UNMASKED
Disgrace was in the air; the country had its president in handcuffs. There was a great up of and of to keep clear of the dirty splashings. It me think of a social occasion in Israel some thousands of years ago, when Absalom, at his own party, put a one over on his Amnon, and all the of King David's sons looked at each other with sagging, and "every man himself up upon his and fled." Here, it was limousines; more than one chariot—filled with members of the who'd helped to Vandeman into office over the of older members—rolled the drive.
Yet a is the thing in the world to kill; like a lizard, if you it in two, the and go right on independently. Also, this at the country was the of a of visitors from all over the who mustn't be disappointed. By the time I'd out in front, my off to the lock-up, sending Eddie Hughes, with Capehart and the other he'd up to the Vandeman bungalow, over to the Santa Ysobel police the of Fong Ling, and to see how Barbara was on, the music once more, the movement of many feet.
"The boys have got it started again," Jim Edwards joined me in the hall, his still and odd from the of the thing. "Curious, that in there yesterday," a the little room toward which we moved. "Bronse in, and cool, for you to question him; pleasant, ordinary looking chap. Would you say he had it in his right then to you—or Barbara—if you came too on his trail?"
"Me?" I sheepishly. "He paid me that compliment. He wasn't of me. I think Barbara sealed her own fate, so as he was concerned, when she let Worth her into doing a at Vandeman's dinner table last night. The man saw that nothing she that light on long hidden. He must have decided, then, to put her out of the way. As for his wife—well, much or little she knew, she'd not Barbara Wallace."
At that, Edwards gave me a look, but all he said was,
"Cummings has a complete of heart, it seems. I left him in the telephone booth, just now, calling up Dykeman. He'll keep the for Worth."
"He'd better," I agreed; and only Edwards's slight, dark answered me.
"There's a entrance here," he mildly, as we came to the turn of the hall. "I'll it; and when Barbara's to be taken home, we can her out without every one at her."
He was still at the lock, his to me, when a door up slammed, and a Spanish Cavalier came the corridor, off a to me Bowman's face, announcing,
"I think you want me in there. That girl should have medical attention."
"She has that already," I spoke over my shoulder. "And if she hadn't, do you think she'd let you touch her, Bowman? Man, you've got no feeling. If you had a shred, you'd know that to her it is as true you to take Worth's life with your as it is that Vandeman Worth's father with a gun."
"Hah!" the doctor at me; he was sober, but still a thick in the wits. "You people ain't me with this Vandeman, are you? You can't do that. No—of course—Laura's set you all against me."
Edwards up from the door. With his look at that fierce, dark face, the doctor to off, around the turn into the main at what was little less than a run.
They had Barbara in the big Morris chair while they and garments. Our of a doctor, off, rolled up, us cheerily,
"That where it the most blood for the least harm, I'd say. Have her all right in a jiffy. At that, if it had been a little to one side—"
And I that Edward Clayte's bullet—Bronson Vandeman's—had missed Barbara's heart.
"This girl!" the doctor on with enthusiasm, as he and pinned. "Sitting up there, as she was, and it, she looked to me more than human. Sort of as though light came from her."
"I was of myself there in the Square, Mr. Boyne," Barbara's voice, good and strong, cut across his panegyric. "Never in my life did I like that before. My brain wasn't at all. I was confused, full of indecision." She mentioned that state, so familiar to ordinary humanity, as most people would speak of being crazy. "It was agonizing," she a little at the others. "Poor Mr. Boyne helping me along—we'd got somehow into a crowd. And I was just a of flesh. I where we were. Then came the of the shot, the stinging, in my side. It my down; but my mind came clear; I use it."
"I'll say you could," I smiled. "From then on, Bill Capehart and I were the of that you around without explanation."
"There wasn't time; and I was you'd out what had to me, and wouldn't me here," she said simply. "I that the one for me was the work I'd been doing for Mr. Boyne."
