Chapter 20 Chapter 20 The Cottage by the Bay

About noon the next morning, I pulled Fitzstephan's car out of the garage and drove Gabrielle and Mrs. Herman south to Bay Cottage.The girl was depressed, smiled reluctantly when approached, and had nothing to say.I thought she might have been depressed at the thought of going back to the house she had shared with Collinson; yet when we got there she did not look distressed when she entered, and her depression did not seem to increase by being there. After lunch—Mrs. Herman turned out to be a good cook—Gabrielle decided to go out, and she and I walked over to the Mexican enclave to see Marie Nuñez.Mary promised to come to work the next day.She seemed to like Gabrielle quite a bit, but not me.

We headed back along the coast, picking a rocky path and walking slowly.The girl frowned tightly.We didn't start talking until we were about a quarter of a mile from the house.Then Gabrielle sat down on top of a boulder warmed by the sun. "Remember what you said to me last night?" she asked, the words getting mixed up because she was speaking too hastily.She looked terrified. "certainly." "Tell me one more time," she begged, moving a seat aside for me, "sit down and tell me one more time—all of it." I did as I was told.In my opinion, judging personality by the shape of your ears is as ludicrous as telling a fortune by the position of the stars, or tea leaves, or spit on the sand; and anyone who tries to find evidence of madness in himself will find plenty, because anyone but a fool , everyone's head is a mess.The way I see it, she's so much like her father that the Dane blood must be thin in her; and even if that sort of thing is to be believed to be hereditary, her father's factor is pretty much diluted.Her influence on others is actually not worse than others, because it is a recognized fact that many people have a bad influence on the opposite sex; besides, she is too young, inexperienced and self-centered, unable to judge how different she is from ordinary people in this respect; I could tell her in a few days that her troubles had an answer that was far more concrete, logical, and criminally effective than cursing; Originally less, psychologically inclined to active treatment.

It took me three quarters of an hour to instill these ideas in her, and the effect was not bad.The fear in her eyes disappeared as I told, and she smiled to herself afterwards.When I finished speaking, she jumped up suddenly, smiled and rubbed her ten fingers together. "Thank you, thank you," she murmured, "I will never doubt you again. I will always believe in you, even if—no, no, it is true. I will never doubt you again. Come on, Let's go a few more steps." She was literally running a race against me the rest of the way back to the house, talking non-stop.Mitch Linehan was standing on the front porch.When the girl entered the room, I stopped beside him.

"Mr. Rowley is going to say 'Tut, tut, tut.'" He grinned and shook his head at me. "I've got to tell her what happened to that poor girl in Sin City who thought she could trust you." "Have you brought any news from town?" I asked. "Andrew showed his face. He was staying at a Geoffrey's house in San Mateo, where Elona Halton lived, and she's still there. Andrew's been there since Tuesday afternoon, and stayed till last night. .Al stares at the house and sees him go in, but doesn't recognize him until he comes out. The Jeffreys are out—to San Diego. Now it's Dick watching Andrew. Al says the name Hutton's woman hasn't left yet. Rowley tells me Fink is awake but doesn't know about the bomb. Fitzstephan is still on the verge of death."

"I figured I'd better go over and talk to Fink first this afternoon," I said, "and you stay here. Oh yes, and -- show me some respect when Mrs. Collinson is around. It's important to let her know I'm hot." "Bring some wine," Mitch said. "I can't do it sober." When I got to Fink, he was propped up on the bed, looking out from under the bandages.He insisted he didn't know anything about the bomb, that he only came to tell me that Harvey Whedon was his stepson - the child of the missing black village woman from "The Temple" from a previous marriage .

"Well, does that make any sense?" I asked. "I don't know if it matters, but he does. I guess you'd like to know." "Why would I want to know?" "The newspaper said that you mentioned that what happened here has something to do with that temple. The big police detective said that you thought I didn't say anything, so I just wanted to come here and explain it to you, so as not to be wronged." "Really? Then tell me what you know about Madison Andrew." "I don't know anything about him. I don't know him. He's her guardian or something, isn't he? I read it in the paper. But I don't know him."

