Sinful Woman Page 10
“You think so?”
Mr. Layton, who had been completely forgotten these last few minutes, now stepped truculently forward. To the Sheriff he said: “So, with a signed confession from her on you, it’s the other sister. With a fifty-grand bribe on you, it’s just taking up a collection for t.b. patients. With Hazel Shoreham made the murderer of Victor Adlerkreutz, instead of the beneficiary, Sylvia Shoreham, the Southwest General of N. A. is hooked fifty thousand dollars of life insurance, hey? Not while I’m here, we’re not. Your honor, I’d like to present a witness. One that’ll tell who really killed Victor Adlerkreutz.”
As Ethel, motioned on by Mr. Layton, came diffidently forward, there were many exchanges of glances, and the Coroner said to the Sheriff: “There’s nothing I can do but hear her.”
“I should say not.”
The Coroner told Ethel to be seated, asked her to hold up her right hand, swore her in. He had Mr. Flynn take her name, uneasily asked Mr. Pease if he wanted to take over the examination. Mr. Pease said he was doing very well himself, and should continue. He told Ethel that since he had no idea what she knew, perhaps the best thing would be for her to tell her story in her own way, and she did so, with a breathless, beady-eyed earnestness that could no more be doubted than a train-announcer could be doubted.
She said she dealt a game of blackjack that morning to a foreign gentleman known to her as Vic, though she had no idea he was Sylvia Shoreham’s husband. Then, she said, Jake the bartender whispered to her Sylvia Shoreham was in the office. She was that excited, she said, that she couldn’t count her chips, and paid Vic $1 to which he was not entitled. Soon, she said, Jake came out and called Vic and Vic went in the office, but she had no chance to go look because as soon as she rang up her cash three gentlemen came in and one of them wanted to play with $1 chips. She pointed to Mr. La Bouche as the high-limit customer, and then went on: “He played and he played and he played, and he lost $50 and wanted to get it back and all the time I seen Tony trotting in with a champagne set-up and I knew something was going on and I almost went wild. Then the little man looked at his watch and said come on, and this gentleman cashed his chips and all three went in the office. Then I started to go in. I was going to make out like there was two chips missing and this gentleman should look and if he had them in his pocket I’d give him cash, and then while he was looking I was going to hand my lipstick to Miss Shoreham and ask her to autograph my apron. But then Tony, he seen what I was up to, and said beat it back to my table.”
“When was this?”
“Around ten-thirty.”
“Go on.”
“So then they drove off.”
“Who drove off?”
“First Vic, and then Miss Shoreham. And then Mr. Spiro, he played roulette while he was having his boots shined. Vic went in his car and Miss Shoreham went in Tony’s car. But then, it took about an hour, here she came back. She parked in front, but didn’t come in the casino. That meant she had gone in the office the side way. So then Vic’s car came back with the lights on and some girl was driving and she let Vic out and then turned the car around and waited. So Vic come in the casino and went over and said something to Mr. Spiro and Tony told him his ring was in the office and he went in there. I kept watching Tony till he went out back and I started for the office door.”
“When was this?”
“Some time after twelve.”
“Did you go in?”
“No, sir. I put my hand on the knob, but then I could hear her voice and something told me to stay out. I couldn’t hear what she was saying but it had a funny note in it. So the slot wasn’t quite shut, the door that closes it I mean, and I peeped. I could only see that corner where the desk is, but she was over there, carrying on and carrying on and carrying on. Then she stopped and began looking for matches to light a cigarette. She opened the middle drawer and tried to bang it shut and caught her dress. So then she did bang it shut. So then she opened the righthand drawer, where the guns are kept. I seen this look come over her face and then she took out a gun and raised it. Then Vic was between me and her and then he was up there beside her talking to her and she put the gun down—”
“Wait a minute, wait a minute.”
The Sheriff turned to Mr. Flynn: “Did Miss Shoreham, Miss Sylvia Shoreham, come into my office this morning?”
“She did, yes sir.”
“How was she dressed?”
“Gray slacks, blue sweater, red ribbon around her hair, red shoes. We was talking about them slacks after she left, me and Dobbs and Hirsch.”