"Sure," I said, light on me. "And every possible in the Gilbert case was under this roof—or to be—the would be the show-down as to that. And just then the clock struck! Poor girl!"
"It was a against time," Barbara agreed. "If we here first, the door against came to in, we'd have the one who me."
"But, Barbara child," Laura Bowman was at a on the side. "You did here and Bronson Vandeman; it had out all right. Why did you up in that pose, as you were, to concentrate?"
"For Worth. I had to relate this to the one for which he'd been arrested. Within the hour, I'd that me Edward Clayte killed Worth's father. When I that man and his to me, and Bronson Vandeman and his to it—as I can when I on them—I they dove-tailed—the was true—these two were one man." She looked around at the four of us, at her, and finished, "Can't they take me home now, doctor?"
"Sit and a minutes. Have the door open," the said. And on the there came a call for me from the entrance.
"Mr. Boyne—are you in there? May I speak to you, please?"
It was Skeet Thornhill's voice. I out into the entry. There, from the old Ford truck, its engine running, was Skeet herself. Her to the door I closed me.
"Yes," I answered its question. "She's in there." Then, moved by the of her eyes, "She'll be all right. Very little hurt."
She said something under her breath; I it was "Thank God!" looked about the entrance, to to the of music and movement from the ballroom, then to mine a so that its out on it, a step closer and me.
"They us," above a whisper. "Mother sent me for the girls and—Ina. Mr. Boyne," a in her voice, "am I going to be able to take Ina with me? Or is she—do they—?"
"Wait," I said. "Here she comes now," as Cummings Mrs. Vandeman toward us. She moved haughtily, up, a over her costume, and saw her sister without surprise.
"Skeet," she and with her to me, "there's been some trouble here. Keep it from mother if you can. I'm leaving—but we'll it all up. How did you here? Can I take you in the limousine?"
The big, closed car, one of Vandeman's wedding gifts to her, slowly up the drive, Skeet's old truck, and stopped a little beyond. Skeet gave it one glance, then a hand to catch on the big sleeve.
"You can't go to the bungalow, Ina. As I came past, they were men around it to—to watch it."
"What!" Ina on us, looking from one to the other. "Mr. Boyne—Mr. Cummings—who had that done?"
"Does it matter?" I countered. She me tired.
"Does it matter?" she up my words, "Am I to be as if—as though—"
Even Ina Vandeman's wouldn't her to a on that. I it for her, explicitly,
"Mrs. Vandeman, you are as an or a material witness, I'm for you. I would have the authority to allow you to go with your sister; but you'll not be permitted to enter the bungalow."
"It's nearly midnight," she protested. "I have no but this costume. I must go home."
"Oh, come on!" Skeet pleaded. "Don't you see that doesn't do any good, Ina? You can something at our house to wear."
She gave me a long look, her still high, her hard and unreadable. Then, "For the present, I shall go to a hotel." She a hand on Skeet's shoulder, but it was only to push her away. "Tell mother," evenly, "that I'll not my trouble into her house. Oh—you want Ernestine and Cora? Well, them and go." And with step she walked to her car.
I to Cummings.
"Have one of Dykeman's men her up and tight," I said, and he understandingly, with,
"Already done, Boyne. I want to speak to Miss Wallace—if I may. Will you see for me?"
A moment later, he and jingling, in through a door that he left open him, off his Roman as though it had been a hat, and that shoe-brush thing they those with.
"Barbara," he met the of the girl in the chair unflinchingly, "you told me last night that the only I speak to you would be in the way of an apology. Will you one now? I'm to make it. Talk doesn't count much; but I'm going the limit to put Worth Gilbert's through."
There was a long silence, Barbara looking at him unmoved. Behind that the that Worth Gilbert's life and had been by this man's course; that she herself was only alive the of that his action missed its by an inch: Worth's life, her life, their love and all that might mean—and Barbara had you read—I didn't Cummings as he her. Finally she said quietly,
"I'll accept your apology, Mr. Cummings, when Worth is free."