"Elona Halton is recognizable." "Perhaps, sir, but I don't know. I only work for the Haltons. It's just work to me." "What about your wife?" "Same, just work." "Where is she?" "have no idea." "Why did she run away from the temple?" "I told you, I don't know. Don't want to get in trouble. I... anyone would run away if I got the chance." The nurses hanging around were getting pretty annoying by now, so I left the hospital and went to the District Attorney's office at County Hall.Vernon pushed away a stack of papers, as if the whole world would be summoned, and said, "Welcome, sit." He nodded his head violently, baring all his teeth at me.

I sat down and said, "I talked to Fink just now. Can't ask much, but he's the guy we want. The bombs ain't going in there without his hands." Vernon frowned for a moment, then chinned at me and said sharply, "The motive? And you were there at the time, you said you looked at him when he was in the room. You also said you didn't see anything. " "So what?" I asked. "He might have tricked me there, too. He's a magician's assistant, and he should know how to make a bomb, and how to get it there without my eyes. That's his specialty. We don't know what Fitzstephan saw. Heard he's coming through. Until then we're on Funk."

Vernon Kong gritted his teeth: "Very good, let's keep an eye on him." I walked down the corridor to the sheriff's office.Finney wasn't there, but there was a sheriff's deputy--a long-armed, pockmarked man named Sweet.He said that from the way Finney mentioned me, he knew that he should try to cooperate with me. "That's fine," I said, "but I just want two bottles now—er, gin, whiskey—the best you have here, anything." Sweet scratched his Adam's apple and said, "I don't know that. The elevator boy may know, and I think his gin should be the most secure. Oh, yes, Dick Corden said hoarsely to find you. Want to talk to Does he talk?"

"Okay, though I don't know what to talk about." "Uh, come back in a few minutes." I went out and pressed the elevator switch.The waiter was alone in there. He was a bit old, with a hunchback and a long gray-yellow mustache. "Sweet said maybe you know where I can get me a gallon of bootleg," I said. "He's crazy," the waiter muttered, and then, seeing that I hadn't spoken, he asked, "Are you going out from here?" "Yes, in a while." He closes the elevator doors.I went back to Sweet, and he led me down the enclosed passage that connected the County Hall to the prison beyond, and left me alone with Corden in a little steel cell.Two days of captivity did the Quesada sergeant no good.His face was ashen and tense, and the dimple of his chin writhed when he spoke.He said nothing other than that he was innocent.