To Ethel, the Sheriff said: “Describe the dress.”
“It was green, with small brass buttons.”
“It wasn’t slacks?”
“She didn’t have on slacks at all.”
To a young officer, the Sheriff said: “Enders.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You had charge of the Hazel Shoreham case?”
“That’s right, sir.”
“You saw the body removed from the car?”
“I lifted it out myself.”
“How was that girl dressed?”
“Light cream colored spring coat, brown shoes, light stockings, no hat, green dress with small brass buttons. The dress is in Mr. Daly’s car. In the valise we put in there for Miss Shoreham.”
There was a stir as two officers went outside, came back with the valise, and opened it. The effects that had been taken from the dead girl corresponded with the Enders description. Mr. Flynn opened an envelope, said to the Coroner: “Little snag of green silk we found jammed in that drawer.” The Coroner lifted the dress, found a little hole over the right hip from which the snag had been torn. He turned angrily to Ethel. “What’s the idea, coming up here at this hour at night, lying like that?”
“She’s not lying.”
Sylvia, over the protests of Mr. Daly, blotted tears from her eyes and said: “It all happened exactly as she says, and I’m sure she thought it was I she was looking at. My sister looked a great deal like me. She was often mistaken for me.”
“What was she carrying on about?”
It was some seconds before Sylvia answered, and then a hush fell over the crowd that wasn’t broken at once. She said: “She was insane.”
“ ... She killed your husband?”
“Yes. I didn’t actually see it. I had my back turned. But there can’t be any doubt about it. Then I decided I was going to say I did it, and I made her leave, so nobody would find her there.”
The tears were streaming down Sylvia’s face now, so it was some time before anybody remembered Ethel. Then the Coroner said: “Well—let’s let this girl finish. All right, she put the gun down.”
“She put it down, and Vic put it back. But then she picked it up again and put it in her mouth. I opened my mouth to scream, because I knew she was going to kill herself, but Vic grabbed the gun and got it out of her mouth and then it went off and—”
“What?”
The two voices, saying the same word, cut Ethel off, Sylvia’s voice vibrant with joy, Mr. Layton’s with utter consternation. Then Sylvia broke into a little sobbing laugh. “Thank God, thank God,—I might have known she never deliberately killed anybody. She was too sweet.” Then she ran over, put her arms around Ethel, and kissed her.
From the shadows, with a sic-Semper-Tyrranis clang-tint, came Dmitri’s voice: “Sylwia Shoreham is windicated! SYLWIA SHOREHAM IS WINDICATED!”
In a hotel bedroom, in the black hour before dawn, a phone was ringing. A woman dressed in mourning entered, answered, said: “Send him up.” Then she went into a dark sitting room, opened the door into the hall, and sat down before a fire that had burned down to red embers. Soon there was a tap and she said: “Come.” A tall man came in, closed the door, and stood uncertainly before her, near the fire. He said: “I didn’t want to wait till tomorrow before asking you about those bodies.”
“My husband was Dimmy’s friend. I think he’d prefer that Dimmy took over the funeral.
My sister—do I have to say at once?”
“Whatever you decide, if you’ll call my office there’ll be somebody there that’ll attend to everything without you being put to any trouble.”
“That is very thoughtful of you.”
“And I want to apologize.”
“We started the day with an apology.”
“For shooting past a big moment in your life, without knowing it was a big moment. That’s what you said. And that’s what I have to apologize for now, except that my big moment was a much bigger moment than yours was, and it was also a big chance, an opportunity, and I didn’t have sense enough to know it. If I had just had a little faith in you, I might have known that there was some explanation, that your sister was being mistaken for you in these hotels.”
“Even if I deliberately deceived you?”
“Yes. And—I come to say goodbye.”
He stood awkwardly a few moments, perhaps wondering if she would offer her hand. When she didn’t and when she made no reply, he turned, took one or two slow, heavy steps toward the door.
“Parker!”
