“Now that you have ruined my room perhaps you’ll get out.”
“If somebody is trying to scare you—”
“Who would be trying to scare me out of this house? Who wants to sell this place? Who wants to live on a farm? Not Marian. Not Janice. Certainly not the servants. Then who?”
He looked at her, soot and all, with a queer sort of dignity.
“I’m sorry, Mother,” he said. “I’m trying to protect you, that’s all. As to the farm, I’ve given that up. Don’t worry about it.”
He went out, carrying his coat, and Hilda watched him go. It was impossible to think of him, mild and ineffectual as he was, in connection with poison, or even with a mild form of terrorism. It was indeed impossible to think it of any of them—of Jan, young and evidently in love with Courtney Brooke; of Susie, cheerful and irresponsible; of Marian, involved in her own troubles. Even Frank Garrison and Eileen—what had they to gain by the old lady’s death?
As it happened, it was Susie who told her about Frank and Eileen that same Wednesday night. Told it with considerable gusto, too, while smoking an endless chain of cigarettes. She came wandering along the hall at one in the morning, in a pale-blue negligee over a chiffon nightdress, and wearing an outrageous pair of old knitted bedroom slippers.
She pulled up a chair and took a chicken sandwich from the supper tray.
“God, how my feet hurt!” she said. “Try walking over farm fields in spike heels and see how you like it.”
“I don’t think I would try,” said Hilda, picking up her knitting. “I have to take care of my feet.”
Susie looked at Marian’s door.
“Funny about her running off,” she said. “Look here, you look like a regular person. What do you make of Eileen Garrison coming here today? Why did the old”—here Susie caught herself and grinned—“witch see her, anyhow?”
“I don’t know the circumstances, Mrs. Fairbanks. Of course she was feeling faint.”
“Yeah. She’s in a chronic state of feeling faint. Can’t do any housework. You ought to see the way they live!” She finished the sandwich and lit another cigarette. “Well, if you ask me it’s damned queer. First Mrs. Fairbanks drives her out with curses—same like me, only I don’t go. For years she doesn’t speak her name or let us speak it. Then Jan brings her here and she talks to her for an hour. No wonder Marian screamed. She’s still crazy about Frank. I could be myself, without half trying.”
Hilda glanced at her.
“I thought you knew. Mrs. Garrison is going to have a baby.”
“Oh, my God!” said Susie. “That spills it. That certainly spills it—for Marian.”
It was some time before Hilda got Susie back to where she had left off. She sat grinning to herself over another sandwich until a question brought her back.
“If she was crazy about Mr. Garrison, why did she divorce him?”
Susie finished her sandwich.
“Why? Well, the Fairbankses have got their pride, or haven’t you noticed? She’d caught him in Eileen’s room, I guess. Maybe nothing to it, but there it was. So she goes off to Reno, and Frank, the poor sap, thinks he’s got to marry the girl.”
There was much more, of course. Susie, according to herself, might be from the wrong side of the tracks. She was, she said. Her father was a contractor in a small way, who liked to eat in his shirt sleeves. But Eileen was worse.
“Not her family,” she said. “They’re all right, I suppose. They live in the country. But they managed to get Eileen an education. However, she couldn’t get a job, so she went back to the farm. And believe you me,” Susie added, “there’s nothing like a country girl who once gets to town. The one thing she won’t do is go back to the farm. She’ll grab a man if she can, and if she can’t she will grab some other woman’s. She tried for Carl, but I slapped her face for her. After that she let him alone. But Frank, the big softie—”
She put out her cigarette.
“I don’t know just how she came in the first place. The old lady wanted a nice country girl, I guess. Anyhow, Marian was jealous of her from the start. She soft-soaped everybody. The servants liked her, and she was the nearest to a mother Jan ever had. Marian was pretty much the society girl in those days. But Eileen was on the make all the time. Well, I’d better go by-by.”
She rose and stretched.
“Good heavens,” she said. “I’ve eaten all your supper! I’ll go down and get some more.”
Hilda protested, but she went down, padding up the stairs a few minutes later with a laden tray. She looked indignant.
“That William ought to be fired,” she said. “He left the kitchen door unlocked. I’ll tell him plenty in the morning.”
Hilda ate her supper, but she was uneasy. She got up and went to the window which lighted the stairs. Outside a faint illumination from the street lamps showed the trees which bordered the place, and the garage. Joe’s Market on its corner was closed and dark, but there was a small light in the house where young Brooke had his office. Below her was the roof of the porte-cochere, and beyond it the vague outline of the stable.
Then she stiffened. A figure was moving stealthily from the stable toward the house. It seemed to be carrying something bulky, and whoever it was knew its way about. It kept off the driveway and on the grass, and as she watched it ducked around the rear of the building toward the service wing.
She hesitated. The thought of the huge dark rooms below was almost too much for her. But this was why she was here and, after locking Mrs. Fairbanks’s door and taking the key with her, she picked up her flashlight and went swiftly back to her room. There she got the automatic and as quietly as she could made her way down the back stairs.
