The Galton Case

Chapter 19

IN THE MORNING, after a session with my dentist, I opened up my office on Sunset Boulevard. The mailbox was stuffed with envelopes, mostly bills and circulars. There were two envelopes mailed from Santa Teresa in the past few days.

The first one I opened contained a check for a thousand dollars and a short letter from Gordon Sable typed on the letterhead of his firm. Sad as was the fact of Anthony Galton’s death, his client and he both felt that the over-all outcome was better than could have been hoped for. He hoped and trusted that I was back in harness, and none the worse for wear, and would I forward my medical bills as I received them.

The other letter was a carefully hand-written note from

It seemed to be pure gratitude undiluted by commercialism, until I reflected that he was taking credit for the check Sable had sent me. His letter stirred up the suspicions that had been latent in my mind since I’d talked to Sable in the hospital. Whatever John was, he was a bright boy and a fast worker. I wondered what he wanted from me.

After going through the rest of my mail, I called my answering-service. The girl at the switchboard expressed surprise that I was still in the land of the living, and told me that a Dr. Howell had been trying to reach me. I called the Santa Teresa number he’d left.

A girl’s voice answered: “Dr. Howell’s residence.”

“This is Lew Archer. Miss Howell?” The temporary crown I’d just acquired that morning pushed out against my upper lip, and made me lisp.

“Yes, Mr. Archer.”

“Your father has been trying to get in touch with me.”

“Oh. He’s just leaving for the hospital. I’ll see if I can catch him.”

After a pause, Howell’s precise voice came over the line: “I’m glad to hear from you, Archer. You may recall that we met briefly at Mrs. Galton’s house. I’d like to buy you a lunch.”

“Lunch will be fine. What time and place do you have in mind?”

“The time is up to you – the sooner the better. The Santa Teresa Country Club would be the most convenient place for me.”

“It’s a long way for me to come for lunch.”

“I had a little more than lunch in mind.” He lowered his voice as though he suspected eavesdroppers. “I’d like to engage your services, if you’re free.”

“To do what?”

“I’d much prefer to discuss that in person. Would today be possible for you?”

“Yes. I’ll be at the Country Club at one.”

“You can’t drive it in three hours, man.”

“I’ll take the noon plane.”

“Oh, fine.”

I heard the click as he hung up, and then a second click. Someone had been listening on an extension. I found out who it was when I got off the plane at Santa Teresa. A young girl with doe eyes and honey-colored hair was waiting for me at the barrier.

“Remember me? I’m Sheila Howell. I thought I’d pick you up.”

“That was a nice thought.”

“Not really. I have an ulterior motive.”

She smiled charmingly. I followed her through the sunlit terminal to her car. It was a convertible with the top down.

Sheila turned to me as she slid behind the wheel: “I might as well be frank about it. I overheard what was said, and I wanted to talk to you about John before Dad does. Dad is a well-meaning person, but he’s been a widower for ten years, and he has certain blind spots. He doesn’t understand the modern world.”

“But you do?”

She colored slightly, like a peach in the sun. “I understand it better than Dad does. I’ve studied social science at college, and people just don’t go around any more telling other people who to be interested in. That sort of thing is as dead as the proverbial dodo. Deader.” She nodded her small head, once, with emphasis.

“First-year social science?”

The color in her cheeks deepened. Her eyes were candid, the color of the sky. “How did you know? Anyway, I’m a sophomore now.” As if this made all the difference between adolescence and maturity.

“I’m a mind reader. You’re interested in John Galton.”

Her pure gaze didn’t waver. “I love John. I think he loves me.”

“Is that what you wanted to say to me?”

“No.” She was suddenly flustered. “I didn’t mean to say it. But it’s true.” Her eyes darkened. “The things that Dad believes aren’t true, though. He’s just a typical patriarch type, full of prejudices against the boy I happen to like. He believes the most awful things against John, or pretends to.”

“What things, Sheila?”

“I wouldn’t even repeat them, so there. Anyway, you’ll be hearing them from him. I know what Dad wants you to do, you see. He let the cat out of the bag last night.”

“What does he want me to do?”

“Please,” she said, “don’t talk to me as if I were a child. I know that tone so well, and I’m so tired of it. Dad uses it on me all the time. He doesn’t realize I’m practically grown up. I’m going to be nineteen on my next birthday.”

“Wow,” I said softly.

“All right, go ahead and patronize me. Maybe I’m not mature. I’m mature enough to know good people from bad people.”

“We all make mistakes about people, no matter how ancient we are.”

“But I couldn’t be mistaken about John. He’s the nicest boy I ever met in my life.”

I said: “I like him, too.”

“I’m so glad.” Her hand touched my arm, like a bird alighting and then taking off again: “John likes you, or I wouldn’t be taking you into our confidence.”

“You wouldn’t be planning on getting married?”

“Not just yet,” she said, as if this was a very conservative approach. “John has a lot of things he wants to do first, and of course I couldn’t go against Father’s wishes.”

“What things does John want to do?”

She answered vaguely: “He wants to make something of himself. He’s very ambitious. And of course the one big thing in his life is finding out who killed his father. It’s all he thinks about.”

“Has he done anything about it?”

“Not yet, but I know he has plans. He doesn’t tell me all he has on his mind. I probably wouldn’t understand, anyway. He’s much more intelligent than I am.”

“I’m glad you realize that. It’s a good thing to bear in mind.”

“What do you mean?” she said in a small voice. But she knew what I meant: “It isn’t true, what Father says, that John is an impostor. It can’t be true!”

“What makes you so sure?”

“I know it here.” Her hand touched her breast, ever so lightly. “He couldn’t be lying to me. And Cassie says he’s the image of his dad. So does Aunt Maria.”

“Does John ever talk about his past to you?”

She regarded me with deepening distrust. “Now you sound just like Father again. You mustn’t ask me questions about John. It wouldn’t be fair to John.”

“Give yourself some thought, too,” I said. “I know it doesn’t seem likely, but if he is an impostor, you could be letting yourself in for a lot of pain and trouble.”

“I don’t even care if he is!” she cried, and burst into tears.

A young man in airline coveralls came out of the terminal and glared at me. I was making a pretty girl cry, and there ought to be a law. I assumed a very legal expression. He went back inside again.

My plane took off with a roar. The roar diminished to a cicada humming in the northern sky. Sheila’s tears passed like a summer shower. She started the engine and drove me into town, very efficiently, like a chauffeur who happened to be a deaf-mute.

John was a very fast worker.