Chapter 5

As the door to the room slammed convulsively behind Myrtle, Mrs. Rutherford relaxed, laid the automatic on the sofa between us, and flung back her mink coat. She was an appetizing little number, if you like ‘em red-haired, well-developed and mad through and through.

Instinctively I started to reach for the gun but was checked by her laugh.

“Take it, by all means,” she said. “It’s not loaded. I only needed it for the maid. Tell me, Winnie, have you got her on your string, too? The maid made or undone, as they used to say.”

“Virginia,” I said firmly, “I told you earlier this morning that we were through. There’s nothing more to be said about it. It’s finished, done, kaput! All’s well that ends.”

She laughed again, and looked at me closely. In spite of myself, I began pulling nervously at the lobe of my left ear, a habit of mine when confused which has always irritated my Dorothy.

“There!” Virginia said finally, “that’s it!”

Her voice had a note of finality with a touch of total triumph that I found disturbing.

“Well, have you anything to say?” I asked.

“Have you anything to say?”

“I’ve already said it, Virginia. Nice as you are and beautiful as you are, we’re washed up. It won’t work and we both know it. So why not shake hands and quit friends?”

She took my proffered hand in hers but, instead of shaking it, examined it carefully.

“Very clever,” she murmured. “You’ve even got that little mole at the base of your thumb.”

“Of course I have. It’s been there since birth.”

“Very, very, clever, Winnie,” she continued, “but it won’t do, my Winnie, because you see you aren’t my Winnie at all. You’re a total stranger.”

“I’ve changed,” I admitted. “I’m trying to be half-way decent.”

“Whoever wanted Winnie to be half-way decent?” she mused. “Nobody. He was much pleasanter as he was--a rich, friendly boob. As for you, whoever you are, I’m on to your game. You aren’t Winfred Tompkins and you know it.”

I put some heavy sarcasm into my reply. “How did you ever guess, Mrs. Rutherford?”

She laughed airily, helped herself to a cigarette and leaned forward while I lighted it so that I could not help seeing deep into the straining V of her blouse.

“Lots of things. In the first place, you call me ‘Virginia’ when we’re alone instead of ‘Bozo’ as you always used to do.”

“I stopped calling you ‘Bozo’ when I made up my mind--” I began.

“Nuts to you, Buddy,” she rejoined. “Then you kept pulling at your ear as though you were milking a cow, while I was needling you. Winnie never did that. When he was in a spot, he always reached in his pocket and jingled his change or, as a desperate measure, twiddled his keys.”

“Don’t judge my habits by my hang-overs,” I insisted. “I’m not feeling well and I’ve had a sort of psychic shock.”

“Winnie never said ‘psychic’ in his life, poor lamb,” she observed. “He didn’t know what it meant. No, I don’t know what your game is but I’m on to you and we’re going to be real buddies from now on or--”

“Or what?”

“The police,” she observed quietly, “take a dim view of murder in this state. Now I’m willing to be broad-minded. Winnie was a louse who had it coming to him, I guess. I was playing him for a quick divorce and marriage. Three million dollars is a lot of money, even in these days, and it would have been nice to have been married to it. But it’s even nicer this way, I guess.”

The decanter was within reach. I poured myself another drink. “Have some?” I asked.

“And why not? What’s yours is mine, and we both need it.”

“Why did you say it was nicer this way, Mrs. Rutherford?” I inquired.

“Virginia to you, Winnie. It’s because now I don’t have to marry you and I still have a pipe-line to the Tompkins millions.”

“So you are going in for blackmail,” I observed. “Suppose I threatened to divorce Jimmie and marry you. After all, I still could.”

“A girl has her pride,” she murmured. “Not that I’d mind having fun with you, Winnie--as I think I’d better call you. But a wife can’t give testimony against her husband and I think I’d rather like to be able to give testimony if needed. Besides, a husband has too many opportunities to help the undertaker. There are accidents in bath-tubs and garages, medicines get mixed up in the bathroom cabinet and there is always the old-fashioned hatchet. No, since you’ve managed to get rid of the other Winnie, somehow, I think I’ll keep a safe distance and my silence, as long as you make it worth my while.”

“Suppose I won’t play?” I suggested.

“Then I’ll go to the police or the F.B.I.--they’re supposed to catch kidnappers, aren’t they?--and tell them what I know.”

I stood up. This would be easier than I had expected.

“Okay, Virginia,” I said, “go right ahead. There’s the telephone. You can use it to call the Secret Service for all I care. See what luck you have with your story, when my wife is here to testify that I’m Winnie Tompkins.”

Her face paled and her eyes narrowed angrily. “Jimmie too?” she asked. “Then you’re both in it!”

“We’re both in what?”

The door opened and Germaine Tompkins stood in the entrance.

Virginia Rutherford looked trapped and she instinctively pulled her mink back over her shoulders.

“Nothing, Jimmie,” she said at last. “I was foolish enough to hope that if I came back and had a talk alone with Winnie, we could pick up where we left off. He’s been acting so strangely that he doesn’t seem like himself at all. And so are you. That’s what I meant by saying that you were both in it.”

“Virginia,” my wife said firmly, “my husband told you to stay out of this house--and it’s my home, too--and now I find you here. Please go or I’ll call the police.”

The two women exchanged appraising glances which suggested that they were both thoroughly enjoying the touch of melodrama that had come into their well-fed lives.

“No, it’s my fault for letting her in,” I said. “She sent in word by Mary--”