Her first errand was to the ladies’ room of Stern & Jones. The attendant was the same woman who had looked after Ida, and she was immediately loquacious.
“A friend of hers, are you?” she said. “Wasn’t it dreadful? And nobody knowing who she was all that time!”
“Was she very sick when she got here?”
“She looked terrible. I asked her if she had had anything that disagreed with her, and she said only a cup of tea. I called up the tearoom right away. Some of the girls had gone, but nobody remembered her. Anyhow, our tea is all right. It could not have been that, or a lot of other people would have been sick too.”
“Is that all she said?”
“Well, she tried to tell me where she lived. She wanted to go home. Grove Avenue, I think she said. But after that she got so bad she couldn’t talk at all.”
Hilda was filled with cold anger when she left the store. The thought of Ida, dying and unable to tell who she was, enraged her. And now the radio assumed a new importance. If it had been turned to a blank spot on the dial and still played, the whole situation changed. Mrs. Fairbanks might have been already dead when it was turned on.
She visited a number of stores where radio sets were sold, including Stern & Jones. Some of them had remote controls. The boxes they showed her were only a foot long and four inches wide, and they operated as far as sixty feet from the instrument.
“You can set it out in the street,” said one salesman, “and turn your radio on and off with it. Magic, ain’t it?”
Sixty feet! That would include even Marian’s room. But when she told the make and age of the machine the man shook his head.
“Sorry,” he said. “It wouldn’t work on one of those old ones. Not a chance.”
It was the same everywhere. The machine in Mrs. Fairbanks’s room was too old. And the remote controls which used cables were not only modern. They required considerable time for adjustment. But in the end she found something.
She was tired and her feet ached when at six o’clock she got back to the house, going directly to the kitchen. William was on the back porch, relaxing in the summer sun, and Maggie was baking a cake. She turned a red face from the oven when Hilda drew a chair to the kitchen table and sat down. But some of Maggie’s suspicions had died in the last few days. She even offered her a cup of tea.
Hilda, however, was definitely off tea, at least for a time.
“I’d like a glass of water,” she said. “Then I want to talk about Ida.”
“I’m not talking about Ida,” Maggie said stiffly.
“If anyone thinks she got that stuff here in this house—”
“I’m not asking about her death. That’s for the police. It’s just this. Have you any idea why she carried those blankets out to Amos?”
“No. He didn’t need them.”
“Can you remember what happened that day? It was the day after Mrs. Fairbanks was killed, wasn’t it?”
Maggie considered this.
“You know how she was that morning. She was so bad I sent her up to rest. She came down later, and that was when Amos says she carried out the blankets. I didn’t see her myself. All I know is she didn’t eat any lunch. She left when we were sitting down.”
Hilda drank her water and went out to the stable. To her annoyance Amos, in his shirt sleeves, was smoking a pipe inside the garage. He was reading the paper, his chair tilted back. He looked up when he saw her.
“Anything I can do for you, miss?”
He grinned with his usual slyness, and Hilda regarded him with disfavor.
“You can come up to the loft with me,” she said coldly. “And don’t smirk at me, I don’t like it.”
Thus reduced, Amos followed her up the stairs. There was still light enough to see around, and to her shocked surprise she found the entire place had been swept and put in order.
“Who did this?” she said sharply.
He grinned.
“I did,” he said. “Anything to say about it, Miss Policewoman? Any reason why I can’t clean the place I live in?”
She ignored that, looking around her carefully. She had had very little hope at any time, but she disliked giving up. Amos was grinning again, pleased at her discomfiture.
“That isn’t funny,” she said. “I want some answers, and if I don’t get them the police will. When you cleaned this place did you find anything that didn’t belong? That you hadn’t seen here before?”
The mention of the police sobered him.
“Nothing new. Only the birdcage was on the floor. It used to be in the cupola, when Ida kept her bats and things in it. Wrapped it in a cloth, she did. I threw it out.”
