Murder at Bridge | Page 9

story next claimed his attention. Opening it, he discovered a
beautifully fitted guests' lavatory. There was even a fully appointed
dressing-table for women's use, so that none of her guests had had the
slightest excuse to invade the privacy of Mrs. Selim's bedroom and bath,
unless specifically invited to do so. Rather a well planned house, this,
Dundee concluded, as he closed the door upon the green porcelain
fixtures, and walked slowly toward the wide archway that led from the
hall into a large living room.
He had a curious reluctance to intrude upon that assembled and guarded
company of Hamilton's "real society." They were all Penny's friends,
and Penny was his friend....
But his first swift, all-seeing glance about the room reassured him. No
hysterics here. These people brought race and breeding even into the
presence of death. Whatever emotions had torn them when Nita Selim's
body was discovered were almost unguessable now. A stout, short
woman of about thirty was tapping a foot nervously, as she talked to
the man who was bending over her chair. John C. Drake, that was.

Dundee had met him, knew him to be a vice president of the Hamilton
National Bank, in charge of the trust department. Penelope Crain was
occupying half of a "love-seat" with Lois Dunlap, the hands of the girl
and of the woman clinging together for mutual comfort. That tall, thin,
oldish man, with the waxed grey mustache, must be Judge Hugo
Marshall, and the pretty girl leaning trustingly against his shoulder
must be his wife--Karen Marshall, who had jumped at her first proposal
during her first season.
"Yes, well-bred people," he concluded, as his eyes swept on, and then
stopped, a little bewildered. Who was that man? He didn't belong
somehow, and his hands trembled visibly as he tried to light a cigarette.
Leaning--not nonchalantly, but actually for support--against the
brocaded coral silk drapes of a pair of wide, long windows set in the
east wall. Suddenly Dundee had it.... Broadway! This was no
Hamiltonian, no comfortably rich and socially secure Middle-westerner.
Broadway in every line of his too-well-tailored clothes, in the polished
smoothness of his dark hair....
"Why, it's Mr. Dundee at last!" Penny cried, turning in the S-shaped
seat before he had time to finish his mental inventory of the room's
occupants.
She jumped to her feet and threaded a swift way over Oriental rugs and
between the two bridge tables, still occupying the center of the big
room, still cluttered with score pads, tally cards, and playing cards.
"I've been wondering if you had stopped to have dinner first," she
taunted him. Then, laying a hand on his arm, she faced the living room
eagerly. "This is Mr. Dundee, folks--special investigator attached to the
district attorney's office, and a grand detective. He solved the Hogarth
murder case, you know, and the Hillcrest murder. And he's my friend,
so I want you all to trust him--and tell him things without being afraid
of him."
Then, rather ceremoniously but swiftly, she presented her
friends--Judge and Mrs. Hugo Marshall, Mr. and Mrs. Tracey Miles,
Mr. and Mrs. John C. Drake, Mrs. Dunlap, Janet Raymond, Polly Beale,

Clive Hammond, and--
At that point Penny hesitated, then rather stiffly included the
"Broadway" man, as "Mr. Dexter Sprague--of New York."
"Thank you, Miss Crain," Dundee said. "Now will you please tell me, if
you know, whether all those invited to both the bridge party and the
cocktail party are here?"
Penny's face flamed. "Ralph Hammond, Clive's brother, hasn't come
yet.... I--I rather imagine I've been 'stood up,'" she confessed, with a
faint attempt at gayety.
And Ralph Hammond was the man who had once belonged rather
exclusively to Penny, and who, according to her own confession, had
succumbed most completely to Nita Selim's charms!--Dundee noted,
filing the reflection for further reference.
"Please, Mr. Dundee, won't you detain us as short a time as possible?"
Lois Dunlap asked, as she advanced toward him. "Mr. Dunlap is away
on a fishing trip, and I don't like to leave my three youngsters too long.
They are really too much of a handful for the governess, over a period
of hours."
"I shall detain all of you no longer than is absolutely necessary,"
Dundee told her gently, "but I am afraid I must warn you that I can't let
you go home very soon--unless one or more of you has something of
vital importance to tell--something which will clear up or materially
help to clear up this bad business."
He paused a long half-minute, then asked curtly: "I am to conclude that
no one has anything at all to volunteer?"
There was no answer, other than a barely perceptible drawing together
in self-defence of the minds and hearts of those who had been friends
for so