All I could think of was this: "Perhaps, but you brought it on yourself. We have the evidence against you. I don't know if that will convict you—it's up to your lawyer." "What does he want?" Sweet asked when I got back. "Tell me he's innocent." The deputy scratched his throat again and asked, "Does it make any difference to you?" "Yeah, I can't sleep about him. See you later." I go out and walk to the elevator.The waiter handed me a gallon jug wrapped in newspaper and said, "Ten bucks." I paid, put the jug into Fitzstephan's car, found the local telephone exchange, and dialed a San Francisco Mission District to Vic Dallas' drugstore. "I'd like fifty grains of morphine," I told Vic, "and eight tubes of that calomel with ipecac, atropine, strychnine, and cascarna. I'll see the agency tonight or tomorrow morning. The person who is going to get it. Is it done?" "If you want it, fine. But if you want to use it to kill someone, don't tell me where you got it from." "Come on," I said, "can I really die just because I don't have that cheap medical degree?" I made another call to the San Francisco office to talk to the old man. "Can you call an agent for me?" I asked. "Mikeman is free now, and he can change shifts with Du Lei. It depends on which one you want." "Just McMahon. Stop by the pharmacy in Dallas and pick up something when you want him to come. He knows where it is." The old man said he hadn't had any updates on Elona Halton and Andrew. I drove back to the bay cabin.We have guests.Three strange cars were parked in the driveway, empty.Several reporters sat or stood around Mickey in the porch.They turned to me with questions. "Mrs. Collinson is here to rest," I said. "No interviews, no photographs. She needs to be quiet. If there's a breakthrough here, I'll let you know--only those who don't bother her. Now all I can tell you , Fink is in custody for the bombing." "What's Andrew doing here?" Jack Santos asked. I am not surprised.Since he ran out of the hermitage, he will show up sooner or later. "Ask him," I suggested. "He's the administrator of Mrs. Collinson's estate, and it's only natural to see her here." "Is it true that they have a bad relationship?" "No." "Then why didn't he show up before - yesterday, the day before yesterday?" "ask him." "Was he in debt--at least until the Leggett fortune came into his hands?" "Ask him." Santos grinned: "No need, we asked several of his creditors. I heard that two days before Mr. Collinson was killed, the couple had a quarrel because his wife was too intimate with Whedon. Is this true?" "It's nonsense," I said. "It's embarrassing for everyone. If it's true, you can still make it up." "Maybe you can." Santos said. "Is it true that she has turned against her husband's family? I heard old Herbert said that as long as he sees her pay the price for his son's death, he will lose everything. .” I don't know about it.I said, "Don't be a fool. We're doing Herbert's errands now, helping to take care of her." "Did Mrs. Halton and Tom Fink get out of prison because they threatened to reveal all they knew if they went to trial?" "Now you're really kidding me, Jack," I said. "Is Andrew still here?" "exist." I went inside, called Mitch in, and asked him, "See Dick?" "Andrew didn't drive past here for a few minutes." "Sneak out and get him. Don't let those reporters find out, even at the risk of losing Andrew. They'd go crazy and fill their front pages with stories like this if they knew we were after Andrew. I don't want it." They go crazy." Mrs. Herman came downstairs.I asked her where Andrew was. "Upstairs in the lobby." I went upstairs.Gabrielle, wearing a dark low-cut silk gown, sat stiffly on the edge of a leather rocking chair.Her face was pale and sullen, looking at the handkerchief pulled straight between her hands.She looked up at me, as if glad I was in.Andrew stood with his back to the fire, his bony pink face, his white hair, eyebrows, and mustache thrown up in all directions.He turned from the girl to me, keeping a sad look on his face, and he didn't seem too pleased with me coming in. I said, "How are you guys." Then I found a corner of a table and leaned over. He said, "I'll take Mrs. Collinson back to San Francisco." She said nothing. "Not to San Mateo?" I said. "What do you mean by that?" His tangled white eyebrows drooped over the entire top half of his blue eyes. "God knows. I've probably lost my head with all the questions the media is asking me." He didn't shrink back very much, but spoke slowly and cautiously. "Mrs. Halton came to me on business. I visited her to explain how unlikely it was for me to act as her adviser or represent her in the circumstances." "I don't care," I said, "and if you spent thirty hours explaining it to her, who cares?" "exactly." "However, if I had, I'd think carefully about how I'd speak to the reporters waiting downstairs. You know how suspicious they are—completely inexplicable." He turned to Gabriel again, his tone was very light, but a little impatient: "Okay, Gabriel, do you want to come with me?" "Should I go?" she asked me. "Unless you really want to go." "I—I don't want to." "That's it." I said. Andrew nodded, stepped forward to hold her hand, and said, "I'm sorry, but I have to go back to the city now, dear. You should install a phone, and you can contact me at any time if you need it." She invited him to stay for dinner.He declined, said "good night" to me--in a rather polite tone--and walked out.Through one window, he could be seen getting into his car immediately, oblivious to the swarming reporters. Gabrielle was frowning at me when I turned back from the window. "What did you mean by San Mateo?" "How