He turned, and she said, “Come here.” When he was near to her she took both his hands in hers, pulled him down beside her on the little two-seater that faced the fire. “What are you talking about, goodbye? After the way you stood by me there at the hearing, and cleared me, and all the rest of it? And let me tell you something: If I ever found out that you had got those reports, and didn’t all but kill me, I’d never forgive you. Now: Did you blackjack any money for your hospital? Is that what you were doing out there all this time.”
“They all contributed a generous amount.”
“How much insurance do I get?”
“That was the funny part. After tearing in like a wolf, they were just as friendly as you could imagine when the jury came in with practically the same verdict, ‘in an accidental and unintentional manner,’ with nothing but the names changed. The chief claim adjuster, man by the name of Gans, said: ‘We’ll go the limit to hang it on you if you used loaded dice—we mean you play straight, because we do. But if you play straight, we’ll pay any just claim quick as any other gambler pays off, and with no more griping. We don’t have to gripe, or gyp. The percentage is working for us, and we’ve got to win.’ You’ll collect a hundred thousand in all.”
“Then I’ll give that, and fifty I have saved up, to the hospital. Altogether, now, how much does that make?”
“Little over quarter million.”
“That’s a start.”
“It assures the institution.”
“ ... About Hazel.”
“Just say, and I’ll attend to it.”
“I don’t know whether to keep her here, or send her back to California. You see, I’ll want her with me, and—”
“You staying here?”
“I might be getting married.”
He took her in his arms, held her close, looked at her gravely, almost reverently. Then he said: “I’m going in the army.”
“So am I.”
“Doing what?”
“Nursing I think.”
Presently he said: “Up to this minute, I been a little bit in love with Edith Cavell, as well as Sylvia Shoreham. Now I’m not. I’m all in love with you. Because listen: I want you to go in the army. I want you to be a nurse. But I don’t want you to wind up like Edith Cavell did. You hear what I’m telling you?”
“I’ll wind up as I wind up.”
“ ... That’s right.”
“When do you go in the army?”
“Twentieth of next month.”
“Then the day after that, I go. But—until then, can’t we be with each other? Can’t I be here with you?”
“The sun’s coming up.”
“So it is.”
“Come on, I want you to see your home.”
In the gray dawn, a car slowed down on a deserted road, and turned in at the stone posts that marked the entrance of a ranch. In it were a man and a woman, saying nothing, sitting very close.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook onscreen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
copyright © 1947 by James M. Cain
cover design by Mimi Bark
978-1-4532-9164-1
This 2013 edition distributed by MysteriousPress.com/Open Road Integrated Media
180 Varick Street
New York, NY 10014
www.mysteriouspress.com
www.openroadmedia.com
EBOOKS BY
JAMES M. CAIN
FROM MYSTERIOUSPRESS.COM
FROM OPEN ROAD MEDIA
Available wherever ebooks are sold
Otto Penzler, owner of the Mysterious Bookshop in Manhattan, founded the Mysterious Press in 1975. Penzler quickly became known for his outstanding selection of mystery, crime, and suspense books, both from his imprint and in his store. The imprint was devoted to printing the best books in these genres, using fine paper and top dust-jacket artists, as well as offering many limited, signed editions.
Now the Mysterious Press has gone digital, publishing ebooks through MysteriousPress.com.
MysteriousPress.com offers readers essential noir and suspense fiction, hard-boiled crime novels, and the latest thrillers from both debut authors and mystery masters. Discover classics and new voices, all from one legendary source.
FIND OUT MORE AT
WWW.MYSTERIOUSPRESS.COM
FOLLOW US:
@emysteries and Facebook.com/MysteriousPressCom
MysteriousPress.com is one of a select group of publishing partners of Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
Open Road Integrated Media is a digital publisher and multimedia content company. Open Road creates connections between authors and their audiences by marketing its ebooks through a new proprietary online platform, which uses premium video content and social media.
Videos, Archival Documents, and New Releases
Sign up for the Open Road Media newsletter and get news delivered straight to your inbox.
Sign up now at
www.openroadmedia.com/newsletters
FIND OUT MORE AT
WWW.OPENROADMEDIA.COM
FOLLOW US:
@openroadmedia and
Facebook.com/OpenRoadMedia