However, the immediate puzzle about him was more specific. The question for the moment wasn’t what did he expect to accomplish with Connie Emerson, or what kind of fuel did he have in his gas tank, but what was all the fuss about the waterproof wallet, or bag, on the inside of his swimming trunks? I had seen him give it his attention, not ostentatiously, four times altogether; and by now my curiosity had really got acute, for the fourth time, right after the knee lock episode with Connie, he had gone so far as to pull it out for a look and stuff it back in again. My eyes were still as good as ever, and there was no doubt about what it was.
Naturally I did not approve of it. At a public beach, or even at a private beach or pool where there is a crowd of strangers and he changes with other males in a common room, a man has a right to guard something valuable by putting it into a waterproof container and keeping it next to his hide, and he may even be a sap if he doesn’t. But Rony, being a house guest like the rest of us, had changed in his own room, which wasn’t far from mine on the second floor. It is not nice to be suspicious of your hosts or fellow guests, and even if you think you ought to be there must have been at least a dozen first-class hiding places in Rony’s room for an object small enough to go in that thing he kept worrying about. It was an insult to everybody, including me. It was true that he kept his worry so inconspicuous that apparently no one else noticed it, but he had no right to take such a risk of hurting our feelings, and I resented it and intended to do something about it.
Madeline’s fingers touched my arm. I finished a sip of my Tom Collins and turned my head.
“Yeah?” “Yeah what?” she smiled, opening her eyes.
“You touched me.” “No, did I? Nothing.” It was evidently meant as a teaser, but I was watching Gwenn poise for a back flip, and anyway there was an interruption. Paul Emerson had wandered over and now growled down at me.
“I forgot to mention it, Goodwin, I don’t want any pictures unless they have my okay—I mean for publication.” I tilted my head back. “You mean any at all, or just of you?” “I mean of me. Please don’t forget that.” “Sure. I don’t blame you.” When he had made it to the edge of the pool and fallen in, presumably on purpose, Madeline spoke.
“Do you think a comparative stranger like you ought to take swipes at a famous character like him?” “I certainly do. You shouldn’t be surprised, if you know my repertory so well.
What was that crack, anyhow?” “Oh—when we go in I guess I’ll have to show you something. I should control my tongue better.” On the other side Rony and Connie Emerson had got their breath back and were making a dash for the pool. Jimmy Sperling, whom I preferred to think of as Junior, called to ask if I could use a refill, and Webster Kane said he would attend to it. Gwenn stopped before me, dripping again, to say that the light would soon be right for the west terrace and we ought to put on some clothes, and didn’t I agree with her?
It was one of the most congenial jobs of detecting I had had m a long while, and there wouldn’t have been a cloud in sight if it hadn’t been for that damn waterproof wallet or bag that Rony was so anxious about. That called for a little work, but it would have to wait.
CHAPTER Four
Hours later, in my room on the second floor, which had three big windows, two three-quarter beds, and the kind of furniture and rugs I will never own but am perfectly willing to use as a transient without complaining, I got clean and neat for dinner. Then I retrieved my keys from where I had hidden them behind a book on a shelf, took my medicine case from the caribou bag, and unlocked it.
This was a totally different thing from Rony’s exhibition of bad manners, since I was there on business, and the nature of my business required me to carry various unusual items in what I called my medicine case. All I took from it was a tiny, round, soft light brown object, which I placed tenderly in the little inner coin pocket inside the side pocket of my jacket. I handled it with tweezers because it was so quick to dissolve that even the moisture of my fingers might weaken it. I relocked the medicine case and returned it to the bag.
There was a knock on my door and I said come in. It opened and Madeline entered and advanced, enveloped in a thin white film of folds that started at her breast and stopped only at her ankles. It made her face smaller and her eyes biggert “How do you like my dress, Archie?” she asked.
“Yep. You may not call that formal, but it certainly—” I stopped. I looked at her. “I thought you said you liked the name Andy. No?” “I like Archie even better.” Then I’d better change over. When did Father confide in you?” “He didn’t.” She opened the eyes. “You think I think I’m sophisticated and just simply impenetrable, don’t you? Maybe I am, but I wasn’t always. Come along, I want to show you something.” She turned and started off.
I followed her out and walked beside her along the wide hall, across a landing, and down another hall into another wing. The room she took me into, through a door that was standing open, was twice as big as mine, which I had thought was plenty big enough, and in addition to the outdoor summer smell that came in the open windows it had the fragrance of enormous vases of roses that were placed around. I would just as soon have taken a moment to glance around at details, but she took me across to a table, opened a bulky leather-bound portfolio as big as an atlas to a page where there was a marker, and pointed.
“See? When I was young and gay!” I recognized it instantly because I had one like it at home. It was a clipping from the Gazette of September ninth, 1940. I have not had my picture in the paper as often as Churchill or Rocky Graziano, or even Nero Wolfe, but that time it happened that I had been lucky and shot an automatic out of a man’s hand just before he pressed the trigger.
I nodded. “A born hero if I ever saw one.” She nodded back. “I was seventeen. I had a crush on you for nearly a month.” “No wonder. Have you been showing this around?” “I have not! Damn it, you ought to be touched!” “Hell, I am touched, but not as much as I was an hour ago. I thought you liked my nose or the hair oft my chest or something, and here it was only a childhood memory.” “What if I feel it coming back?” “Don’t try to sweeten it. Anyway, now I have a problem. Who else might possibly remember this picture—and there have been a couple of others—besides you?” She considered. “Gwenn might, but I doubt it, and I don’t think anyone else would. If you have a problem, I have a question. What are you here for? Louis Rony?” It was my turn to consider, and I let her have a poker smile while I was at it.
“That’s it,” she said!
“Or it isn’t. What if it is?” She came close enough to take hold of my lapels with both hands, and her eyes were certainly big. “Listen, you born hero,” she said earnestly. “No matter what I might feel coming back or what I don’t, you be careful where you head it on anything about my sister. She’s twenty-two. When I was her age I was already pretty well messed up, and she’s still as clean as a rose—my God, I don’t mean a rose, you know what I mean. I agree with my dad about Louis Rony, but it all depends on how it’s done. Maybe the only way not to hurt her too much is to shoot him. I don’t really know what he is to her. I’m just telling you that what matters isn’t Dad or Mother or me or Rony, but it’s my sister, and you’d better believe me.” It was the combination of circumstances. She was so close, and the smell of roses was so strong, and she was so damned earnest after dallying around with me all afternoon, that it was really automatic. When, after a minute or two, she pushed at me, I let her go, reached for the portfolio and closed it, and took it to a tier of shelves and put it on the lowest one. When I got back to her she looked a little flushed but not too overcome to speak.