Murder in the Gilded Cage
angrily. He strode up to Mrs. Breese and muttered: “I’d like to see you
alone, if you don’t mind.”
Mrs. Breese stared coolly at him. “Anything you have to say to me,
Gordon, can be said in front of Guy,” she said.
“Well then, I’ll say it. What’s this nonsense about a marriage? I’ve
just been talking to Henry. Are you mad?”
Mrs. Breese drew back proudly.
“I wish you wouldn’t take that tone. If you want an answer to your
question, I’m not mad.”
“You’ll have to prove it to me,” Rice snapped. “You realize you’re
fifty-one years old. This--this fellow”--such utter contempt I had
rarely heard---“is young enough to be your son. He’s marrying you for
your money. That’s as plain as day. You go through with this, and
you’ll be the laughing-stock of everybody. You won’t have a friend in
the world.”
Mr. Thomas flushed, and murmured: “I say, I say!” much in the character
of the aristocratic Englishman he had once portrayed on the road.
“I’m not talking to you!” Rice shut him off curtly.
“I will not have Guy insulted!” Mrs. Breese blazed, and then suddenly
she melted. “Oh, Gordon, I don’t understand you. I thought you were
really a friend--a true friend.”
“That’s what I’m trying to be,” said Rice, and his tones grew softer,
too. He swallowed uncomfortably. “You know I wish you all the happiness
in the world, Dora. I always have. But you don’t want to do this thing.
After all, there are the children----”
“I’ve already told the Countess,” Mrs. Breese protested. Mrs. Breese
always granted the patent of nobility to her daughter, who had divorced
an improvident Baltic nobleman. “And I’ve told Henry. Of course, Henry
was a little upset. He’s jealous, naturally. But he’ll get over it.
Henry is a dear boy.”
“I’ve just spoken to him,” said Rice, “and I don’t agree with you. You
know how he felt in college during the trial. He’s had to go through
a lot. You know how sensitive he is. He’s fond of his father, just
as fond as he is of you. But he was loyal to you. Now if you want to
have the newspapers barking again, as I suppose you do, that’s your
look-out. I just want to tell you that I’m against it, and I’ll do
everything in the world to stop you from throwing your life away.”
Mrs. Breese did not answer but turned to me. “Will you go right into
the radio room and wireless all the newspapers ... and I do wish you
had taken notes.”
“You send that story and you’ll be accountable to me,” Rice moved to
block my path.
“No use threatening me,” I protested. “I’m in Mrs. Breese’s employ and
I’ve got to follow orders.” She smiled triumphantly at him. “But I
don’t have to, if I resign. So, Mrs. Breese, if you don’t mind, I’ll
leave the boat in Havana. I quite agree with Mr. Rice. I don’t think I
can be of any further use to you.”
Mrs. Breese was looking daggers at me. I felt a glow of
self-righteousness. After all, I was not in the Guy Thomas class of
leeches. Then, just as I had started out of the room there came the
sound of excited voices, and to cap them, a shrill wailing scream that
startled us all. I leaped through the door and to the deck. Rice was
close behind me, and even Thomas moved more quickly than ever before.
An excited sailor was hurling a life belt into the water. I saw the
Countess clutching the rail, her face contorted with excitement and
horror.
“What’s happened?” I asked the first sailor I could stop. But I needed
no answer.
As my eyes explored the water, I could discern the slim figure of Henry
Breese engulfed in a white-capped wave. He was floating. As the life
lines were thrown at him, he made no move to catch at them.
Someone shouted. Someone screamed.
But the figure in the water remained still. For a moment I thought it
was the figure of a man already dead. Then I realized sickeningly that
he was poising himself with steely resolve for his next and final move.
I had never before seen such a deliberate, calm attempt at suicide.
Slowly the hands rose out of the water. Slowly the torso moved forward,
circling, and then in a flash the figure had dived from view.
I heard Mrs. Breese sob back of me, and as I turned helplessly, her
face was not pleasant to see. Her daughter swung at her and her eyes
were red with fury.
Then before I was quite aware of it, someone brushed me out of the way.
Suddenly I realized that the florid and portly Rice was now in the
water and swimming with long even strokes to the spot where I had last
seen the boy. I saw Rice dive. I saw him reappear without his burden. I
saw him dive again. And then quite close to him the figure of the boy
rose to the murky blue surface.
But the boy again vanished. Then Rice, too, disappeared, but this time
when he emerged one arm held securely a kicking figure. I saw Rice bend
over and deliberately punch the boy until his body was still. Then I
remember the sailors dragging the two upon the deck. Mrs. Breese fell
sobbing upon her son.
CHAPTER III
THE ACTOR ACTS
A definite change was apparent in the very feel of that yacht after
the events of the morning. Henry Breese had been helped to the cabin
by Rice and his mother. I waited for them to reappear but when the
scowling Japanese announced lunch, there was no sign of them, nor of
my other fellow-passengers. I deliberately wandered through the decks,
the music-room, even the corridors, hoping that I would meet someone
who could shed light on the boy’s crazy adventure. I even tried to pump
the crew. But each man fell unaccountably silent, and I could see that
orders had been given to stem gossip.
At lunch only Guy Thomas appeared, and he was morose and sullen.
The steward plied us with the choicest foods, from caviar and hors
d’oeuvres and fresh turtle soup to an over-rich dessert, and he ate
steadily on, without a word. I realized that this lunch was designed
to celebrate his engagement, and I felt very much of a vulture as I
glanced at the empty chairs.
