The girl would probably be an heiress when Mrs. Fairbanks died, and he had known her before the poisoning incident. If he was earning more than his rent she would be surprised. And he had been very glib about the arsenious acid, very sure of what it was. Perhaps she had not been meant to have it at breakfast? Suppose she had had it at night, with her door locked and unable to call for help? One thing was certain. He was afraid of her, Hilda. That remark about Miss Gimlet-Eyes had left her rather annoyed. On the other hand—
By midnight the house had settled down. In his room next to his mother’s Carlton was snoring comfortably. Janice was apparently asleep. From the transom over Susie’s door came a light and the odor of a burning cigarette, and Marian had not reappeared. Hilda went cautiously into the old lady’s room and stood listening. She was asleep, breathing quietly, but the air in the room was close and hot. Mrs. Fairbanks had refused to have a window open. She stood in the darkness, worrying. There should be air. Heart cases needed oxygen. She tiptoed to a window and suddenly stopped.
There was a sound behind her, a faint scraping sound as though something had been moved. She turned sharply, but the room was as it had been. The old lady had not stirred. Then she saw it. The door to the closet which held the safe was slowly moving. In the light from the hall it edged out six inches or more, creaking as it came.
She stared at it incredulously. Then she took a quick step forward, and as carefully as it had opened it began to close again. Not entirely. The latch did not click. But close it did, and she found herself staring at it, the very hair on her scalp lifting with horror. She did not dare give herself time to think. She walked over with buckling knees and stood outside of it.
“Come out,” she said in a low voice. “Whoever is in there, come out or I’ll raise an alarm.”
There was no reply, and when she tried the door it swung open easily in her hand. The closet was empty. The shoebag hung undisturbed, the safe was closed, the row of dresses harbored no lurking figure. She felt deflated, as though all the breath had gone out of her. It’s a trick, she thought furiously. A part of the campaign to terrify the old lady. A trick! A dirty trick! And it’s been tried tonight because her heart hasn’t been too strong. If she had wakened and seen it—
She hurried out into the hall. Nothing there had changed, however. Carlton was still snoring, and when she went back along the hall to Susie’s open door that lady put down a magazine with a lurid cover and stared at her.
“Hello!” she said. “Anything wrong?”
Hilda studied her, the gleam of cold cream on her face, the half-smoked cigarette in her fingers.
“Somebody’s playing tricks around this house,” she said. “And don’t tell me I imagine it, or that it’s done with mirrors. It’s got to stop. I’ve got a patient to consider.”
Susie sat up in bed.
“What sort of tricks?” she inquired with interest.
“Were you in your husband’s room just now, Mrs. Fairbanks?”
Susie raised her eyebrows and grinned. The connecting door into Carlton’s room was open, and through it came the unmistakable snoring of a sleeping man, which begins softly and rises gradually to an ear-splitting snort.
“Listen to that,” she said. “If you think Carl is in any mood for amorous dalliance—”
Hilda left her abruptly, the amused smile still on her face, and went on. Jan was in bed, sleeping like a tired child. Marian’s door was locked. And there was nobody else. In a cold rage she got her gun from the suitcase and took it forward. In the same rage she folded back the screen, so that it gave her an unimpeded view of the hall. And still in the implacable anger of a woman who has been the victim of a cheap trick she crept into Mrs. Fairbanks’s room and examined the closet again, this time with her flashlight. There was no break in the plaster, no place where anything could have been introduced to open the door and close it again.
She spent the remainder of the night in baffled indignation. Her patient slept. No sounds came from the door. At seven she heard the servants going down the back staircase, and shortly after Ida brought her a cup of coffee. She asked the girl to take her place for a few minutes.
“I want to go up to the third floor,” she said. “I thought I heard somebody up there last night.”
Ida looked surprised.
“There was nobody up there, miss. Not in the front of the house.”
“Well, I’ll look at it anyhow,” she said, and climbed the stairs.
The upper floor was much like the second. Two large rooms across the front and a smaller one above Carlton’s were evidently guest rooms. They were long unused, however. Dustcloths covered the furniture and beds, and a faint film of dust showed that rooms and baths were given only periodical cleanings. Hilda paid particular attention to the one over Mrs. Fairbanks. It had a fireplace, like the room below, but it had evidently been long unused. The dust on the hearth was undisturbed, and the flue in the chimney was closed.
There was a closet there, similar to the one below, and this she examined minutely, going over the sides and floor boards. But she discovered nothing out of the way. She thought dejectedly that she would have to come to the theory of a ghost after all.
Chapter 8
Young Brooke looked tired that morning. Jan was sleeping late, and she was still not around when he made his morning call. He stood over the old lady’s bed, and protested her intention of getting up.
“You’re not as young as you used to be,” he said, smiling down at her. “If you won’t take care of yourself we have to do it for you, Mrs. Fairbanks.”
“I’ve got the Adams woman to do that,” she retorted dryly. “I don’t trust any of the rest of you. And I’ve noticed that she doesn’t bring any bats in with her. I can’t say that of anybody else.”
Very gravely he offered to let her look into his bag, and the bit of foolery seemed to amuse her.