good is his friendship with Elona Halton?" I asked. "No idea. Why? How did you talk to him like that just now?" "Detective tactics. First, the rumor that having control over your property will keep him out of trouble. Maybe it's unfounded, but it's okay to scare him so he can get busy making amends until the day the truth comes out." His own mess—if he's done anything. There's no need for you to be wiped out and broke." "Then he—" she began. "He's got a week - at least a few days - to recover from. That should be enough time." "But--" Mrs. Herman invited us to dinner, and the conversation ended there. Gabrielle ate very little.She and I were trying to make a conversation until I got Mickey to tell me about a mission he set out in Eureka where he was posing as a foreigner who didn't speak English at all, and almost every country had at least one person living there , he was very busy in order not to be found out about his true identity.He made a long and interesting talk about it.That might be partly true—he always had a lot of fun when he was acting crazy. After dinner, he wandered around me, and the road was already dark in the spring night. "McMain's coming in the morning," I told him, "and you and he'll be janitors. Divide your time as you two do, but there's got to be someone watching all the time." "Anyway, it's better not to be allocated the most difficult time." He complained, "What is this for—is it a trick?" "possible." "Possibly. Ummm, you don't know what the hell you're doing, you're procrastinating waiting for the horseshoe in your pocket to do its thing." "The result of a successful ruse is always luck in the eyes of an idiot. Any news from Dick?" "No. He came here directly from Andrew's." The front door opened, and yellow light poured from the hallway.Gabrielle put on a dark cloak, stepped into the light, closed the door, and walked down the stone path. "Take a nap if you want to sleep," I told Mickey, "I'll call you before I go to bed. You'll have to stand guard until morning." "It's really yours," he said with a smile in the dark. "God, you really are." "There's a gallon of gin in the car." "Oh? Why didn't you say it earlier, just wasting my time and talking a lot?" When he walked away, the grass on the lawn rustled his shoes. I moved towards the stone path and met the girl. "It's a beautiful night, isn't it?" she said. "Yeah, but even if your troubles are over, you still can't run around at night alone." "I didn't mean to," she said, pulling my arm. "And, what does 'it's over' mean?" "There are still a few details to work out—for example, the morphine." She trembled, and then said, "I only have enough left for tonight. You promised to—" "Fifty grains will be delivered tomorrow morning." She was silent, as if waiting for me to say something else.I didn't say any more.Her fingers rubbed against my sleeve. "You said it was easy for me to quit," she said dubiously, as if expecting me to deny saying such a thing. "It's not difficult." "You said, maybe..." Her voice gradually trailed off. "Can we quit here?" "right." "Do you want to?" I asked, "If you don't want to, it's okay." "Do I want to?" She stopped in the road, facing me, "I can do whatever—" The sentence broke in a whimper, and then she spoke again, high-pitched and sharp, "Are you being honest with me Did you? Did you tell me—you told me last night and this afternoon—the truth? I believe you because you're sincere, or because you've learned the tricks of your trade : Defrauding other people's trust?" She might be crazy, but she's not stupid.The answer I gave her seemed most appropriate at the time. "You trust me based on my trust in you. If I have a problem, you have a problem. So I have to ask you first: Did you lie when you said 'I don't want to be a bad woman'? " "Oh, I don't want to, I really don't want to." "That's good." I said with an unquestionable momentum, as if this would be the final word, "If you want to quit, you can quit." "How long...how long will it take?" "Well, a week, to be conservative. Maybe sooner." "Are you serious? Not for long?" "That's the length of the critical period. After that you have to take care of yourself for a while - until the body is fully back to normal, but you will clean up." "Will I be... very painful?" "It's going to be tough for a few days, but it won't be as bad as you think, and the resilience your father passed on to you should be enough to get you through." "If," she said slowly, "if I find out halfway that I can't make it, I can—" "It's not up to you," I responded briskly, "you have to hold on till the end." She shivered again, then asked, "When do we start?" "The day after tomorrow. Tomorrow as usual, but don't overdo it. Don't worry about it. I'll suffer more than you: I'll have to bear with you." "If I behave inappropriately in the process, you will accommodate-will you understand me? Even if I become very bad?" "I don't know." I didn't want to encourage her to go mad at me, "You are such a good person, you shouldn't become miserable just because of a little setback." "Oh, but—" she said, stopping, frowning, "shall we send Mrs. Herman away? I don't want—I don't want her to look at me." "I'll kick her out tomorrow morning." "If I—you won't let people see me, if I don't...if I'm scary?" "Of course," I promised, "but listen up: you gotta get ready and try to show it to me. Stop thinking about it and be good. I don't want to tell you what's going on and what's not. .” She laughed without warning, and asked, "If I'm disobedient, will you hit me?" I said she should be young enough to be spanked.

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Notes: people mentioned.