jumps ahead of every nickel he can make on his next ten articles.’

  “Steve laughed. ‘Pick another victim. At twelve I’ll just up and out! I’m giving due warning now.’

  “He interrupted himself to introduce me to the crowd. As I recall it, there was a very decent looking movie director by the name of Brady, a heavy set Cuban planter by the name of Sanchez, there was also Judge Lamar, whom I’d met previously through my uncle but never liked, and Barton Dunlap and Calvin Watts whom I also knew. These last two men were old friends of Steve’s, acquaintances that dated back to prep-school days. I guess Steve saw something in them. One thing sure, I never could. There was also a heavy-set, coarse-looking fellow, whose name has completely slipped me. I hated his bloated face. Nonetheless, he stood out particularly because he had so little to say. Just played along, you know, with a rather aloof cynical manner that aroused my interest, because it went so oddly with his very ordinary exterior. I think the man was from New York. Anyhow, he seemed to know all the works around here. Night clubs, politicians, Broadway—the whole show.”

  “Would you know his name if you heard it?” I broke in, remembering the list I’d gotten hold of that afternoon.

  “Perhaps.”

  “How does Meenan sound? George Meenan?” I asked deliberately.

  Stone shook his head. “Can’t say for sure. You know all this is over ten months old. If you said George Washington I’d tell you that name sounded sort of familiar, too.” At his little joke Stone broke again into that incredibly broad grin of his and, as always, I found myself irritated by its sheer irrelevance.

  “Well?” I said drily.

  “Well, Steve poured me a drink which I took and Lamar offered me a smoke which I turned down. That’s my one shining virtue, you see. Then every one settled back to the game. This Cuban fellow, Sanchez, was just starting a new deal when the telephone rang. Watts, who was sitting nearest the telephone, got up, for a wonder, and answered it. After a moment, he turned to Steve. ‘Some one wants you,’ and I remember he smiled significantly at Wyndham as he answered it.

  “Wyndham took the receiver. I got the distinct impression he was talking to a girl. I also got the impression that Sanchez, for some queer reason, was ruffled by the call. He was sitting just next to me, you see, so it was easy enough for me to observe him. At first he just laid down the pack of cards. Then he began turning around and around on his chair, like a corkscrew. Suddenly, he got up, and puffing furiously at his cigar, he walked up and down the room, glowering at Wyndham.

  “For the life of me I couldn’t decide just why Sanchez acted so. Even though we heard only one side of the conversation, it was obvious Wyndham didn’t consider it at all important.”

  “Just a min
ute,” I broke in. “Do you recall any of that conversation? It all helps, you know.”

  Stone thought for a minute. “It’s hard, you know, after this lapse of time, but according to my best recollection, the whole thing ran like this. ‘Yes, this is Steve Wyndham!’ Silence on our side. Then Steve saying, ‘Thanks, but it’s impossible.’ Another silence. ‘No, it’s really impossible. Please understand!’ Pause. ‘I’m sorry but I have guests now.’ Pause. ‘No, I’m busy after 12 tonight.’ A long pause. Then firmly, ‘No, I’m sorry, but I’ve told you that before. Suppose we let matters rest.’

  “That was about all. Pretty soon Steve said goodbye and hung up.”

  “I see. Now, go ahead.”

  “Well, as Steve turned back toward the table Sanchez strode over in front of him. ‘That was Lolita,’ the Cuban said tensely and I noticed his face was twitching with excitement. Suddenly he struck out blindly at Steve. I never saw anything happen so quickly! But even so, it wasn’t hard for Steve to ward off his thrust.

  “‘Don’t be an idiot!’ He laughed and that was about the worst thing he could have done.

  “Sanchez flung his cigar aside and started for Steve in earnest. He hit out wildly. In blind rage. His face had gone white and his eyes were narrowed to two flames of hate. A couple of the men sprang up and tried to hold him back. I think it was Lamar and Dunlap, but I’m not sure. Anyhow, Wyndham just waved them back. He was like that, you know. As I remember, he didn’t even bother to take the cigarette from his mouth, or relax the slight smile which Sanchez’ first outbreak had occasioned. He didn’t have to. His body was hard—in wonderful condition. Anyone could see that. And though Sanchez struck out with a fury that looked like sheer anguish in its desire, Steve warded off his blows as easily as though it was all child’s play. It would have worn out anyone else but him, I’m sure. After a little, Watts grabbed hold of Sanchez and swung him around.