“Get on with you,” she said. “If you’d wanted to kill me why would you have pumped the poison out of me?”
It was rather grisly, but she seemed to enjoy it. Outside the door, however, young Brooke lost his professional cheerfulness. He glanced about and lowered his voice.
“I wish you’d tell Jan something for me,” he said. “Just tell her it’s all right. She will understand.”
“I’m not so sure it’s all right, doctor.”
Then and there she reported the incident of the closet door. He was puzzled rather than alarmed.
“Of course, a house as old as this—”
“It had nothing to do with the age of the house,” she said tartly. “Something opened it and then closed it. I was there. I saw it.”
He did not answer. He picked up his bag and glanced back toward Jan’s room.
“Don’t forget to tell her,” he said. “Nobody was around the place. She’s got a fool idea somebody gets in at night. Well, tell her that nobody did. Or tried to.”
“You mean you watched all night?”
“You and me both, Miss Adams,” he said, with a return of his old manner. “You and me both.”
She had a strong feeling that she should report the door incident to the inspector. There was some sort of pernicious activity going on. When she went back to Mrs. Fairbanks’s room she took the first opportunity to examine the door. It could be opened, she thought; a string tied to the knob and carried out into the hall might do it. But she could see no way by which it could be closed again.
Jan relieved her for sleep, but she did not go to bed. The June day was bright and warm, so she wandered into the grounds. Outside the garage Amos was tinkering with one of the three cars, and she wandered over in that direction.
“Good morning,” she said. “I can remember this place when they kept horses.”
“Pity they ever changed,” said Amos grumpily.
“Mind if I look around a bit?”
He muttered something, and she went inside.
Behind the former carriage house was the tack room, and then came seve
n or eight fine old box stalls, now empty save for Amos’s gardening implements and two or three long pieces of rubber hose.
Amos had stopped work and was watching her. She was aware of his hard, intent stare. But her eyes were fixed on the hose. A motor going in the garage at night, a long hose leading into the house, perhaps to the furnace, and Mrs. Fairbanks’s windows closed. All the other windows open where people slept, but the old lady—
Amos was still watching her. She smiled at him blandly.
“Mind if I go upstairs?” she said. “I’ve always longed to see out of that cupola.”
“I live up there.”
“You don’t live in the cupola, do you?”
She had a strong impression that he did not want her to go up. Then he shrugged and gave her a faint grin.
“All right,” he granted. “But you won’t find anything.”
So Amos knew why she was there! She felt uneasy as she started up the stairs, and even more so when she discovered that he was behind her. He did not speak, however. He merely followed her. But at the top he ostentatiously reached inside for the key to the door leading to his own quarters and locked it. What was left was only the old hayloft, and over it the cupola, dusty and evidently unused for years. There was a ladder lying on the floor, but Amos made no move to lift it.
“What’s up there?” she asked.
“Nothing. Used to be pigeons. I’ve boarded it up. None there now.”
She abandoned the idea of the cupola, and took a brief look at the loft itself. It was dark, but she could see that it was filled with cast-offs of the house itself. She could make out broken chairs, a pile of dusty books, an ancient butterfly net, a half-dozen or so battered trunks, and a table with a leg missing. Days later she was to wish that she had examined the place thoroughly that morning. But Amos was there, surly and watchful. She gave it up, and another event that afternoon drove it entirely from her mind.
Marian, looking bored, had taken her mother for a drive, and Janice after seeing them off had slipped out of the house on some mysterious errand of her own. Hilda, undressing for bed, heard her rap at the door.
“I’m going out,” she said. “If they get back before I do please don’t say I’m not here. I’ll get in somehow.”
Hilda watched from the window. The girl did not go to young Brooke’s office, however. She took a bus at the corner, and Hilda finally went to bed. She slept until five o’clock. Then, having missed her luncheon, she dressed and went down the back stairs for a cup of tea, to find the kitchen in a state of excitement, Maggie flushed with anger, William on the defensive, and Ida pale but quiet.
“Why did you let her in?” Maggie was demanding.
“What else could I do?” William said. “The child brought her in and asked for her grandmother. When I said she was still out in the car she took her into the library. She looks sick.”
“She has no business in this,” Maggie said furiously. “After the trouble she made! She has a nerve, that’s all I’ve got to say.”
They saw Hilda then, and the three faces became impassive.
A few minutes later Hilda carried her cup of tea to the front of the house. Everything was quiet there, however, and she was puzzled. Then she saw what had happened. A woman was lying on the couch in the library. Her hat was off, lying on the floor, and her eyes were closed. But Hilda knew at once who it was.
She went in, putting down her tea, and picked up a limp hand.
“Feeling faint?” she asked.
Eileen opened her eyes and seeing who it was jerked her hand away.
“You startled me,” she said. “I thought you were Jan.”
Hilda inspected her. She was pale, and her lips, without lipstick, were colorless. Seen now in the strong daylight she looked faded and drab. Resentful, too. There was a tight look to her mouth.
“Jan’s getting me some brandy,” she said in her flat voice. “We were—we were walking near here, and all at once I felt faint. I’ll get out as soon as I can. Marian would have a fit if she found me here.”
