Puzzle of the Happy Hooligan Page 21
Officer Lunney came up to the sheriff and whispered for a moment.
Vinge listened and started to shake his head. “But somebody’s going to ask that question sometime, Sheriff.”
Vinge sighed and turned to Helen. “We weren’t going to bother you, Mrs. Cairns. But now that you’re here—can you tell us if your husband owned a bathing suit? We were wondering why he went swimming in a sort of corset thingamajig?”
“A—a corset?” she repeated blankly.
“Yes, ma’am. He was wearing it when he was murdered—”
Helen stood up suddenly, her soft mouth drawn into a humorless grin of shock. “Did you say—” Here she tried to catch herself, but her voice spilled over. “You mean it wasn’t an accidental drowning? Are you trying to say that Huntley was actually murdered?”
Sheriff Vinge’s voice was very gentle. “I’m sorry, ma’am. But that’s the way it looks. The story the gardener tells, it won’t hold water for a minute. He made it up to cover himself—”
“What does Searles say?” Helen demanded breathlessly.
“Oh, he claims to have seen a strange young man in a blue suit bending over the swimming pool in the very act of killing your husband. According to his story, he locked the killer in the bathhouse—”
Adele Beale took a breath and opened her mouth to speak but shut it again promptly as her husband sank a thumb and forefinger into her left thigh. She glared at Midge, but he was staring off across the room at Helen.
It must be Helen who was making that quick, gasping noise, like a strangled sob. Her eyes were muddy and colorless now, dark-rimmed like holes burned in a blanket. Obviously she had forgotten that they were all staring at her; she was blind to her father’s warning glance and to the flash which showed itself ever so briefly in the face of her younger sister.
“Then it was Pat!” Helen cried. “He did it—he must have!” She whirled on Midge and Adele, pointing. “You said you saw him on his way here, didn’t you?”
The room was so silent that they could have heard a pin drop. And did hear one, as the heavy silver polo-mallet clasp which held Lawn’s scarf suddenly came apart in her fingers.
Sheriff Vinge’s shoulders slumped a little, as if a great weight had been added. He looked at Helen, took off his glasses to wipe them, and looked again. “I’m afraid, Mrs. Cairns, I’ll have to ask you a question. Just who is Pat?”
Helen was biting her lip now, childishly, helplessly. “You’ll really have to tell us,” Vinge went on. “Now that you’ve said this much. What’s his last name?”
“His name is mud now, thanks to her,” Midge Beale whispered. Across the room Helen Cairns suddenly dropped to her knees, burying her face in her arms. She shook her head furiously. She wasn’t going to say anything, but it was all too clear that she had said enough already.
Wheels turned, telephones rang, and wires burned. In a very few minutes thin strips of tape began to jerk out of police teletype machines all over Long Island and the metropolitan area of New York, Connecticut, and New Jersey, bearing the message:
NY STATE POLICE GENERAL BROADCAST 75524 FILED 8.25 PM JUNE 16 ALL STATE TROOPERS SHERIFFS CARS LOCAL AUTHORITIES BE ON THE LOOK OUT FOR PAXTON MONTAGUE ALIAS PAT MONTAGUE AGE 25 HEIGHT 5-11 WEIGHT 170 BROWN HAIR HAZEL EYES MILITARY BEARING AND SHORT HAIRCUT WAS LAST SEEN WEARING BLUE SUIT YELLOW NECKTIE BLACK SHOES NO HAT HE MAY BE IN ARMY UNIFORM AS FIRST LIEUTENANT INFANTRY THIS MAN WANTED ON SUSPICION OF HOMICIDE HOLD AND NOTIFY ALBERT VINGE SHERIFF KNIGHT’S COUNTY SHOREHAM LONG ISLAND OR PROVOST MARSHAL CAMP NIVENS NEW YORK END BROADCAST
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