The Destroying Angel by Louis Joseph Vance
XII
THE MOUSE-TRAP
Late in the afternoon of the same day, Ember, appearing suddenly infront of the bungalow, discovered Whitaker sitting up in state; acomfortable wicker chair supported his body and a canvas-seated campstool one of his feet; which last was discreetly veiled in a drippingbath-towel. Otherwise he was fastidiously arrayed in white flannels and,by his seraphic smile and guileless expression, seemed abnormally atpeace with his circumstances.
Halting, Ember surveyed the spectacle with mocking disfavour, as thoughhe felt himself slightly at a disadvantage. He was, indeed, in a statethat furnished an admirable contrast to that of the elegant if disabledidler. His face was scarcely whiter with the impalpable souvenirs of theroad than was his slate-coloured mohair duster. The former, indeed,suffered by comparison, its personal coat of dust being deep-rutted withmuddy paths of perspiration; beneath all lay the dull flush of fleshscorched by continuous exposure to sunlight and the swift rush ofsuperheated air. None the less, his eyes, gleaming bright as through amask, were not unamiable.
"Hel-_lo_!" he observed, beginning to draw off his gauntlets as heascended the veranda steps and dropped into another wicker chair.
"How _do_ you do?" returned Whitaker agreeably.
"I'm all right; but what the deuce's the matter with you?"
"Game leg, thanks. Twisted my ankle again, this morning. Sum Fat hasbeen doctoring it with intense enthusiasm, horse liniment and choppedice."
"That's the only proper treatment for sprains. Bad, is it?"
"Not very--not half as bad as I thought it would be at first. Coming ontop of the other wrench made it extra painful for a while--that's all.By to-morrow morning I'll be skipping like the silly old hills in theScriptures."
"Hope so; but you don't want to overdo the imitation, you know. Givenature a chance to make the cure complete. Otherwise--well, you must'vehad a pretty rotten stupid time of it, with that storm."
"Oh, not at all. I really enjoyed it," Whitaker protested.
"Like this place, eh?"
"Heavenly!" asserted the invalid with enthusiasm. "I can't thank youenough."
"Oh, if you forgive me for leaving you alone so much, we'll call itsquare." Ember lifted his voice: "Sum Fat, ahoy!"
The Chinaman appeared in the doorway, as suddenly and silently as ifmagically materialized by the sound of his name. He bore withcircumspection a large tray decorated with glasses, siphons, decantersand a bowl of cracked ice.
"I make very remarkable damn fine quick guess what you want first," heobserved suavely, placing the tray on a small table convenient toEmber's hand. "That all now?"
"You're a sulphur-coloured wizard with pigeon-toed eyes," replied Emberseverely. "Go away from here instantly and prepare me all the dinner inthe establishment, lest an evil fate overtake you."
"It is written," returned Sum Fat, "that I die after eight-seven yearsof honourable life from heart-failure on receiving long-deferred raisein wages."
He shuffled off, chuckling.
"Scotch or Irish?" demanded Ember, clinking glasses.
"Irish, please. How's your friend's case?"
"Coming along. You don't seem surprised to see me."
"I had your telegram, and besides I heard your car, just now."
"Oh!" There was a significance in the ejaculation which Whitaker choseto ignore as he blandly accepted his frosted glass. "Youweren't--ah--lonely?" Ember persisted.
"Not in the least."
"I fancied I saw the flutter of a petticoat through the trees, as I cameup to the house."
"You did."
"Found a--ah--friend down here?"
"Acquaintance of yours, I believe: Miss Fiske."
"Miss Fiske!" There was unfeigned amazement in the echo.
"Anything wonderful about that?" inquired Whitaker, sharply. "I fanciedfrom what she said that you two were rather good friends."
"Just surprised--that's all," said Ember, recovering. "You see, I didn'tthink the Fiske place was open this year."
He stared suspiciously at Whitaker, but the latter was transparentlyingenuous.
"She expressed an unaccountable desire to see you--told me to tell you."
"Oh? Such being the case, one would think she might've waited."
"She had just started home when you drove in," Whitaker explained withelaborate ease. "She'd merely run over for a moment to inquire after myankle, and couldn't wait."
"Thoughtful of her."
"Wasn't it?" To this Whitaker added with less complacency: "You'll haveto call after dinner, I suppose."
"Sorry," said Ember, hastily, "but shan't be able to. Fact is, I onlyran in to see if you were comfortable--must get back to town immediatelyafter dinner--friend's case at a critical stage."
"Everybody loves me and worries about my interesting condition--evenyou, wretched host that you are."
"I apologize."