There was no question about it. Someone was trying the kitchen door. She did not turn on her light. She listened, and the footsteps moved on to the pantry. Here whoever it was was trying to pry up a window and—with her gun ready—she threw the light of her flashlight full in his face.
It was Carlton Fairbanks, and at first he seemed too startled for speech. Then he recovered somewhat.
“Get that damned light out of my face,” he shouted furiously. “And who locked the kitchen door?”
Hilda, too, had recovered.
“Your wife found it open. If you’ll go around I’ll let you in. I thought you were a burglar.”
She turned on the kitchen lights and admitted him. He was in a dressing-gown and slippers, and whatever he had been carrying was not in sight. His anger was gone. He looked embarrassed and uneasy, especially when he saw the automatic in her hand.
“Always carry a thing like that?”
“I got it out of my suitcase when I saw you coming from the garage.”
He relaxed somewhat.
“Sorry if I scared you,” he said. “I ran out of cigarettes, and I’d left some in the car. What on earth,” he added suspiciously, “was my wife doing down here?”
Hilda explained. He seemed satisfied, but he did not leave her there. He watched her up the stairs and then went back, ostensibly to get some matches. Wherever they were he was a long time finding them. When he came up he said a curt good night. But he did not close his door entirely, and she sat in the hall through the rest of the night convinced that he was still awake, listening and watching her.
She reported to Inspector Fuller the next morning. He looked relieved when she laid no parcel on his desk.
“What? No livestock?”
She shook her head. She looked very pretty, he thought, but also she looked devilishly tired.
“No. No livestock. But I’m worried.”
“You look it. What’s going on there?”
“Everything, from a ghost that opens and closes doors to a family row. Also breaking and entering. And, of course, a love affair.” She smiled faintly. “That makes it perfect, I suppose.”
“Just so long as it isn’t yours. I—we can’t afford to lose you, you know.”
He was grave enough, however, when she told her st
ory.
“Any idea what Carlton was carrying last night?”
“No. I looked around this morning. I couldn’t find anything. Whatever it was, he hid it before he came upstairs.”
“Bulky, eh?”
“Maybe two feet high and a foot or so across. That’s merely a guess.”
“Seem heavy?”
“I don’t think so, no. He’s a small man. If it had been—”
“And you think it centers about the safe? Is that it?”
“She has something in it,” Hilda said stubbornly. “She gets me out of the room, sets up a card table and pretends to play solitaire. I don’t believe she does.”
“What does she do?”
“She gets something out of the safe and looks at it. She locks me out of the room and turns on the radio. But I have pretty good ears. She goes to the closet and opens it. I can hear it creak. Then she moves back and forward, to the card table, I think. It takes about an hour.”
The inspector whistled.
“Hoarded money!” he said. “That’s the first time anything has made any sense. And it’s the money you’re to guard, not the old lady.”
“It might be both,” said Hilda, and got up.
He did not let her go at once, however.
“You talk about family rows, and so on. Why? I mean—why does Marian Garrison stay there? She could live on her alimony, couldn’t she? She gets ten thousand a year, tax free. I’ve been in touch with Garrison’s lawyer. Says the poor devil’s business is gone—he’s an architect—and it’s about all he has.”
“Ten thousand a year!” Hilda looked shocked.
“That’s right. She takes her pound of flesh every month, and these are hard times on the alimony boys. The damned fool could probably get it reduced by court order. It seems he refuses. But if you want a motive for a murder, there it is, Miss Pinkerton. Maybe that arsenic was meant for Marian, after all.”
“And the bats?”
“Oh, come, come, Hilda,” he said impatiently. “Carlton wants to sell the place for an apartment. He wants to live on a farm. If he tries to scare his mother into moving, what has that to do with murder?”
“I’d like to know,” said Hilda quietly, and went home.
It was that night that Susie fainted.
The day had gone much as usual. No word had come from Marian, and Jan, looking pale and tired, went with her grandmother for her drive that afternoon. On her return she came back to Hilda’s room as she was getting into her uniform, but at first she had little to say. She stood gazing out the window, to where across Huston Street young Brooke had his shabby offices. When she turned, her young face looked determined.
“We must seem a queer lot to you, Miss Adams,” she said. “Maybe we are. Everyone pulling in a different direction. But we’re fond of one another, and we’re all fond of Granny. That is, none of us would hurt her. You must believe that.”
Hilda was pinning on her cap. She took a moment before she replied.
“I would certainly hope so.”
“My father is devoted to her. He always was.”
“So I understand,” said Hilda quietly.
Jan lit a cigarette, and Hilda saw her hands were trembling. She took a puff or two before she went on.
“Then what was he doing outside our fence last night? On Huston Street? He was there. Courtney Brooke saw him.”
She went on feverishly. Brooke had had a late call. When he came back he had seen a figure lurking across the way. He had gone inside and without turning on the light had watched from his window. It was Frank Garrison. His big body was unmistakable. Now and then a car had lighted it, and he had moved a bit. But he had stayed there from midnight until two o’clock in the morning. Then at last he had gone.
