CHAPTER XII--THE MAN WHO WOULDN'T TELL
Mr. Larkin had lingered on at Cedar Brook. He said that he needed aholiday, the prosperity of the last year had worn him out, also thebungalow sites were many and a decision difficult.
He saw a good deal of Willitts; they had become very friendly, almostchums. Their lodgings were but a few yards apart and of evenings theysmoked neighborly pipes on the porch steps, and of afternoons took walksinto the country. During these hours their talk ranged over manysubjects, the valet proving himself a brightly loquacious companion. Butupon a subject that Mr. Larkin introduced with delicateartfulness--Price and Esther Maitland--he maintained the evasivereticence that had marked him at their first meeting. For all the walksand talks Mr. Larkin learned no more, and as his curiosity remainedunsatisfied his inclination for Willitts' society increased.
It was a few days after that first meeting that, strolling down MainStreet toward Sommers' garage, the detective stopped short, staring attwo figures emerging from the garage entrance. One was Sommers, theother a fat, red-faced man with a sunburned Panama on the back of hishead. A glance at this man and Mr. Larkin turned on his heel and madedown a side lane at a swinging gait. Safe out of range behind a lilachedge, he slowed up, lifted his hat from a perspiring brow and swore tohimself, low and fiercely. He had recognized Gus O'Malley, privatedetective of Whitney & Whitney, and he knew that Whitney & Whitney wereMrs. Janney's lawyers. Another investigation was on foot, evidentlyfollowing on the lines of his own.
After two days O'Malley left by the evening train and Mr. Larkin emergedfrom a temporary retirement, and sought coolness and solitude on thefront porch. Here, when night had fallen, Willitts joined him taking aseat on the top step.
The house behind them was empty of all other tenants, its open frontdoor letting a long gush of light down the steps and across the pebbledpath to the gate. It was a warm night, heavy and breathless, and Mr.Larkin, in his shirt sleeves, lolled comfortably, his chair tilted back,his feet on the railing. The place where he sat was shaded with vines,and he was discernible as a long, out-stretched bulk, detailless in theshadow.
Willitts had good news to impart; that afternoon he had been to CouncilOaks to see Mr. Ferguson who had engaged him as valet. It was an A1place, the pay high, the duties light, Mr. Ferguson known to be generousand easy tempered. Congratulations were in order from Mr. Larkin, and ifthey lacked in warmth Willitts did not appear to notice it.
A pause fell, and his next remark caused the detective to deflect hisgaze from the darkling street to the head of the steps:
"Did you notice a chap about here yesterday--a fat, untidy looking manin a Panama hat and a brown sack suit?"
Mr. Larkin had and wanted to know where Willitts had seen him.
"In Sommers' garage. He was hiring a motor, wanted to see thecountry--and Sommers telling him I knew it well, asked me to go withhim."
"Did you go?"
"I did; I had nothing else to do. We went a long way, through Berkeleyand beyond. He's what you'd call here 'some talker' and curious--I'd sayvery curious if you asked me."
"Curious about what?"
"Everything in the neighborhood, but especially the robbery."
"Did he have any theories about it?"
"None that I hadn't heard before."
The detective laughed:
"That accounts for the drive--hoped he'd get some racy gossip about thefamily out of you."
"Maybe that _was_ his idea."
"Of course it was. I'll bet he pumped you about Price."
"I don't know that I'd call it pumping--he did ask some questions."
Willitts was sitting with his elbows on his knees, his hands supportinghis chin. The light from the open door behind him lay over his back,gilded the top of his smooth head and slanted across his cheek. He wasnot smoking and he was very still, facts noted by Mr. Larkin.
The detective stretched, yawned with a sleepy sound and said:
"So it's still a subject of popular curiosity, is it?"
"Yes, _it_ is, but why should Mr. Price be?"
The valet's voice was low and quiet, holding a quality hard to define;the listener decided it was less uneasiness than resentment. After amoment's silence he spoke again, very softly, as if the words wereself-communings:
"I'd like to know who the feller is."
Mr. Larkin's feet came down from the rail striking the floor with athud. He sat up and looked at his friend:
"I can tell you. He's a detective, Gus O'Malley, employed by Whitney &Whitney."
Willitts' hands dropped and he squared round:
"A detective! _That's_ it, is it? _That_ accounts for the milk in thecocoanut. I might have guessed it. And what's he after me for?"
"You lived at Grasslands. Something might be dug out of you."
"But tell me, why should he be curious about Mr. Price?"
He had dropped one hand on the flooring and supported by it leanedforward toward his companion. The boyish good humor had gone from hisface; it looked sharp-set and pugnacious.
The other shrugged:
"Ask _him_. All I can tell you is that Whitney & Whitney are Mrs.Janney's lawyers."
Willitts pondered, and while he pondered his eyes stared past theshadowy shape that was Mr. Larkin into the vine-draped blackness of theporch. Then he said:
"Mrs. Janney's down on Mr. Price. She's all for her daughter. I thinkshe 'ates 'im."
