Chapter 14

"You know," said Garnett, "you were right. I think I've seen more liquor consumption and more sexing in the last half hour than I see in a year outside."

He and Clara were seated in a relatively secluded comer of the terrace, from which could be seen a good portion of the front lawn and most of the terrace itself. As he spoke, he let his eyes wander over the never-changing, constantly varying scene.

Little had changed since the time of Clara's arrival two days previous. The woman whose name was Legion was still consuming much whiskey and little water from glasses with sprigs of mint on the rim. The poet, with his black sheaf of poems, was still on the lawn-although the tall, overly made up woman had vanished and in her place stood a small, mousy girl with rimless glasses and buck teeth; she was much too flat-chested to grasp by the breast, so the poet was contenting himself by clutching one of her hands to his own breast while declaiming: "I would love to run barefoot through your hair."

And, while some of those who had been part of the scene two days before had vanished, they had been replaced by others whose activities were strikingly similar to those of their predecessors. In a chair not too far from Clara and Garnett, where two coed athletes had once worked out, now sat another coed couple, a strikingly handsome one. He was blonde, with aquiline features and a lithe body clad in stylishly expensive sportswear. She was as lovely as he was handsome. She had close-cropped black hair, long silky eyelashes and a tip-tilted nose. She was also dressed expensively and well, and wore enough make-up to enhance her charming features but not so much as to be brassy. They shared the armchair comfortably, holding hands and talking avidly. Garnett watched them with a wry smile, until Clara said: "They do seem out of place, don't they?"

"Out of place?"

"Yes. That couple you're looking at. Just sitting and holding hands. They're obviously in love with each other. I mean-they're so normal."

Garnett started to laugh. He laughed until his face turned red and his eyes filled with tears.

Clara looked puzzled. "What's so funny? Are you laughing because to be normal here is abnormal? Is that why?"

Garnett sputtered into laughter again, but this time managed to control himself. "Poor little Clara," he said. "Look closely at your normal' couple. See the one with the black hair?"

'Yes. Isn't she beautiful?"

Garnett guffawed. "Beautiful, yes; a she, no."

"What?"

"My pet, she is a he. Under those chic trousers, there beats a fourteen karat male."

"I don't believe you! How do you know."

"You develop an eye for these things after a while.

But never mind. I'm more interested in meeting some of your new friends. like this brother-in-law of Blanca's, for instance."

"Webster," said Clara. "I don't know where he is. But he'll probably turn up sooner or later. As soon as he finds out that I'm back he'll no doubt come looking for me. Unless he's found some other poor innocent to torment."

"And your Mrs. Burton. Do we have to wait for her to find you, too?"

Clara laughed. "No. She's around. I saw her for a few minutes while you were with Mrs. Mason. Which reminds me, where did you go with her for a whole hour?"

"That sounds as though I'm the person who's being investigated." He smiled. "She took me for a walk around the grounds."

"She didn't bother to take me for a guided tour. She didn't even tell my fortune."

"Perhaps your sex appeal isn't as potent as mine where she's concerned. Or perhaps," he added maliciously, "she felt you were more Alice Burton's type."

"That's not funny."

"It wasn't meant to be."

"Oh, Conrad, stop stalling and tell me what you found out."

"I didn't learn anything new. Blanca Mason talks very well, but she's a careful woman. She said absolutely nothing of any significance that I could communicate to you-but then the significance might be more apparent if the association were more easily comprehended."

"Oh, stop teasing me with all that legalistic double talk. She didn't tell you a thing of interest and you know it. You're just trying to pretend she said some things that only you, with your great mind, can comprehend, because you want to avoid telling me that you spent a whole hour doing nothing but fhrting with her."

Garnett laughed condescendingly. "Please, Clara, give me time. After all, I've only been Hawkshaw Douglas, Secret Operative Six-and-Seven-Eighths, for five hours and-" he consulted his watch "-thirty-five seconds."

"But we must do something!" said Clara impatiently. Every hour Rita is gone...."

"Is one more hour that she's enjoying herself, I imagine."

"You're heartless. My poor sister has been debauched, corrupted, perverted and...."

"You're being redundant, my dear."

"...lord only knows what else, and you sit here saying she's probably enjoying herself. No one enjoys those things. She was probably forced to write that diary, that's what I think."

Garnett's amused, slightly ironic expression showed what he thought of her idea, but he remained silent as she babbled on.

"...So we've got to find her, and soon. Before something even more terrible happens to her."

"In that case," Garnett smiled, "shall we take up our sleuthing again? Wander around and listen to a few more conversations?"