“Oh!” she said blankly. “You knew it was Ida, did you?”
“Well, when a woman gets an old birdcage and a net and keeps climbing at night into that tower up there, I didn’t think she was after butterflies, and that’s a fact.”
“Did you tell anybody, Amos?”
“Not me,” he said negligently. “Bats don’t hurt anybody. Let her have her fun, said I. She didn’t have much.”
She looked at him. He was incredible, this stocky individualist who had believed in letting Ida have what he called her fun, and who apparently knew far more than he had even indicated. It amused him to tell her so, leaning against one of the trunks and now and then sucking at his dead pipe. Indeed, once started it was hard to stop him. He said that one night Carlton came and, getting the cage, carried it to the house. It was empty, as he—Amos—happened to know. But he had brought it back before morning. He said it was Frank Garrison who had caught Susie by the garage the night Mrs. Fairbanks was murdered. He’d seen him. And he observed cheerfully that he knew Marian had been in the house that same night.
“Funniest sight I most ever saw,” he said, his shrewd eyes on hers. “Her streaking across the grass in her nightgown when the police cars were coming in. I slid down and unlocked the door, but she never saw me. She hid in the loft until Ida brought her clothes and bags. Toward morning, it was.”
“Why didn’t you tell it at the time, Amos?”
“Nobody asked me.”
She felt helpless before the vast indifference, the monumental ego of the man. But she had not finished with him.
“Why did Ida have those creatures, Amos? Was it to scare Mrs. Fairbanks away? After all, she had worked here for years.”
He grinned at her slyly.
“Maybe she didn’t like her,” he said. “Or maybe she didn’t like the stairs. Lots of climbing in the house. May have wanted her to move to an apartment. I’ve heard her say as much.”
“I suppose you know how she got them into the room, too?”
“Sure,” he said, and grinned again. “Through Mrs. Carlton Fairbanks’s peephole in the closet.”
She left him then. She felt that even now he might have certain reserves, certain suspicions. But he did not intend to tell them. She could see that in his face.
“So they’ve arrested Mr. Garrison,” he said as she went down the stairs. “Mr. Garrison and the doc across the street. Don’t let them fool you, Miss Policewoman. They’ll have to eat crow before they’re through.” He seemed to think this was humorous. He laughed. “But I’d like to know how Ida felt when she got that snake,” he said. “I’ll bet she didn’t like it.”
“So there is something you don’t know!” said Hilda coldly, and went back to the house.
Nevertheless, she had a curious feeling about Amos as she left him. As though he had been trying to tell her something. As though he was hoping that she would see what he could not tell her. And there had been something in his small sly eyes which looked like grief; a deep and tragic grief.
When she went upstairs she found Jan in the upper hall.
“She’s still sleeping,” she said. “I suppose she needs it, Miss Adams. They won’t hold Father long, will they? They must know he didn’t do it.”
Evidently she did not know about Courtney, and Hilda said nothing. She tried the door
to Marian’s room and found it locked.
“How long has she been asleep, Jan?” she asked.
“I don’t know. She’s been in there since the inspector left. It’s seven now.”
Hilda rapped on the door. Then she pounded hard and called. There was no response, however. Jan was standing by, looking terrified.
“You don’t think she’s—”
“She’s probably taken an overdose of sleeping medicine,” Hilda said briskly. “Get a doctor. If you can’t get Courtney Brooke get someone else. And hurry.”
It was Brooke who came, running across the yard and reaching the house as Amos and William were lifting a ladder to the porte-cochere. He shoved them aside and climbed up. A moment later the screen gave way and he unlocked and opened the door into the hall.
“She’s still breathing,” he said. “Go away, Jan. I don’t want you here. She’ll be all right.”
Hilda went in, and he closed the door behind her. Marian was lying on the bed, not moving. She looked peaceful and lovely, almost beautiful, as though that deep sleep of hers had erased the lines from her face and brought back some of her youth. But she was very far gone.