"Don't; you needn't. I wouldn't for the world interfere with yourdesperate business. I'm really quite happy here--alone."
"Alone--I think you said?" Ember inquired after a brief pause.
"Alone," Whitaker reiterated firmly.
"I'm glad you like the place."
"It's most attractive, really.... I say, who are the Fiskes, anyway?"
"Well ... the Fiskes are the people who own the next cottage."
"I know, but--"
"Oh, I never troubled to inquire; have a hazy notion Fiske doessomething in Wall Street." Ember passed smoothly over this flaw in hisprofessional omniscience. "How did you happen to meet her?"
"Oh, mere accident. Over on the beach this morning. I slipped and hurtmy ankle. She--ah--happened along and brought me home in hermotor-boat."
On mature reflection, Whitaker had decided that it would be as well toedit his already sketchy explanation of all reference to the putativespy who wasn't Drummond; in other words, to let Ember's sleepingdetective instincts lie. And with this private understanding withhimself, he felt a little aggrieved because of the quarter toward whichEmber presently saw fit to swing their talk.
"You haven't seen Drummond--or any signs of him, have you?"
"Eh--what?" Whitaker sat up, startled. "No, I ... er ... how should I?"
"I merely wondered. You see, I.... Well, to tell the truth, I took theliberty of camping on his trail, while in town, with the idea of servinghim with notice to behave. But he'd anticipated me, apparently; he'dcleared out of his accustomed haunts--got away clean. I couldn't findany trace of him."
"You're a swell sleuth," Whitaker commented critically.
"You be damn'.... That's the true reason why I ran down to-day, when Ireally couldn't spare the time; I was a bit worried--afraid he'd maybedoped out my little scheme for keeping you out of harm's way."
"Oh, I say!" Whitaker expostulated, touched by this evidence ofdisinterested thoughtfulness. "You don't mean--"
"On the contrary, I firmly believe him responsible for that attack onyou the other night. The man's a dangerous monomaniac; brooding over hisself-wrought wrongs has made him such."
"You persuade yourself too much, old man. You set up an inference andidolize it as an immortal truth. Why, you had me going for a while. Onlylast night there was a fellow skulking round here, and I was just dippyenough, thanks to your influence, to think he resembled Drummond. Butthis morning I got a good look at him, and he's no more Drummond thanyou are."
"The hell you say!" Ember sat up, eyes snapping. "Who was he then?"
"Simply a good-for-nothing vagabond--tramp."
"What'd he want?"
"Search me."
"But why the devil didn't you tell me this before?"
"You don't mean to say you attach any importance to the mere fact thatan ordinary tramp--"
"I attach importance to many things that other people overlook. That'smy artfulness. I don't suppose it has occurred to you that tramps followthe railroads, and that Long Island is free of the vermin for the simplereason that the Long Island Railroad doesn't lead an
"It's true--I hadn't thought of that. So that makes the appearance of atramp in these parts a cir-spicious sus-cumstance?"
"It does. Now tell me about him--everything."
So the truth would out, after all. Whitaker resignedly delivered himselfof the tale of the mare's-nest--as he still regarded it. When he hadcome to the lame conclusion thereof, Ember yawned and rose.
"What are you going to do about it?" Whitaker inquired with irony.
"Wash and make myself fit to eat food," was the response. "I maypossibly think a little. It's an exhilarating exercise which I don'thesitate to recommend to your distinguished consideration."
He was out of earshot, within the bungalow, before Whitaker could thinkup an adequately insolent retort. He could, however, do no less thansmile incredulously at the beautiful world: so much, at least, he owedhis self-respect.
He lolled comfortably, dreaming, forgetful of his cold-storage foot,serene in the assurance that Ember was an alarmist, Drummond (if alive)to a degree hand-bound by his own misconduct, a wretched creatureself-doomed to haunt the under-world, little potent either for good orfor evil; while it was a certainty, Whitaker believed, that to-morrow'ssun would find him able to be up and about--able to hobble, even if withdifficulty, at least as much as the eighth of a mile.
Long shadows darkened athwart the clearing. The bay was quick withmoving water, its wonderful deep blue shading to violet in the distantreaches. Beyond the golden arm of the barrier beach drifted the lazypurple sails of coastwise schooners. Gradually these blushed red, thegolden arm took on a ruddy tinge, the bosom of the waters a translucentpink, mirroring the vast conflagration in the western skies.
Somewhere--not far away--a whippoorwill whistled with plaintiveinsistence.
In the deepening twilight a mental shadow came to cloud the brightnessof Whitaker's confident contentment. He sat brooding and mumbling curseson the ache in his frost-bitten foot, and was more than slightlyrelieved when Sum Fat lighted the candles in the living-room andsummoned Ember to help the invalid indoors.