  ” ‘Are you out of your mind, Sanchez? If you were listening at all, you must have heard Steve tell whomever that was that he wasn’t going to see her.’

  “For the space of a few seconds, Sanchez stared stupidly at Watts, then ran his hand across his head. He looked awfully foolish. He must have felt worse.

  “Steve came over to him and put his arm across his back in a friendly way.

  ” ‘No hard feeling, Sanchez. Let’s get on with that deal!’

  “Sanchez wiped his forehead and went back to the table. Steve sat down in his place. Everybody tried to act as though nothing had happened, with the result that there was a lot of wisecracking and artificial gaiety for a few minutes, during which time Sanchez picked up the pack of cards and dealt. I noticed his hands were shaking and that he was biting his lower lip in a nervous, highly excitable way. But for five or ten minutes everything went as sweetly as a congregational meeting. Then, just as this fellow, whose name I’ve forgotten, was raising everyone’s bid, it happened!”

  Stone’s voice was low and tense, and he moistened his lips with his whiskey and soda before proceeding.

  “I say it happened, and yet to save my life, I can’t tell you what. All I know is that suddenly, without apparent rhyme or reason the electric lights in the room went dead, and since I think I mentioned before that the Venetian blind was drawn, we were left in pitch darkness. Well, of course, that dampened nobody’s spirits. We all thought something had gone wrong with the current, and in a moment or so it would right itself. Everyone started kidding or singing ‘Where was Moses when the light went out?’ and stuff like that. I heard somebody groan and some one laughingly echo it and then say mournfully, ‘It would be my luck just when I held a royal flush!’

  “Somebody got up. Somebody’s chair went over. Somebody opened the hall door and said, ‘Well, I’m a son-of-a-gun if it isn’t as black as the ace of spades out here, too!’ Somebody suggested we send downstairs for candles or a lamp, or, at very least, the hotel management. Somebody went out. Anyhow there was the sound of a door opening and closing, though which door I couldn’t have said. Somebody began fumbling with his automatic lighter, but as usual, the blamed thing wouldn’t work. I reached out for the box of matches I’d seen everyone using in the middle of the table, but in the darkness, I couldn’t find the box; instead I encountered someone’s hand and suddenly Watt’s voice said humorously, ‘Hey, we’d better guard the kitty!’

  “At that, the lone automatic lighter flickered on at last and shed feebly over the center of the table. The men made jokes about the fact that the money was still there, and of course, laughed a lot at all their own nonsense. I looked again for the box of matches, but I had no better luck in finding it than I’d had before. I heard some one moving about the room, but I couldn’t have said whom. Out in the corridor there was the sound of doors opening and closing and of some few of the people who happened to be in their rooms, enquiring in English and Spanish, and everything else, what the trouble was. My own idea was that there’d been a short circuit that must have killed the lights in our section of the hotel only, for through the hall door the sound of the orchestra could still be heard drifting up from the lounge downstairs. Then out of the darkness, one of the hotel attendants came in with lamps and suggested that they might help until the house electrician could locate the cause of the trouble.

  “As I say, the lamps arrived suddenly and in the brief instant when everyone was blinking in their sudden glare my attention was riveted by the flash of a steel blade in Sanchez’ hand. It was the blade of an extraordinarily long pocket knife and as he swiftly closed it and thrust it into his pockets, his eyes met mine in a look that at once arrested and disturbed me. You’ve heard of being chilled at a glance? Literally, I broke out in goose flesh. Why? This must seem crazy, I know! But you see, out of the eyes of that respectable looking Cuban planter I caught a depth of abysmal brutality such as I had never before seen. It was really uncanny. God! Like looking into some inferno of evil!”

  Charles Stone paused in his narrative and for once his singular smile was conspicuous by its absence. Then he went on in his sing-song voice.

