The Mark of Merlin

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

“She said nothing to me about any jewels,” was Beatty’s angry comment later when Colonel Calderone took official charge of the illegal shipment.

“Of course she didn’t,” DeLord answered. “They could righteously turn all this over to the authorities,” and he waved at the array of treasures on the kitchen table. “I imagine Warren would have innocently suggested he take charge of the service Colt and the ammo and return them to Edwards. And neatly retrieve what he was really after.”

Beatty snorted, shuffling his feet. Neither he nor Regan looked near each other and he avoided my glances studiously.

“What’ll happen to that colonel?” he asked.

“If he recovers,” Colonel Calderone answered him, “he’ll stand a court-martial.”

“And her?”

“She’s been an accomplice in armed robbery. The civil courts will handle her. After,” and the colonel grinned mirthlessly, “we find out how much more of this sort of stuff is still unrecovered from grieving relatives.” He held up one of the ruby-jeweled crosses, the stones catching fire from the sunlight. “I heard a part of the list one burglar was giving the sheriff. Quite a racket they had. Well, I’ll take this, Miss Murdock, and be on my way. Coming, De-Lord?”

The lieutenant glanced expectantly towards Regan who nodded.

“I’ll be along later, Colonel, if you’ve no objections.”

“Colonel,” I blurted out. “About Turtle?”

“Yes, Miss Murdock?”

“He had such a fine record. He didn’t mean to kill my father. They had been together since 1917. I even lived with his family after my mother died. Does do you .” I couldn’t continue. I whirled appealingly to Regan, towards Robert DeLord.

Regan came around the table and held me tightly, looking towards the colonel. The man sighed, shaking his head slowly.

“The family will be told he died in line of duty. In a way, I guess that’s the truth after what you all have told me. And considering what Warren and his wife were doing I expect I don’t begrudge the sergeant that potshot at Aachen.” He gave me a one-sided grin of reassurance. “Look, I’ll do what I can.”

“He was a murderer,” Beatty growled, his eyes darting around the room suspiciously.

“I’d watch that talk, Beatty, if I were you,” Calderone said in a quick, harsh voice. The man was not tall but there was a confidence and subtle strength about him that was more impressive than mere size. “Your nose isn’t too clean in this affair. An officer of the law involved in receiving stolen property?”

“Receiving?” Beatty gagged.

“That would be my testimony if one word of the circumstances around Bailey’s death ever gets mentioned in this county!” Calderone’s words had the crispness of deadly earnest. “Good afternoon, Constable Beatty!”

And Beatty left.

Calderone turned to me, his face reflecting sympathy.

“That’ll settle his hash. Now, Miss Murdock, if Warren recovers there will have to be an investigation but courts-martial, thank God, are not public. That’s all I can do for you and Bailey.”

“Thank you, Colonel.”

He raised his hand to his cap in an informal salute, gathered up the treasure, and left.

I leaned weakly against Regan, so terribly grateful there was someone to lean on. I didn’t have to be the brave little soldier anymore. I could be a grieving, tired, weeping girl.

But, oddly enough, though the double tragedy of Turtle and my father was leaden in my heart, I was dry-eyed.

“It seems like such a terrible, terrible error,” I said slowly. “It has to be corrected. It has to come out fair.”

“Here, honey, drink this,” DeLord suggested.

I looked at the cup of coffee he was offering me.

“So help me,” he vowed, “there’s nothing but bourbon in it.”

Regan gently seated me. I had felt him go tense at DeLord’s endearment and it penetrated my numb mind that he was jealous.

“Yes, it was a terrible, tragic set of errors,” Regan said quietly, thanking DeLord for the coffee the lieutenant handed him. “Doubly terrible for you, Carla. Now take a good drink. It’s cool enough to swallow. You look transparent.” His brisk command was leavened by a tone rough with suppressed feeling. “If your father hadn’t been such an honorable fool, trying to protect a worthless brother officer simply because they were classmates, maybe this whole fiasco wouldn’t have happened. The colonel would sure as hell have transferred any other incompetent replacement so fast the man wouldn’t have known his sergeant’s name. But that goddamned Pointer tradition, honor and duty. I stared at Regan, astonished and dismayed at the scornful vehemence in his voice.

“What’s the matter with honor and tradition and duty?” I demanded, stung and hurt.

“There,” and Regan smiled broadly at me, “that’s better. I can’t stand you looking like a woebegone elf.” He encircled my shoulders and drew me as close to him as our chairs would allow. “Your father’s dead, Carlysle, and don’t ever for a moment think I haven’t mourned him and missed him. He was a great man, a real soldier and a patriot. There are very few of his mold in any century. Bailey’s dead, too, but he courted death. Killing Warren was one way to achieve it and revenge his error about your dad.”

“What bothered Bailey most,” the lieutenant put in quietly, “was what you would think when you found out what had actually happened. He was a broken man tired and old and bitter.”

“He didn’t really kill my father. Warren did,” I said when I could get words out over the lumps in my throat. The tears just fell down my cheeks into my hand.

“Oh, Carla darling,” Regan whispered, kissing my cheek. “We’re both pretty battered around right now but, in time, the worst hurt heals.”

“Ohho,” DeLord drawled in an altered voice. “Have I been outmaneuvered?”

Whether he meant it or not, the absurdity penetrated my grief.

“Rank has a few privileges,” Regan retorted quickly.

“Well,” DeLord chuckled, looking at our faces, “that would have pleased the Old Man no end.” He laughed again at our expressions. “I know. In Paris he was bending my ear either about Miss Carla - he always called you Carlysle - or you, Laird. I didn’t get the significance until I met you, Miss Carla,” and grinning mischievously, DeLord inclined his head graciously at me.

“Then, Bob, would you give me away, kind of in loco parentis?”

For a brief second DeLord looked startled. Then he smiled broadly.

“Miss Carla, it would be my honor. But unless you two plan on an early wedding, I might not be able to oblige. I don’t know how long I can string out the wrap-up of this assignment.”

“It only takes three days .” I pleaded with Regan.

“Shotgun wedding, by God!” he complained dramatically.

“Wouldn’t be the first time for you, I imagine,” I teased coolly back, rewarded by the look of shocked dismay on the major’s face.

“Why, you impudent little bit of a thing. It was no such .” Then Regan caught himself as he realized he’d fallen for the bait.

The noise had roused Merlin who barked joyously, wagging his tail and cavorting stiff-leggedly around.

“Ah,” Bob DeLord put in tentatively, “would you mind, Miss Carla, if I fixed myself a little something to eat? I left Edwards in rather a hurry this morning and - “

“Holy Moses, it’s nearly lunchtime,” I cried. “You both must be ravenous. There’s some canned soup. Will that take the edge off your appetite while I fix something more substantial?”

I flung open a cupboard door, standing on tiptoe to read the labels.

“That sounds just fine, Miss Carla.”

I had both hands on the countertop to give myself a boost upward when Regan roared at me.

“James Carlysle Murdock, if I’ve told you once I’ve - “

” - told you a thousand times to use the stool,” I finished for him, ducking guiltily and turning to grimace at my love.

As he swung me up to the top of the stool to kiss me, I had one brief glimpse of Bob DeLord, ducking his head to soothe the bullet crease with careful fingers.