Neither good food nor good company seemed able to mitigate this suddenseizure of despondency. He sat glooming over his plate and glass, theburden of his conversation _yea, yea_ and _nay, nay_; nor was anythingof Ember's intermittent banter apparently able to educe the spiritedretorts ordinarily to be expected of him.
His host diagnosed his complaint from beneath shrewd eyebrows.
"Whitaker," he said at length, "a pessimist has been defined as a dogthat won't scratch."
"Well?" said the other sourly.
"Come on. Be a sport. Have a good scratch on me."
Whitaker grinned reluctantly and briefly.
"Where's my wife?" he demanded abruptly.
"How in blazes--!"
"There you are!" Whitaker complained. "You make great pretensions, andyet you fall down flat on your foolish face three times in less than asmany hours. You don't know who the Fiskes are, you've lost track of yourpet myth, Drummond, and you don't know where I can find my wife. And yetI'm expected to stand round with my mouth open, playing Dr. Watson toyour Sherlock Holmes. I could go to that telephone and consult'Information' to better advantage!"
"What you need," retorted the other, unmoved, "is a clairvoyant, not adetective. If you can't keep track of your trial marriages yourself...!"
He shrugged.
"Then you don't know--haven't the least idea where she is?"
"My dear man, I myself am beginning to doubt her existence."
"I don't see why the dickens she doesn't go ahead with those divorceproceedings!" Whitaker remarked morosely.
"I've met few men so eager for full membership in the Alimony Club.What's your hurry?"
"Oh, I don't know." Which was largely truth unveneered. "I'd like to getit over and done with."
"You might advertise--offer a suitable reward for information concerningthe whereabouts of one docile and dormant divorce suit--"
"I might, but you'd never earn it."
"Doubtless. I've long since learned never to expect any rewardcommensurate with my merits."
Ember pushed back his chair and, rising, strolled to the door. "Moonriseand a fine, clear night," he said, staring through the wire mesh of thescreen. "Wish you were well enough to go riding with me. However, youwon't be laid up long, I fancy. And I'll be back day after to-morrow.Now I must cut along."
And within ten minutes Whitaker heard the motor-car rumble off on thewoodland road.
He wasn't altogether sorry to be left to his own society. He was, infact, rather sharp-set for the freedom of solitude, that he might pursueone or two self-appointed tasks without interruption.
For one of these Sum Fat, not without wonder, furnished him materials:canvas, stout thread, scissors, a heavy needle, a bit of beeswax: withwhich Whitaker purposed manufacturing an emergency ankle-strap. And atthis task he laboured diligently and patiently for the better part oftwo hours, with a result less creditable to his workmanship than to anature integrally sunny and prone to see the bright side of things.Whitaker himself, examining the finished product with a prejudiced eye,was fain to concede its crudity. It was not pretty, but he believedfatuously in its efficiency.
His other task was purely one of self-examination. Since afternoon hehad found reason gravely to doubt the stability of his emotional poise.He had of late been in the habit of regarding himself as one whose mindretained no illusions; a bit prematurely aged, perhaps, but wise with awisdom beyond his years; no misogynist, but comfortably woman-proof; asettled body and a sedate, contemplating with an indulgent smile thefutile antics of a mad, mad world. But now he was being reminded that noman is older than his heart, and that the heart is a headstrong member,apt to mutiny without warning and proclaim a youth quite inconsistentwith the years and the mentality of its possessor. In fine, he could notbe blind to the fact that he was in grave danger of making an ass ofhimself if he failed to guide himself with unwonted circumspection.
And all because he had an eye and a weakness for fair women, a lonelypath to tread through life, and a gregarious tendency, a humorousfaculty and a keen appreciation of a mind responsive to it....
And all in the face of the fact that he was not at liberty to makelove....
And all this problem the result of a single day of propinquity!
He went to bed, finally, far less content with himself than with thecrazy issue of his handicraft. The latter might possibly serve itspurpose; but Hugh Whitaker seemed a hopeless sort of a proposition, notin the least amenable to the admonitions of common sense. If he were,indeed, he would have already been planning an abrupt escape to Town. Asmatters stood with him, he knew he had not the least intention of doinganything one-half so sensible.
But in spite of his half-hearted perturbation and dissatisfaction, theweariness of a long, full day was so heavy upon him that he went tosleep almost before Sum Fat had finished making him comfortable.
Extinguishing the candle, the Chinaman, moving with the silent assuranceof a cat in the dark, closed and latched the shutters, then sat downjust outside the living-room door, to wait and watch, sleeplessly alert.