  “What was stranger still was that I kept my mouth shut, when I knew at that moment I shouldn’t have.” Stone swallowed hard. It was easy to see he was overwrought for his hand shook as he picked up his highball glass.

  However, in the interim of Stone’s silence, I became acutely aware of the rap-tapping of Alcott’s pencil against the nearby wall and in sudden dismay I realized that the sound had been going on all the while I had sat absorbed and listening. Now I caught the measure of Alcott’s irritation in the sharp precision with which he was rapping away, and decoding, as swiftly as I could, I put his question to Stone as though it were my own.

  “About how much time do you think passed from the minute the lights went out until the hotel attendant brought the lamps?”

  Stone looked thoughtful for a moment.

  “It’s hard to say. Roughly speaking, about ten minutes, or a little longer.”

  “In complete darkness?” Alcott tapped out again, and again I put his question so that Stone never once suspected the by-play.

  “No, I’d say it was only four or five minutes ’til that automatic lighter was burning there in the center of the table, but up until then the room was in complete darkness.” Stone sipped his drink in silence. All zest seemed to have gone out of him.

  “I don’t want to hurry you unnecessarily, but a few moments ago you said you felt you had kept quiet when you knew you shouldn’t. What made you feel so?” I asked in interest.

  “Because,” Stone looked at me fixedly through his thick double lens glasses and his countenance assumed a stony rigidity, “when I recovered sufficiently to look around the circle, Stephen Wyndham’s chair was vacant and Steve himself had vanished as completely as though the earth had yawned open and engulfed him. Since that hour, as you know, he has not been seen or heard from again!”

  I gave a very poor imitation of a blasé newspaperman. I was prepared for exactly this revelation and yet
Stone’s bald statement of the fact struck home. It was in a sort of subconscious way that I remember catching the sound of Alcott’s rapping.

  “Could you say surely that during the period of darkness Sanchez had moved from his place by you?”

  “No! That was it! I couldn’t be sure!”

  There was something in the way Stone said this that struck me as strange. It might have been that the question had given him a prop to support his own indecisive line of conduct. But there was something—I couldn’t quite analyze what.

  “Did anyone happen to notice just what time it was?” I asked in interest.

  “Yes. It was five minutes past twelve. That I noticed myself.”

  “H’m!” I said drily. “Didn’t I understand you to say Wyndham had announced that he would be leaving at twelve?”

  Stone nodded. “I know that’s just what most of the fellows contended when Red Ford and Watts said that they thought the whole episode sounded devilish unlike him!”

  “Hold on!” I said, remembering the list of players I had in my note book. “You don’t mean Ford! He wasn’t in on the game, was he?”

  “No, he wasn’t. But by a funny coincidence, I happened to run into him in the corridor about this time. You see, I’d gone outside for a breath of air for my head was swimming. Anyhow, when we went back into the room the crowd was still speculating about Wyndham’s disappearance.”

  “H’m. Were the lights on by then?”

  “Well, I’m not sure. But I’d say yes. You see, the entire difficulty was only a question of a burned-out fuse. In fifteen or twenty minutes, at most, we had all the light we wanted.”

  “Well, go ahead! You were saying Watts and this Red Ford thought the whole episode peculiar?”

  “Yes. Watts seemed very much nonplussed by the whole thing, although he didn’t say much. He just kept repeating with a sort of aggravating persistence that he thought it was damned funny of Steve to walk out in the dark without so much as a goodnight. Then the rest of the gang began kidding the life out of him, pointing out that Wyndham had previously announced his intention of leaving, and after all, what did Watts want? Tears and a declamatory recitation of ‘Fare thee well and if forever?’ Watts began to feel the absurdity of his position, I guess, for at length he took refuge in the fact that he’d thought he’d heard someone at Steve’s end of the table, give a pretty good imitation of a groan. In this, Judge Lamar agreed, whereupon Dunlap and Brady promptly claimed the honor of having groaned, too. And since everyone knew they were quite idiotic enough to have done it, that ended that. To tell the truth, there had been so much horse play and nonsense, it did seem silly to take any of it very seriously. And yet, with it all, I couldn’t help glancing dubiously at Sanchez every now and then.”