Part 5 (1/2)
As for Selbert, he was drawing a police revolver, indicating that he meant to settle with a murderer and consider the evidence later. The police captain came up from the desk, faster than Ferrand could follow him with the shot-gun.
Shaking only a trifle of his complacence, Cranston intervened by blocking Selbert's aim and gesturing the revolver aside. Before Jim could start an angry protest, he saw Cranston's reason. Already two friends had followed through thedoorway after Ferrand and were tugging his shot-gun upward.
One was Rolfe Trenhue, the other Joan Marcy. Trenhue had been at the previous hearing and had evidently met Joan afterward to bring her here. Their arrival in Ferrand's wake was therefore quite timely.
Ferrand could have flung off a pair of men like Trenhue, for the latter, though wiry, was mild of brawn compared to the big boy of the bayous. However, Joan was supplying more than the needed share because Ferrand was reluctant to become too rough with her. The net result was a clatter of the shot-gun and Ferrand, sullen rather than enraged, was letting his arms stay gripped as he still glared at Selbert.
With a nod of thanks to Cranston and the others, Selbert put his revolver away. Then: ”All right, Ferrand,” said Selbert. ”Tell your story. I'll listen.”
”I don't have a story,” gruffed Ferrand. ”I just didn't get back to town for Mardi Gras, that's all.”
”Why not? Your friends were expecting you, weren't they?”
”I tried to reach them,” returned Ferrand. ”Only they were all out when I phoned.”
”Where did you phone from?”
Ferrand hesitated at answering the question, and finally said: ”From a place down near Yscloskey.”
”Not very far away,” commented Selbert. ”Less than fifteen miles, Yscloskey.”
Ferrand let that estimate ride.
”What were you hunting, Ferrand?”
About to reply, Ferrand decided on silence.
”Let's keep it to New Orleans then,” decided Selbert. ”Our records show”
Jim was referring to a little book - ”that you ordered a special costume with a Mask of Mephisto, from Moubillard's Costume Shop.”
”Suppose I did?” queried Ferrand. ”I wasn't here to wear it. Besides, why couldn't somebody else have gotten a costume and played the Devil?”
”Because you were the only person who could have known about the Louisiana Lottery money. Chardelle would have told you.”
”Only Chardelle didn't. Why should he?”
”Because you had full say in the affairs of the Krewe of Hades.”
”As long as I reigned as King Satan, yes,” conceded Ferrand, ”but when I wasn't around - and I wasn't - the Scribe had charge. So it was up to Tourville.”
Shaking his head, Selbert brought a scroll from the desk drawer and unrolled it.
”Evidently you don't know your own by-laws,” Selbert told Ferrand. ”It says here that in the absence of King Satan, or during his inability to rule, the majority vote of the other officers shall be needed to appoint a subst.i.tute or successor.”
By the other officers, Selbert specifically meant Tourville, Aldion, and the defunct Chardelle, who as Scribe, Seneschal and Messenger were recognized officials of the Krewe. Not having Chardelle's body handy to confront Ferrand with it, Selbert did the next best thing.
The police captain pressed a buzzer; a door opened and both Tourville and Aldion were ushered in from another room where they had been kept in temporary custody. But if Selbert expected this surprise to produce results, he was guessing very badly. Tourville and Aldion nodded amiably but warily to Ferrand who returned the greeting in his usual abrupt style, then turned to Selbert and demanded: ”What do they have to say?” ”Only that they knew nothing about Chardelle's deal with the Lottery,”
returned Selbert. He paused, to add casually: ”I'm rather inclined to believe them.”
”Then why not believe me?”
”Because Tourville and Aldion were accounted for at the time of Chardelle's death,” declared Selbert. He tapped a diagram with his pencil.
”Tourville was here beside the orchestra platform and Aldion was at the outer door.”
Ferrand stared at a big letter ”M” which marked the beginning of a curved line that trickled into a row of dots.
”I suppose the 'M' stands for Mephisto and is supposed to mean me.”
”It might,” said Selbert drily, ”and we'd know for sure if you traced the rest of the line for us. We're sure you must have gone as far as the third floor, but where you went after that, we don't know.”
”Suppose I couldn't tell you?”
”Do you mean couldn't or wouldn't, Ferrand?”
”Both,” retorted Ferrand, ”since you want to be obstinate about it. You seem to think that I was lurking upstairs in the Mephisto costume, that I came down, shot Chardelle, fled upstairs again, jumped on a saddle-pigeon and flew back to Bayou Yscloskey.”
Ignoring Ferrand's humor, Selbert studied the diagram.
”You couldn't have dropped to the front alley,” Selbert decided, ”but you might have doubled around through there after coming down from a side roof.
There's a pa.s.sage around Hoodoo House, leading through a gate into the alley.
Doubling back seems to be your specialty, Ferrand.
”You doubled back through Moubillard's shop” - Selbert's eyes lifted and fixed steadily on Ferrand - ”although you could have taken a side alley to another street. There's a gate alongside of Moubillard's too. Maybe you're forming bad habits, Ferrand.”
Of the many eyes that were on Ferrand, the steadiest were Cranston's. He wanted to get the bearded man's reactions and with good reason. Cranston knew that Selbert was playing a wrong hunch in talking about doubling back. That trail at Moubillard's hadn't been reversed by the man who murdered the old costumer.
Whatever Ferrand knew, he didn't betray it. Instead, he seemed inclined to keep Selbert guessing and did so. There were other eyes that gazed questioningly at Ferrand, a violet pair belonging to Joan Marcy. Then, rather than stare too long, the girl let her gaze drift, and she noted how closely Cranston was watching Ferrand.
Joan's chance observation stirred a curious recollection that was to produce immediate results.
”Don't tell us you couldn't have gone to Moubillard's,” Selbert was saying to Ferrand. ”You were seen at the Borneau Mansion earlier and we checked the time. It gave you just the right number of minutes to get over to the costume shop -”
”I was seen at the Borneau Mansion?” interrupted Ferrand. ”Why, I wasn't within miles of the place. Who says they saw me there?”
”Miss Marcy, for one.”
Ferrand wheeled so savagely toward Joan that she stepped back quickly past Trenhue's protecting arm. Before Ferrand could question Joan, Selbert did it for him.
”Tell us, Miss Marcy,” said Selbert. ”Didn't you see somebody in a Mephisto Mask at the Mansion?”
”Why, yes,” admitted Joan. ”Only -”