An hour passed in silence, and another, and yet another: Sum Fat satmoveless in the shadow, which blended so perfectly with his darkblue-silk garments as to render him almost indistinguishable: a figureas patient and imperturbable as any bland, stout, graven god of hisreligion. Slowly the moonlight shifted over the floor, lengthened untilit almost touched the toe of one of his felt-soled shoes, andimperceptibly withdrew. The wind had fallen, and the night was veryquiet; few sounds disturbed the stillness, and those inconsiderable: thesteady respiration of the sleeping man; such faint, stealthy creakingsas seemingly infest every human habitation through the night; the dulllisp and murmur of the tide groping its way along the shore; the mutedgrumble of the distant surf; hushed whisperings of leaves disturbed bywandering airs.
Sum Fat heard all and held impassive. But in time there f
And yet, apparently all that had aroused him was the drowsy whistle of awhippoorwill.
Then, with no other presage, a shadow flitted past one of the sidewindows, and in another reappeared more substantially on the veranda.Sum Fat grew altogether tense, his gaze fixed and exclusively focussedupon that apparition.
Cautiously, noiselessly, edging inch by inch across the veranda, the manapproached the door. It was open, hooked back against the wall; only thewire screen was in his way. Against this he flattened his face; and afull, long minute elapsed while he carefully surveyed what was visibleof the interior. Even Sum Fat held his breath throughout thatinterminable reconnoissance.
At length, reassured, the man laid hold of the screen and drew it open.It complained a little, and he started violently and waited anotherminute for the alarm which did not ensue. Then abruptly he slipped intothe room and slowly drew the screen shut behind him. Another minute: nosound detectable more untoward than that of steady respiration in thebedroom; with a movement as swift and sinister as the swoop of a vulturethe man sprang toward the bedroom door.
Leaping from a sitting position, with a bound that was little less thana flight through the air, the Chinaman caught him halfway. Therefollowed a shriek, a heavy fall that shook the bungalow, the report of arevolver, sounds of scuffling....
Whitaker, half dazed, found himself standing in the doorway, regardlessof his injury.
He saw, as one who dreams and yet is conscious that he does but dream,Ember lighting candles--calmly applying the flame of a taper to oneafter another as he made a round of the sconces. The moonlight paled andthe windows turned black as the mellow radiance brightened.
Then a slight movement in the shadow of the table drew his attention tothe floor. Sum Fat was kneeling there, on all fours, above somethingthat breathed heavily and struggled without avail.
Whitaker's sleep-numbed faculties cleared.
"Ember!" he cried. "What in the name of all things strange--!"
Ember threw him a flickering smile. "Oh, there you are?" he saidcheerfully. "I've got something interesting to show you. Sum Fat"--hestooped and picked up a revolver--"you may let him up, now, if you thinkhe's safe."
"Safe enough." Sum Fat rose, grinning. "Had damn plenty."
He mounted guard beside the door.
For an instant his captive seemed reluctant to rise; free, he laywithout moving, getting his breath in great heaving sobs; only his gazeranged ceaselessly from Ember's face to Whitaker's and back again, andhis hands opened and closed convulsively.
Ember moved to his side and stood over him, balancing the revolver inhis palm.
"Come," he said impatiently. "Up with you!"
The man sat up as if galvanized by fear, got more slowly to his knees,then, grasping the edge of the table, dragged himself laboriously to astanding position. He passed a hand uncertainly across his mouth,brushed the hair out of his eyes and tried to steady himself, attemptingto infuse defiance into his air, even though cornered, beaten andhelpless.
Whitaker's jaw dropped and his eyes widened with wonder and pity. Hecouldn't deny the man, yet he found it hard to believe that thisquivering, shaken creature, with his lean and pasty face and desperate,glaring eyes, this man in rough, stained, soiled and shapeless garments,could be identical with the well set-up, prosperous and confident man ofaffairs he remembered as Drummond. And yet they were one. Appalling tocontemplate the swift devastating course of moral degeneration, that hadspread like gangrene through all the man's physical and mental fibre....
"Take a good look," Ember advised grimly. "How about that pet myththing, now? What price the astute sleuth--eh? Perhaps you'd like to takea few more funny cracks at my simple faith in hallucinations."
"Good God!" said Whitaker in a low voice, unable to remove his gaze fromDrummond.
"I had a notion he'd be hanging round," Ember went on; "I thought I sawsomebody hiding in the woods this afternoon; and then I was sure I sawhim skulking round the edges of the clearing, after dinner. So I set SumFat to watch, drove back to the village to mislead him, left my carthere and walked back. And sure enough--!"
