mother?”
“I don’t know. I looked in the box, but it was empty.”
“Why didn’t you ask her?”
“She’s a difficult woman to deal with. And more important things kept coming up.”
Chalmers bit his mustache in chagrin. “Such as?”
“I learned that she hired Sidney Harrow to come to Pacific Point. Apparently they were searching for her father.”
Chalmers gave me a puzzled look which wandered across the garden and over the wall to the sky. “What has all this got to do with us?”
“It isn’t clear, I’m afraid. I have a suggestion, subject to John Truttwell’s approval. And yours, of course. It might be a good idea to turn the gun over to the police and let them make ballistics tests.”
“You mean give up without a fight?”
“Let’s take this a step at a time, Mr. Chalmers. If it turns out that Nick’s gun didn’t kill Harrow, his confession is probablyfantasy. If it did kill Harrow, we can decide then what to do next.”
“We’ll take it up with John Truttwell. I don’t seem to be thinking too clearly.” Chalmers put his fingers to his forehead.
“It still wouldn’t be hopeless,” I said, “even if Nick did kill him. I believe there may have been mitigating circumstances.”
“How so?”
“Harrow had been throwing his weight around. He threatened Nick with a gun, possibly the same gun. This happened in front of your house the other night, when the box was stolen.”
Chalmers gave me a doubtful look. “I don’t see how you can possibly know that.”
“I have an eyewitness.” But I didn’t name her.
“Do you have the gun with you?”
“It’s in the trunk of my car. I’ll show it to you.”
We went through a screened lanai into the house and down a corridor to the reception hall. Nick and his mother and Betty were sitting in a stiff little group on a sofa in the living room, like people at a party that had died some time ago. Nick had put on his dark glasses again, like a black bandage over his eyes.
Chalmers went into the living room and stood in front of him looking down as if from a great height. “Is it true that you shot a man?”
Nick nodded dully. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to come home. I meant to kill myself.”
“That’s cowardly talk,” Chalmers said. “You’ve got to act like a man.”
“Yes, Dad,” he said without hope.
“We’ll do everything we can for you. Don’t despair. Promise me that, Nick.”
“I promise, Dad. I’m sorry.”
Chalmers turned with a kind of military abruptness and came back to me. His face was stoical. Both he and Nick must have been aware that no real communication had taken place.
We went out the front door. On the sidewalk Chalmers looked down at his gardening clothes self-consciously.
“I hate to appear like this in public,” he said, as if the neighbors might be watching him.
I opened the trunk of my car and showed him the revolver without removing it from the evidence case. “Have you ever seen it before?”
“No. As a matter of fact Nick never owned a gun. He’s always detested the whole business of guns.”
“Why?”
“I suppose he got it by osmosis from me. My father taught me to hunt when I was a boy. But the war destroyed my pleasure in hunting.”
“I hear you had quite a lot of war experience.”
“Who told you that?”
“John Truttwell.”
“I wish John would keep his own counsel. And mine. I prefer not to talk about my part in the war.” He looked down at the revolver with a kind of sad contempt, as if it symbolized all the forms of violence. “Do you really think we should entrust this gun to John?”
“What do you suggest?”
“I know what I’d
like
to do. Bury it ten feet deep and forget about it.”
“We’d only have to dig it up again.”
“I suppose you’re right,” he said.
Truttwell’s Cadillac came into view, far down Pacific Street. He parked it in front of his own house and came across the street at a half-trot. He absorbed the bad newsabout
“I don’t know. I looked in the box, but it was empty.”
“Why didn’t you ask her?”
“She’s a difficult woman to deal with. And more important things kept coming up.”
Chalmers bit his mustache in chagrin. “Such as?”
“I learned that she hired Sidney Harrow to come to Pacific Point. Apparently they were searching for her father.”
Chalmers gave me a puzzled look which wandered across the garden and over the wall to the sky. “What has all this got to do with us?”
“It isn’t clear, I’m afraid. I have a suggestion, subject to John Truttwell’s approval. And yours, of course. It might be a good idea to turn the gun over to the police and let them make ballistics tests.”
“You mean give up without a fight?”
“Let’s take this a step at a time, Mr. Chalmers. If it turns out that Nick’s gun didn’t kill Harrow, his confession is probablyfantasy. If it did kill Harrow, we can decide then what to do next.”
“We’ll take it up with John Truttwell. I don’t seem to be thinking too clearly.” Chalmers put his fingers to his forehead.
“It still wouldn’t be hopeless,” I said, “even if Nick did kill him. I believe there may have been mitigating circumstances.”
“How so?”
“Harrow had been throwing his weight around. He threatened Nick with a gun, possibly the same gun. This happened in front of your house the other night, when the box was stolen.”
Chalmers gave me a doubtful look. “I don’t see how you can possibly know that.”
“I have an eyewitness.” But I didn’t name her.
“Do you have the gun with you?”
“It’s in the trunk of my car. I’ll show it to you.”
We went through a screened lanai into the house and down a corridor to the reception hall. Nick and his mother and Betty were sitting in a stiff little group on a sofa in the living room, like people at a party that had died some time ago. Nick had put on his dark glasses again, like a black bandage over his eyes.
Chalmers went into the living room and stood in front of him looking down as if from a great height. “Is it true that you shot a man?”
Nick nodded dully. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to come home. I meant to kill myself.”
“That’s cowardly talk,” Chalmers said. “You’ve got to act like a man.”
“Yes, Dad,” he said without hope.
“We’ll do everything we can for you. Don’t despair. Promise me that, Nick.”
“I promise, Dad. I’m sorry.”
Chalmers turned with a kind of military abruptness and came back to me. His face was stoical. Both he and Nick must have been aware that no real communication had taken place.
We went out the front door. On the sidewalk Chalmers looked down at his gardening clothes self-consciously.
“I hate to appear like this in public,” he said, as if the neighbors might be watching him.
I opened the trunk of my car and showed him the revolver without removing it from the evidence case. “Have you ever seen it before?”
“No. As a matter of fact Nick never owned a gun. He’s always detested the whole business of guns.”
“Why?”
“I suppose he got it by osmosis from me. My father taught me to hunt when I was a boy. But the war destroyed my pleasure in hunting.”
“I hear you had quite a lot of war experience.”
“Who told you that?”
“John Truttwell.”
“I wish John would keep his own counsel. And mine. I prefer not to talk about my part in the war.” He looked down at the revolver with a kind of sad contempt, as if it symbolized all the forms of violence. “Do you really think we should entrust this gun to John?”
“What do you suggest?”
“I know what I’d
like
to do. Bury it ten feet deep and forget about it.”
“We’d only have to dig it up again.”
“I suppose you’re right,” he said.
Truttwell’s Cadillac came into view, far down Pacific Street. He parked it in front of his own house and came across the street at a half-trot. He absorbed the bad newsabout
Similar Books