The two h's dropped off with a simple unconsciousness that surprised Mr.Larkin. Never before in his intercourse with Willitts had he heard theletter so much as slighted. He made a mental note of it and said dryly:
"So I've heard."
The man again relapsed into thought, his glance riveted on the darkness,his expression obviously perturbed. Suddenly he looked at the vague bulkof Mr. Larkin and said sharply:
"'Ow do _you_ know so much about 'im?"
Mr. Larkin's answer came out of the shadow with businesslike promptness:
"Because I'm a detective myself."
For a moment the valet's face seemed to set, lose its flesh and bloodmobility and harden into something stony, its lines fixed, vitalitysuspended,--a vacuous, staring mask. Then life came back to it, brokeits iciness, and flooded it with a frank, almost ludicrous astonishment.
"You--you!" he stammered out, "and me never so much as thinking it!Would any one, I'm asking you? Would--" he stopped, his amazement gone,a sudden belligerent fierceness taking its place, "And are you after Mr.Price too?"
Mr. Larkin laughed:
"I'm after no one at this stage. I'm only assembling data. If O'Malley'sgot to the point of finding a suspect he's far ahead of me."
Willitts' excitement instantly subsided; his answer showed a hurriedurgence:
"No, no--he didn't say anything one could take 'old of--only a fewquestions. And it's maybe all in my feelings. I couldn't bear a personto think evil of Mr. Price. It 'urts me; I'd be sensitive; I might seeit if it wasn't there."
"If you got that impression I guess it _was_ there."
This remark, delivered with a sardonic dryness, appeared to rekindleWillitts' anger. It flared up like the leap of a flame:
"Then to 'ell with 'im. If they're working up any dirty suspicionsagainst my gentleman they've come to the wrong man. I've got nothing tosay; there's no information to be wormed out of _me_ for I 'ave none.Umph--lies, trickery--that's what _I_ call it!"
He dropped back into his former position, his angry breathings loud onthe silence, mutterings of rage breaking through them.
"Well," said Mr. Larkin, "now I've put you wise you can form your ownconclusion as to what's in their minds."
"Is it in yours, too?"
The question came quick, shot out between the deep-drawn breaths. Mr.Larkin was ready for it:
"I told you I hadn't got as far as that; I'm just feeling my way. Butlet me say something to you." He rose and, going to the steps, sat downbeside Willitts, dropping his voice to a confidential key. "I'll befrank with you--I'
ll show you how I stand. I didn't intend to tell youwhat I was, but this fellow coming up here has forced my hand. He knowsme, he'll be after you again, and you'd have found it out. Now, here'smy position: I want to get this case; it's my first big one and it'llmake me every way--professionally and financially."
He looked at the man beside him who, gazing into the street, noddedwithout speaking.
"There's ten thousand dollars offered for the restoration of the jewels.If I could get them I'd share that money with the personwho--who--er--helped."
Willitts repeated his silent nod.
"And even if I didn't get them I'd pay and pay well for any informationthat would be useful."
"I see," said the other, "'oever 'elps along in the good work gets 'isreward."
Mr. Larkin did not like the words or the tone, but went on, hisconfidential manner growing persuasive:
"I'm engaged on the side of law and order. All I'm trying to do is torestore stolen property to its owner. Any one that helps me is onlydoing his duty."
"A duty that gets its dues, as you might say."
"Exactly. The money made by such services is earned honestly and there'splenty of it to earn."
"Righto! When the Janneys want a thing they'll open the purse wide andgenerous."
"And here's a point worth noticing: What I'm hired for is to get thejewels, not the thief. The party behind me isn't out for vengeance orprosecution. If I could deliver the goods it would be all right and noquestions asked. But the Whitneys wouldn't stop there--they'rebloodhounds when it comes to the chase. If they got anything on Pricethey'd come down on him good and hard and Mrs. Janney'd stand in withthem."
He was looking with anxious intentness at Willitts' profile. As hefinished it turned slowly, until the face was offered in full to hiswatchful scrutiny. It was forbidding, the eyes sweeping him with a coldcontempt:
"I can't 'elp understanding you, Larkin, and I'm sorry to 'ear you gotyour suspicions of my gentleman and of _me_. The first is too low totake notice of; the second is as bad, but I'll answer it to put us bothstraight. I'm not the kind you take me for; I'm not to be bought. Evenif I did know anything that would be 'useful' as you say, wild 'orseswouldn't drag it out of me. And no more will filthy lucre. Filthy--it'sthe right name for it, you couldn't get a better." He rose, not so muchangry as hurt and haughty. "I can't find it in me to sit 'ere anylonger. I could talk of insults, but I won't. All I'll say is that I've'ad a bit too much, and not wanting to 'ear more I'll bid yougood-night."
Before the detective could find words to answer he had gone down thepath and vanished in the darkness.