The Devil To Pay by Ellery Queen Read Free Book Online

I’m in Hollywood on a writing contract to Magna—God knows I don’t know anything about writing for the screen, but they don’t seem to care, so I don’t either. And no, I’m not being married.”
    “Wait a minute! Why are you buying the Jardin stuff?”
    Ellery watched the last two vans drive off. He moved out from under the porte-cochère into the drizzle and stepped hastily into his rented car. “Goodbye, Mr. Fitzgerald,” he said amiably, waving. “It’s been nice seeing you.” And he drove off.
     
    The Jardins and Walter and Pink stood in silence in the denuded living-room. “Are the—are the trunks gone?” asked Val at last in a small voice. “And… everything else?”
    “Yes, Val.”
    “Then I don’t suppose there’s anything—”
    “Come on, let’s get going,” growled Pink, “before I bust out crying.”
    They marched out of the empty house in a body, close together, like condemned criminals on their way to the wall. Outside Val picked a rose off a bush and absently pulled it to pieces. “Well! Here we go,” said Rhys in a cheery voice. “It’s goodbye to all this. I think we’re going to have a lot of fun, puss.” He put his arm around her.
    “All the common people have fun,” said Pink. “Perk up, squirt.”
    “I’m all right,” protested Valerie. “Of course, it’s a little strange. …”
    “Let’s go,” said Walter in a low voice.
    He preceded them down the private drive toward the pillbox at the gate, hands jammed into the pockets of his topcoat. He did not look back at either the Jardin house—or that other. A crowd was waiting in the road beyond the gate, making mob noises; but the noises stopped as the little procession came toward them. Frank, the day man, his empty left sleeve flapping, hurried from the pillbox toward their two cars, which were parked near the gate. It became more and more difficult to keep that steady pace. Val felt a little faint. It was like the French Revolution, with the mob of citoyens waiting greedily for the victims, and the guillotine looming ahead. …
    Frank held the door of Jardin’s small sedan open—the only car they had kept. “I’m sorry, Mr. Jardin. I’m awfully sorry,” said Frank. In getting into the sedan Rhys had caught his coat on the door-handle, and the camel’s-hair fabric just below the right pocket ripped away in a triangular flap.
    Pink said: “You tore your coat, Rhys,” but Jardin paid no attention, groping blindly for the ignition-key. Valerie crept into the rear seat and slipped far down on her spine; she avoided Walter’s eyes as he closed the door behind her. Pink jumped in beside Jardin.
    “I’m sorry, sir,” said Frank again, in a weepy voice.
    “Here.” Jardin leaned out and pressed a large bill into the gateman’s hand. “Split it with Walewski, Frank. Goodbye.”
    “Thanks, thanks!” Frank scuttled off to the gate.
    “Well,” smiled Rhys, starting the car, “what shall it be? A snack at the Troc?”
    “It’s too expensive there, pop,” murmured Val.
    “How about Al Levy’s? Or the Derby?”
    “Better get going,” remarked Pink dryly, “before that mob out there starts yipping for blood.”
    Rhys fell silent and shifted. Val looked back. Walter was getting into his coupé, slowly. Then he stopped and stepped back and looked across the lawns toward the Spaeth house. Far away, Solomon Spaeth stood alone, in motion. He was waving and his mouth was open. Apparently he was shouting something, but his voice did not carry. Walter’s lean jaw hardened. Val saw the taut whitening line. He got into his car without a sign that he had seen.
    “It’s like the end of a bad dream,” thought Val, shivering. “For all of us.” Then they were pushing slowly through the silent crowd and she sat up straight and tried to look as she fancied Marie Antoinette had once looked in a somewhat similar situation.
4. —And Sudden Death
    A FTER lunch Pink said he had to see a dog about a man and Jardin