Chapter 19 Chapter VII

Mary Race Dabert greeted Colonel Race with a scream of disbelief. "My darling. I haven't seen you since that time when you mysteriously disappeared from Allahabad. Why are you here now? Not to see me, I know that. You've never been social. Visit. Talk to me quickly, you don’t need to follow me to that set of diplomatic rhetoric.” "That's a waste of time for you, Mary. I've always admired your X-ray mind." "Stop filling me with soup." Rhys smiled. "Is that the maid who let me in be Betty Akdal?" "Exactly! Don't tell me that girl is a famous Continental female spy, because I will never believe it."

"No, no, not that." "Then don't tell me she's part of our counterintelligence group, because I don't believe it either." "You're right. She's just a maid." "So since when did you become interested in simple maids—I'm not saying Betty is simple, but rather scheming." "I thought," said Colonel Race, "that she might be able to tell me something." "If you ask her well, I think you've got the right person. She's got a knack for eavesdropping on people. What about me? What do I do?" "Be kind enough to buy me a drink and ask Betty to bring it."

"And what about when Betty arrives?" "Be kind and go away." "Go behind the door and eavesdrop?" "If you like to live." "Then I can be smug with the inside information on the latest continental crisis?" "I'm afraid you will be disappointed. It has nothing to do with the political situation at all." "What a disappointment! Well, I'll do it!" In her late fifties, Mrs. Ruth Dabert, a robe-skinned, brown-haired, brown-eyed lady, rang the bell and asked her pretty maid to bring Colonel Race a glass of whiskey and soda.

When Betty Akdal came back with the wine, Mrs. Rystaber was standing in the doorway of the living room. "Colonel Race has some questions for you," she said, and walked out. Betty's reckless eyes looked at the tall gray-haired soldier with a bit of vigilance.He lifted the glass from the tray and smiled. "Have you seen today's newspaper?" he asked. "See, sir." Betty looked at him cautiously. "Have you seen the news of the death of Mr. George Barton in the Luxembourg restaurant last night?" "Oh, yes, sir." Betty's eyes gleamed with schadenfreude. "Isn't it scary?"

"You did at his house, didn't you?" "Yes, sir. I left last winter, shortly after Mrs. Barton's death." "She also died in the Luxembourg restaurant." Betty nodded. "It's kind of strange, isn't it, sir?" Reese was not surprised.But he knew the floodgates were about to open.He said seriously: "I know you're smart. You're good at guessing." "Was he also 'killed'? The newspaper didn't make it clear." "Why do you say 'also'? Mrs. Barton was court-certified suicide." She glanced at him quickly.He looked so good, she thought, even though he was so old.The quiet type.A corrected gentleman.The kind of gentleman who would tip you a gold coin when he was young.That's ridiculous, I don't even know what a gold coin looks like!What is he trying to find out? "

"Yes, sir," she said hesitantly. "But maybe you never thought it was suicide?" "Er, yes, sir. I don't—don't think so." "That's interesting—really interesting. Why don't you think so?" She hesitated, her fingers began to tug at the apron. " "Please tell me. It might be important." He spoke so nicely and solemnly that one felt that one was important and wanted to help him. "She was killed, wasn't she?" "It seems possible. But why do you think so?" "Well," Betty hesitated, "I heard something one day."

"What words?" His voice was calm and encouraged her to continue. "The door is open. I mean, I would never stick to the door to eavesdrop. I don't like that kind of wicked thing." Betty looked like a gentleman. "But I happened to be passing the silverware through the drawing room into the dining room, and they were talking very loudly. She—I mean Mrs. Barton—was saying that Anthony Browne wasn't his real name. Then he got vile. Come on, I mean Mr. Browne. I didn't think he'd be like that--he's usually so handsome, and talkin' so nice. Talk about cutting her face with a knife--why! He does what he says and he's going to kill her. That's it! I didn't listen any more because Miss Mal was coming down the stairs. Of course I didn't think much about it then. But after the news of her suicide was all over the city After he attended that banquet too—well, I was really terrified!"

"But you didn't say anything?" She shook her head. "I don't want to get involved with the police and say I don't know anything - don't really know. And if I said anything, maybe I'd have been killed too, or as they say 'go for a ride in heaven' wind'." "I see." Race paused, and then said in his gentlest voice, "So you wrote an anonymous letter to Mr. George Barton, didn't you?" She stared at him wide-eyed.He couldn't see any guilty expression on her face - sheer shock. "Me? To Mr. Button? Never."

"Don't be afraid to talk about it, it's a very good idea. Warn him without getting involved. You're very clever." "But I didn't, sir. I never thought of it. You mean to write to Mr. Button, and tell him that his wife was murdered? Why, it never occurred to me!" She denied it so firmly that Reese couldn't help but feel his confidence shake.Yet everything fit so well—if she had written the letter, it would all make sense.But she denied it flatly, neither guilty nor sharp, sober and just right.He found himself having to trust her. He shifted positions.

"Who did you tell about this?" She shook her head. "I haven't told anyone, to tell you the truth, sir, I'm terrified. I guess I better keep it to myself. I try to forget. I only mention it once - and that's when I talk back to Mrs. Derek - She was so worried that she wanted me to go away and go to the country to hide my name! Then she started to lecture me about breaking things and I said sarcastically that no matter what, I would find a place where no one was 'killed' Damn. I was scared when I said that, but she didn't notice. Maybe I should have said it all at that time, but I'm not sure. I mean, I was probably just joking when I saw that. A man can say anything, and Mr. Browne has always been a good man and a good joker, so I can't be sure, sir. Do you think I can?"

Rhys agreed, she wasn't sure.Then he said: "Mrs. Barton said Browne wasn't his real name, so did she mention what his real name was?" "Yeah, she did. Because he said, 'Forget about Tony'—let me see, Tony or something . . . his last name reminds me of making cherry jam or something." "Tony Cheraton? Cherub?" She shook her head. "Better than that. It starts with an M, which sounds like a foreign surname." "Don't worry. Maybe you'll remember, if you do. Let me know. Here's my card with my address on it. If you remember that name, write and let me know." He gave her a business card and a banknote. "I will, sir, thank you, sir." What a gentleman, she thought, running downstairs.A pound note, not ten shillings.It would be even better if it was a gold coin... Mary Rhys Dabert returned to the living room. "How did it work?" "Yes, but there is one obstacle to clear. Can you help me with your ingenuity? Can you think of a name that reminds you of cherry jam?" "What a weird question." "Think about it, Mary. I'm not one to be at home, and I can't figure it out. Concentrate your thinking powers on making jam, especially cherry jam." "People don't make cherry jam very often." "why?" "Ugh, that's too sweet—unless you use the culinary cherries, maraschino cherries." Reese cheered. "That's it, I bet it's this. Goodbye Mary, thank you so much. Do you mind if I ring the bell so the girl can take me out?" As he hurried out of the living room, Mrs. Ruth Dabert yelled after him: "Most ungrateful guy! Won't you tell me what's going on?" He also roared: "I'll come back later and tell you the whole story." "Fuck you bastard," whispered Mrs. Rathdabert. Betty waited downstairs with Reese's hat and cane. He thanked her and walked out.At the steps, he stopped. "By the way," he said, "is that name Morelli?" Betty's face brightened. "Exactly, sir. That's it. Tony Morelli, that's the name he told her he forgot. And he said he was in prison." Rhys smiled and walked down the steps. He called Kemp from a nearby phone booth. Their conversation was brief, but mutually agreeable.Kemp said: "I'll send the cable right away. We should hear back. I must say, if you're right, then it's a big relief." "I think so. The sequence is clear."