The Scarlatti Inheritance(81)
She had been right! The concept had been right! Always trace the practical. The money.
“Bank letters?”
“The bank letters Cartwright gave you.”
“You killed him! You knew about our agreement?”
“Come, Mother. A Southern ass is made vice-president of Waterman Trust! Actually given responsibility. We followed him for three days. We have your agreement. At least his copies. Let’s not fool each other. The letters, please.”
The old lady rose from the chair and went into her bedroom. She returned and handed him the letters. He rapidly opened the envelopes and took them out. He spread them on the couch and counted them.
“Cartwright earned his money.”
He gathered them up and casually sat down on the sofa.
“I had no idea those letters were so important.”
“They’re not, really. Nothing could be accomplished with them. All the accounts have been closed and the money … dispersed to others, shall we say.”
“Then why were you so anxious to get them?” She remained standing.
“If they were submitted to the banks, they could start a lot of speculation. We don’t want a great deal of talk right now.”
The old woman searched her son’s confident eyes. He was detached, pleased with himself, almost relaxed.
“Who is ‘we’? What are you involved in?”
Again that grotesque smile from the crooked mouth underneath the unnatural nostrils. “You’ll know in good time. Not by name, of course, but you’ll know. You might even be proud but you’ll never admit it.” He looked at his wristwatch. “Down to business.”
“What else?”
“What happened on the Calpurnia? Don’t lie!” He riveted his eyes on the old woman’s and they did not waver.
Elizabeth strained the muscles in her abdomen to help her conceal any reaction to the question. She knew that the truth might be all she had left. “I don’t understand you.”
“You’re lying!”
“About what? I received a cablegram from a man named Boutier concerning Cartwright’s death.”
“Stop it!” He leaned forward. “You wouldn’t have gone to the trouble of throwing everyone off with that York Abbey story unless something happened. I want to know where he is.”
“Where who is? Cartwright?”
“I warn you!”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about!”
“A man disappeared on that ship! They say he fell overboard.”
“Oh, yes. I recall.… What has that to do with me?” Her look personified innocence.
Neither moved.
“You know nothing about the incident?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“What did you say, then?”
“There were rumors. Reliable sources.”
“What rumors?”
The old woman weighed several replies. She knew that her answer had to have the ring of authenticity without any obvious errors in character or behavior. On the other hand, whatever she said had to reflect the sketchy extremes of gossip.
“That the man was drunk and belligerent. There’d been a struggle in the lounge.… He had to be subdued and carried to his stateroom. He tried to return and fell over the rail. Did you know him?”
A cloud of detachment covered Scarlett’s answer. “No, he was no part of us.” He was dissatisfied but he did not dwell on it. For the first time in several minutes he looked away from her. He was deep in thought. Finally he spoke. “One last item. You started out to find your missing son …”
“I started out to find a thief!” she interrupted sharply.
“Have it your way. From another point of view I simply moved up the calendar.”
“That’s not true! You stole from Scarlatti. What was assigned to you was to be used in conjunction with the Scarlatti Industries!”
“We’re wasting time again.”
“I wanted the point cleared up.”
“The point is that you set out to find me and you succeeded. We agree on that fact?”
“Agreed.”
“Now I’m telling you to say nothing, do nothing, and return to New York. Furthermore, destroy any letters or instructions you may have left concerning me.”
“Those are impossible demands!”
“In that event my orders go out. The Scarlattis are dead! Go to your church and let them tell you how they’ve been washed in the blood of the lamb!”
Ulster Scarlett sprang up from the Victorian couch and before the old woman could adjust her eyes to his movement, he had reached the telephone. There wasn’t the slightest hesitation on his part. He picked up the telephone without looking at her and waited for the switchboard to answer.