"All right, but I'll need my cardigan. It's starting to get chilly. I'll just run upstairs and get it. I won't be a minute."

"I'll go with you. Perhaps the vanished Mr. Webster is hiding under your bed, sniffing your chamber pots."

Clara glared at him. "There are no chamber pots here," she said as she rose and led the way back into the house.

"I like your view better than mine," Garnett said, gazing out the window overlooking the lawn. "The sun shines through the girls' dresses better on this side of the house than it does on my side."

"But the sun went down over an hour ago," objected Clara.

Garnett laughed. "You're not missing any tricks today. But I think Blanca gives the girls the rooms with the best views because the men spend most of their time in the girls' rooms anyway."

Clara slipped the cardigan over her shoulders. "Hmmph! The girls here aren't the kind that wait for men to come to them! Well come on, I'm ready to go back downstairs now." She turned to leave, as Garnett stood watching her with an expression of surprised admiration on his face.

"No," he said, more to himself than to the girl, "you're not missing any tricks today."

He followed Clara out of the room and down the hall past a man in traveling clothes and carrying a small Gladstone, who had just come out of a room on their left. "Checking out," Garnett murmured. "Grand Hotel-but don't bother to leave your keys at the desk. Here, let's see if I'm right about the rooming system. We'll look in his room, and five will get you ten that it looks out on the kitchen yard."

He touched Clara's arms and they walked down the hall toward the room. He had just put his hand on the door knob when suddenly he paused and stiffened. "That-was peculiar," he said. "Did you see it?"

"No. What?"

"A girl came out of the corner room looking as though she'd just kept an appointment with God. Then the door was shut behind her very quickly."

"Don't be blasphemous," chided Clara. "It was probably just a.. . "

"Hell's bells, girl! I see something I think might be important, and all you can say is 'Don't be blasphemous? For all you know, your sister could be locked in that room! And-look!"

A woman in her thirties now approached the door from the opposite direction. She was partially obscured by a turn in the hallway. She knocked, and, after a slight delay, she was admitted.

That was rather odd," said Clara. 'But ... do do you really think Rita's in there?"

"I didn't say I thought Rita was in there. I don't think she is. I said that she could be there. We can't ignore even the most improbable or seemingly unimportant leads."

Clara smiled apologetically. "You're right, Conrad. I'm sorry I mistrusted you. It's just that sometimes you don't seem to take this investigation very seriously, so I didn't realize how concerned you are."

He patted her shoulder. "That's all right, kid. I know you're under a lot of tension." He paused. "But, I really am curious about that room. Why don't we sit on this chest here for a while and wait and see what happens?"

Time passed slowly. Garnett was growing bored looking at the tapestries and banners on the slightly yellowing walls and listening to Clara's ceaseless chatter. Then, suddenly, she said: "Listen! Do you hear something? A sort of scuffling?"

He cocked his head toward the door. "I think so-and a woman's voice. Can you hear anything she's saying?"

At his point, footsteps began tap-tapping down the hallway, growing louder as they progressed. Garnett grabbed Clara, and they embraced passionately. Burying his lips in her neck, he whispered: "Don't look up. Let her think we're just lovers."

The footsteps passed without slowing down and continued down the hall. Then they stopped, and someone rapped on a door. Garnett released Clara and looked up just as a titian-haired girl disappeared into the room which he and Clara were keeping under observation.

"You still think there's nothing weird about it?" asked Garnett.

"No. I agree with you. Something extraordinary is going on. There's that noise again. Hear it?"

"Yeah, I hear it. You know, whoever's in there is running the place like a speakeasy-but rather indiscriminately, wouldn't you say?"

"Maybe-maybe they're drug addicts!" exclaimed Clara. "And that's where they go to take their drugs!"

"Perhaps," grimaced Garnett. "But, just offhand, I'd say that in this place it's probably considered quite au fait to smoke your opium in the drawing room. Besides, that would hardly explain the scuffling."

"I bet I could find out what it is!" Clara exclaimed suddenly.

"Yes? How?"

"Come on. You'll see." She tugged at his hand until he rose with a shrug of his shoulders and followed her back down the hall to her own room. She opened the door, pushed him down in die most comfortable chair, handed him a copy of the New Yorker and said: "Don't go away. Lady Sherlock shall return." Then she bounded toward the door.

"It might be dangerous," warned Garnett as she reached the threshold.

"Don't worry," she flashed him a smile. "Us detectives can take care of ourselves."

Then she was gone. Carnett glanced at his watch, then settled down comfortably to read the New Yorker and wait.