Finally, because I could not stand the silence any longer, I said to
Thomas: “Perhaps this isn’t the pleasantest subject of the moment, but
have you any idea of what happened this morning?”
He was just about to light a cigarette, but held his lighter suspended.
His eyes set obstinately. “I’ve got an idea, all right,” he muttered.
Then he peered at me suspiciously, as if debating whether he could
trust me or not. “I’ve got more than an idea!”
The verdict seemed favorable.
“Rice put him up to that.”
“Put him up to what?” I asked puzzled.
“That suicide rot. They framed it between them!”
“Do you mean to say that the boy deliberately jumped in and waited for
Rice to drag him out? But why?”
“Why?” He looked at me pityingly. “To scare Dora, that’s why! But they
can’t fool me. They couldn’t talk her out of it, so they wanted to
scare her out of it.”
“What proof have you got?” I demanded.
“Proof? I don’t need any proof.” And then sullenly, “They may be
getting more than they’re bargaining for. I’m not going to stand for
anything like that, hang it all! They won’t get rid of me that way.” He
peered at me suspiciously. “You can go back and tell them that. You’re
on their side.”
I protested that I was not on any side, but he rose from the table
and left me. Puzzled more than ever, I threw away my cigar and then
descended to my cabin. After a while I dismissed the events of the
morning and pondered upon my own anomalous situation. Having aligned
myself against my employer, I must now swim, walk or work my way back
to New York. My prospects did not seem bright once we landed in Havana.
There was a knock at the door, and at my invitation Rice entered. He
had changed into a blue business suit, and his made-to-order face
showed no trace of his exciting morning.
“Thought I’d come in and talk to you,” he began, seating himself on the
edge of the cot. “Mrs. Breese is busy at the moment and she delegated
me to tell you that she wouldn’t need your services after we got to
Havana.”
I nodded.
“I’ve got some money here, for salary and your expenses back. I’m
sorry the way things have happened. I don’t suppose it’s particularly
pleasant for you, but it hasn’t been particularly pleasant for us,
either. Now there’s one thing I wanted to ask you----” He paused
deliberately. “Not a word about what’s happened this morning. Will you
swear to that?”
I looked at Rice and then was seized by an audacious thought. Curiosity
has led me into many difficulties.
“I’ll do no such thing,” I said flatly. “I’m not bound by any
confidence. When I leave this boat, I’ll be at liberty to say anything
I please.”
Rice’s blue eyes became agate. “Oh--so?” he considered.
“Yes,” I said coolly. “I resigned as Mrs. Breese’s press-agent before
her son threw himself overboard, or at least tried to.” I sought to
make my voice mocking. “I wonder if he really tried to.”
I saw Rice start.
“What in damnation do you mean by that?”
“Well,” I hazarded, “I have reason to believe that you and he
have--well, shall I call it an understanding?--Yes, I’ll call it an
understanding.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Rice snapped, but his tone
lacked conviction. I sensed that Guy Thomas’ seemingly wild suspicions
had some basis in fact. I pursued my advantage.
“Of course,” I said, “if I were taken into your confidence, I wouldn’t
dream of violating it by telling any tales out of school. But since you
choose to distrust me, I am at liberty to act as I see fit.”
Slowly a grin spread over Rice’s florid features, and his blue eyes
twinkled. He waved a hand, as if in defeat.
“Well, all right,” he gestured. “I suppose I should have told you in
the first place. But mind you, this is in the strictest confidence.
I’ve got your word of honor you won’t repeat a word?”
I indicated that he had.
“After all,” he continued, “you acted square enough about quitting
your job rather than letting poor Dora go ahead with it. It’s only due
you that I tell you the truth. You see, we were right up against it.
Dora’s the finest woman in the world, and I’m proud to know her. But
every now and then she gets obstinate. And just because her kids don’t
like Thomas, and I don’t like him, and you don’t like him, she gets
it into her head that there’s a conspiracy against the poor boy. She
thinks there’s something fine in him that nobody else can see. Well,
I knew what was coming. When she sprang the news, it was no news to
me, and it was no news to Henry. So we decided on that cheap trick.
Oh, I know it was cheap. But that’s the sort of thing that makes an
impression on Dora, if you know what I mean.
“She should have been an actress. She likes to do the ordinary things
in a big, exciting way. And we figured--well, to be frank, I did,
because Henry didn’t want to scare his mother--fine boy, Henry--we
figured that if she could get the idea that she’s sacrificing her big
love for her children, she’d be more excited about that than marrying
this damn fool she’s toting around. And I was right.” There was a touch
of pride in his voice.
“She’s down with Henry now, and she can’t do enough for him.
So--there’s the whole story and I’m glad I told you, and I know from my
experience with the newspaper boys that it’s safe in your keeping.” He
rose. “Any questions?” He smiled disarmingly and his eyes which could
be agate were merry and frank. I shook my head. “Glad I told you,” he
said in parting. “You newspaper fellows find out everything if you’re
told or not. Hanged if I see how you do it!”
I could not tell him that all credit was due Mr. Thomas, and not me.
Then I realized in surprise that the actor was perhaps not quite as
vacuous as I imagined. Or perhaps he was super-sensitive to events that
concerned his own welfare.
No one appeared at dinner save myself, and I dined in solitary state.