Hilda thought quickly. That was when Carlton had come from the stable. Had he been watching Carlton? Or had he some other reason? What on earth could take a man out of bed and put him outside the Fairbanks fence for two hours? But Jan had not finished.
“There is something else, too,” she said. “Court says someone with a flashlight was in the stable loft at that same time. It might have been Amos, of course. He’s a bad sleeper.”
“Did you ask Amos?”
“Yes. He says nobody was there. He’d have heard whoever it was. And I’ve been to the loft. It’s just the same as usual.”
“There’s probably some perfectly simple explanation for it all,” Hilda said, with her mental fingers crossed. “Ask your father when you see him.”
Jan looked at her wistfully.
“You don’t think he wanted to see Mother? He might have thought she was out, and waited for her to come in. If Eileen told him she had been here—”
“That’s something I wouldn’t know about,” said Hilda firmly, and went forward to her patient.
These people, she thought resentfully, with their interlocking relationships, their loves and hates, what had they to do with the safety of a little old woman, domineering but at least providing a home for them? They only cluttered up the situation. There was Carlton, annoyed with Susie about something and hardly speaking to her all day. And Marian, alone somewhere with her furious jealousy and resentment. And now Frank Garrison, probably hearing of Eileen’s visit and trying to make his peace in the small hours of the night.
It was eleven o’clock that night when Susie fainted.
There had been no gin-rummy. Carlton had come up early and gone to bed. Jan had gone out with young Brooke. Even Mrs. Fairbanks had settled down early, and the quiet was broken only by Carlton’s regular snoring. Hilda had picked up the Practice of Nursing and opened it at random.
When an emergency arises, she read, a nurse must be able to recognize what has happened, think clearly, act promptly, know what to do and how to do it.
That was when Susie screamed and fell. Hilda, running back, found her lying on the floor, in the doorway between her room and that of her husband. She was totally unconscious. As Hilda bent over her she heard Carlton getting out of bed.
“What is it?” he said thickly. “Who yelled?” Then he saw his wife and stared at her incredulously. “Susie!” he said. “Good God, what’s happened to her?”
“She’s only fainted.”
“Get some water,” he yelped distractedly. “Get a pillow. Get the doctor. Do something.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, keep quiet.” Hilda’s voice was taut. “She’s all right. Keep her flat and let her alone. She’s all right.”
He got down on his knees, however, and tried to gather her big body to him.
“I’m sorry, old girl,” he said hoarsely. “It’s all right, isn’t it? You know I love you. I’m crazy about you. It’s all right, darling.”
Susie opened her eyes. She seemed puzzled.
“What’s happened to me?”
“You fainted,” said Hilda practically. “You screamed and then you fainted. What scared you?”
Susie, however, had closed her eyes.
“I don’t remember,” she said, and shivered.
Chapter 10
Mrs. Fairbanks was murdered on Saturday night, the fourteenth of June; or rather early on Sunday morning. Marian had been gone since Wednesday evening, and no word whatever had come from her. The intervening period had been quiet. There were no alarms in the house. On Friday Hilda caught up with her sleep, and Carlton was once more the loving husband, spending long hours beside Susie’s bed. He had insisted that she stay in bed.
But Susie was not talking, at least not to Hilda. She eyed her dinner tray Friday evening sulkily.
“Take that pap away and get me an honest-to-God meal,” she said. “I’m not sick. Just because I banged my head—”
“What made you do it, Mrs. Fairbanks? Why did you faint?”
“Why does anybody faint?”
“I thought possibly something had frightened you. You shrieked like a fire engine.”
“Did I?” said Susie. “You ought to hear me when I really let go.”
“My wife thinks there is a rat in the room,” he explained carefully.
“A rat!” said Susie. “I’ve told you over and over—”
She did not finish, and Hilda was left with the baffled feeling that the entire household had entered into a conspiracy of silence.
By Saturday, save for Marian’s absence, the house had settled down to normal again. Susie was up and about. At dinner that night she persuaded Carlton to take her to the movies, and they left at eight o’clock. At eight-thirty Courtney Brooke came in, announcing to all and sundry that he had made three dollars in the office and was good for anything from a Coca-Cola to a ham on rye and a glass of beer. Mrs. Fairbanks chuckled.
“If that’s the way you intend to nourish my granddaughter—” she began.
“I?” he said. “I am to nourish your granddaughter? What will you be doing while she starves to death?”
She was more cheerful than Hilda had ever seen her when at last he left her and went downstairs to where Jan waited for him in the library.
Looking back later over the evening, Hilda could find nothing significant in it. Mrs. Fairbanks had locked her door at ten o’clock and pursued her usual mysterious activities until eleven. Hilda took advantage of part of that hour of leisure and of Carlton’s absence to examine both his and Susie’s rooms carefully. She found nothing suspicious, however, and save for Jan’s and young Brooke’s voices coming faintly from below the house was quiet except for the distant rumble of thunder. It was appallingly hot, and when she was at last allowed to put Mrs. Fairbanks to bed she opened a window.”
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