She tried to sit up, but just then Jan came in, carrying a small glass of brandy and some water. She looked worried, but her small head was high and defiant.
“You’re not getting out until you’re able to go,” she said. “Here, drink this. It will help.”
Eileen drank, taking small ladylike sips, and Jan looked at Hilda.
“I’m sorry, but you’d better let me handle this,” she said. “I was taking her to see Doctor Brooke, but he was out and she got faint. That’s all.”
Thus dismissed Hilda went up the stairs. She prayed devoutly that Eileen would be out of the house before Marian and her mother got back. But the family would have to work out its own problems. She had one of her own. If, as she now fully believed, someone was trying to get rid of Mrs. Fairbanks, either directly or by indirection, it was up to her to shut off every possible method. As she expected, the closet door was locked, and a careful examination of Carlton’s behind it revealed nothing but his clothes in orderly rows and his shoes lined neatly on the floor. The register in the floor in Mrs. Fairbanks’s room, however, did not close entirely. She found a screwdriver in the storeroom as well as a piece of pasteboard, and was in the act of fitting the latter into place when she heard the car drive in. After that there was a moment or two of quiet below. Then she heard Marian coming up the stairs and a moment later she slammed and locked her door.
Hilda shrugged. It was trouble, but it was not hers. She was screwing down the grille over the register when she heard Jan in the hall outside.
“I must speak to you, Mother. I must.”
There was no immediate answer. Then Marian’s door flew open, and her voice shook with rage when she spoke.
“How dare you, Jan? How dare you do a thing like this to me?”
“I couldn’t help it, Mother. She was sick.”
“Sick! I don’t believe it.”
“She was. Ask Miss Adams. Ask Grandmother.”
“She can put anything over on your grandmother. As for you, forever hanging around her—”
“Listen, Mother. She telephoned me. She doesn’t want Father to know yet, but—she’s going to have a baby.”
There was a brief stunned silence. Then Marian began to laugh. It was a terrifying laugh, and Hilda got quickly to her feet. Before she reached the door, however, Marian had vanished into her room and the laughter, wild and hysterical, was still going on.
Jan was standing in the hall. She was trembling, and Hilda put an arm around her.
“Never mind,” she said. “Don’t worry, child. She’ll get over it.”
“I didn’t think she’d care,” said Jan blankly, and went down the stairs again.
That evening, Wednesday, June the eleventh, Marian left the house, bag and baggage. Nobody saw her go except Ida, who carried down her luggage. She left while the family was at dinner, and she told nobody where she was going. And only a few nights later her mother was murdered as she lay asleep in her bed.
Chapter 9
Jan took her mother’s departure very hard. She found the room empty after dinner, and Hilda, seeing her as she came out, realized that she was badly shocked.
“She’s gone,” she said. “Mother’s gone. I don’t understand. Why would she do a thing like that?”
“I wouldn’t worry. She’ll come back.”
“You don’t know her,” said Jan. “She hates Eileen. She’s made life pretty hard for her, and for my father, too. I’m—” She steadied herself by a chair. “I guess I’m frightened, Miss Adams.”
Hilda tried to send her to bed. She refused, however. She spent the evening trying to locate Marian at the hotels in town and at the place she owned in the country. But there was no sign of her. She had not registered anywhere, and the caretaker on the small farm had had no word from her. Jan, giving up finally, looked wan and despairing.
“You don’t think she would do anything dreadful?” she asked Hilda. “She’s been so terr
ibly unhappy.”
“I doubt it,” said Hilda briskly. “She’s had a shock. She’ll get over it.”
The old lady took Marian’s departure rather philosophically.
“What did she expect? They’re married, aren’t they? If they want a child—”
On the whole, Hilda thought, she was pleased rather than resentful. As though Marian was getting the punishment she deserved. But she carried through her usual routine that night, an hour or so with her door locked, the radio on, and her game of solitaire.
During that interval Hilda found Carlton in the library and told him about the night before, the noises and the moving closet door.
His reaction rather surprised her. He was alone, the evening paper on his knee but his eyes fixed on the empty fireplace. He stared at her when she had finished without replying. Then he walked to the portable bar and poured himself a drink. When he came back he looked more normal.
“I wouldn’t listen to servants’ gossip, Miss Adams.”
“I heard the sounds myself. And I saw the door move, Mr. Fairbanks.”
In the end he went upstairs to his mother’s room. It was some time, however, before she admitted him. The room was as usual, the card table set out in front of the hearth and the cards lying on it, but she looked annoyed.
“Really, Carlton, at this time of night.”
“It isn’t late, Mother.”
“It’s my time for bed.”
“Miss Adams heard something in here last night. I want to find out what it was.”
She was quiet after that, although she watched him grimly. Reluctantly she allowed him in the closet with the safe, but he found nothing there. After that he concentrated on the fireplace. At Hilda’s suggestion he tore the paper wadding out of the chimney. Nothing resulted but a shower of soot, however. No bricks were loose, and when at last he turned a grimy face to his mother it was to find her coldly indignant.
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