Without comment, Whitaker, unable to stand any longer withoutdiscomfort, hobbled to a chair and sat down.
"Well?" Drummond demanded harshly in a quavering snarl. "Now that you'vegot me, what're you going to do with me?"
There was a high, hysterical accent in his voice that struckunpleasantly on Ember's ear. He cocked his head to one side, studyingthe man intently.
Drummond flung himself a step away from the table, paused, and againfaced his captors with bravado.
"Well?" he cried again. "Well?"
Ember nodded toward Whitaker. "Ask him," he said briefly.
Whitaker shook his head. It was difficult to think how to deal with thistrapped animal, so wildly different from the cultivated gentleman healways had in mind when he thought of Drummond. The futility ofattempting to deal with him according to any code recognized by men ofhonour was wretchedly apparent.
"Drummond," he said slowly, "I wish to God you hadn't done this thing."
Drummond laughed discordantly. "Keep your mealy-mouthed compassion foryourself," he retorted, sneering. "I'm no worse than you, only I gotcaught." He added in a low tone, quivering with uncontrollable hatred:"Damn you!"
Whitaker gave a gesture of despair. "If you'd only been content to keepout of the way...! If only you'd let me alone--"
"Then _you_ let Sara Law alone, d'you hear?"
Surprised, Whitaker paused before replying. "Please understand," he saidquietly, "that Mrs. Whitaker is seeking a divorce from me. After that,if she has any use for you, I have no objection to her marrying you. Andas for the money you stole, I have said nothing about that--intend tosay nothing. If you'd had the sense to explain things to me--if I couldcount on you to leave me alone and not try again to murder me--"
"Oh, go to hell!"
The interruption was little short of a shriek. Ember motioned to SumFat, who quietly drew nearer.
"I swear I don't know what to do or say--"
"Then shut up--"
"That'll be about all," Ember interposed quietly. At a glance from him,Sum Fat closed in swiftly and caught and pinioned Drummond's arms frombehind.
A disgusting change took place in Drummond. In an instant he wasstruggling, screaming, slavering: his face congested, eyes starting,features working wildly as he turned and twisted in his efforts to freehimself.
Sum Fat held him as he would have held an unruly child. Whitaker lookedaway, feeling faint and sick. Ember looked on with shrewd andpenetrating interest, biding the time when a break in Drummond's ravingswould let him be heard. When it came at length, together with a gradualweakening of the man's struggles, the detective turned to Whitaker.
"Sorry," he said. "I didn't dare take any further chances. He'd've beenat your throat in another minute. I could see him working himself up toa frenzy. If Sum Fat hadn't grabbed him in time, there's no telling whatmight not have happened."
Whitaker nodded.
"It isn't as if we had simply an everyday crook to deal with," Emberwent on, approaching the man. "He's not to be trusted or reasoned with.He's just short of a raving morphomaniac, or I miss my guess."
With a quick movement he caught Drummond's left arm, pulled the sleeveof his coat back to the elbow, unbuttoned and turned back his cuff."_Hmm_--yes," he continued bending over to inspect the exposed forearm,in spite of Drummond's efforts to twist away. "Deadly work of the busylittle needle. Good Lord, he's fairly riddled with punctures!"
"That explains...." Whitaker muttered, sickened.
"It explains a lot." Ember readjusted the sleeve and turned away. "Andit shows us our path of duty, clear," he continued, despiteinterruptions from the maddened drug
"Right," Whitaker agreed, relieved.
"We'll see what a cure does for him before we indulge in criminalproceedings--shall we?"
"By all means."
"Good." Ember glanced at his watch. "I'll have to hurry along now--mustbe in town not later than nine o'clock this morning. I'll take him withme. No, don't worry--I can handle him easily. It's a bit of a walk tothe village, but that will only help to quiet him down. I'll be backto-morrow; meanwhile you'll be able to sleep soundly unless--"
He checked, frowning thoughtfully.
"Unless what?"
Ember jerked his head to indicate the prisoner. "Of course, this isn'tby any chance the fellow you mixed it up with over on the beach--and soforth?"
"Nothing like him."
"Queer. I can't find any trace of him--the other one--nor can I accountfor him. He doesn't seem to fit in anywhere. However"--his expressionlightened--"I daresay you were right; he's probably only some idle,light-fingered prowler. I'd keep my eyes open for him, but I don'treally believe you need worry much."
Within ten minutes he was off on his lonely tramp through two miles ofwoodland and as many more of little travelled country road, at dead ofnight, with a madman in handcuffs for sole company.