Brooke examined her and threw off his coat.
“Come on, Miss Adams,” he said. “We’ve got to get busy if we’re going to save her.”
Chapter 26
At nine o’clock that same night a young man carrying a parcel arrived at the house and asked for Hilda. William brought the message to Marian’s door.
“Tell him to wait,” she said briefly. “Put him in the morning room and close the door. Tell him he’s to stay if it takes all night.”
William hesitated, his old head shaking.
“How is she, miss?”
“A little better.”
“Thank God for that,” he said and tottered down the stairs.
It was ten o’clock when Courtney Brooke went out into the hall and, bending over, kissed Jan gently.
“It’s all right, darling. You can see her for a minute. Don’t talk to her.”
When Jan came out he was waiting. He took her back to her room and put his arms around her.
“My girl,” he said. “Always and ever my girl, sweet. Hold on to me, darling. You need somebody to hold on to, don’t you? And I’m strong. I’ll never let you down.”
“I’ve had so much, Court!”
“You’ve had too much, sweet. But it’s all over. There won’t be any more.”
She looked up into his eyes, steady and honest, and drew a long breath.
“Why did she do it, Court? Was it because Father—”
“Your father’s all right. Take my word for it, darling.”
“Then who—”
“Hush,” he said, cradling her in his arms. “Hush, my sweet. Don’t think. Don’t worry. It’s all over. You’re to rest now. Just rest.” He picked her up and laid her gently on the bed. “Sleep if you can. Think of me if you can’t! Look out, darling. There’s a moon. I ordered it for tonight, for you.”
She lay still, after he had gone, looking at the moon. She felt very tired, but she was peaceful, too. It was over. Court had said so. She wrapped herself in his promise like a blanket, and fell asleep. She was still asleep when, at eleven, the inspector drove in under the porte-cochere.
Susie and Carlton were in the library. Carlton’s face was haggard, and even Susie looked stricken. She could accept murder, but she could not face suicide, or the attempt at it. Life was too important to her, the love of it too strong.
She sat beside Carl, his head drawn down on her shoulder, her eyes soft.
“Don’t be a jackass,” she said. “Of course she didn’t do it.”
“Then why would she try to kill herself?”
“Because she’s the same kind of fool I am. Because she’s a one-man woman.” She sat up and lit a cigarette. “Let’s forget it,” she said. “Let’s think about a farm. You can raise what you want, and I’ll raise pigs. I rather like pigs,” she said. “At least they’re natural. They don’t pretend to be anything but pigs.”
“So long as you’re around, old girl,” he said huskily. “So long as you’re around.”
They did not hear the inspector as he went up the stairs and tiptoed into Mrs. Fairbanks’s room, closing the door behind him. He did not turn on a light, or sit down. Instead, he went to a window and stood looking out. The whole thing was not to his taste. He had come at Hilda’s request, and it was not like her to be dramatic. So Marian Garrison had tried to kill herself! It might be a confession, or the equivalent of one. And where the hell was Hilda, anyhow?
He was rapidly becoming indignant when suddenly without warning the radio behind him roared into action. He almost leaped into the air with the shock. It was playing the Habanera from Carmen, and the din was terrific. He was turning on the lights when Hilda came in.
For the first time in his experience she looked frightened. She shut off the machine and confronted him.
“That’s how it was done,” she said, and sat down weakly in a chair.
“What do you mean, that’s how?”
She did not answer directly. She looked tired and unhappy.
“It’s a phonograph. You set the radio dial on to a certain place and turn it on. It’s a blank spot, where there’s no station. Nothing happens, of course. But if you’ve got this machine plugged in on the same circuit, even in another room, it plays through the radio. As it did here.”
“There was no phonograph in the house that night,” he said stubbornly.
“I think there was.”
“Where was it? We searched this house for one. We didn’t find it.”
When she did not answer he looked at her. She was sitting still, her tired hands folded in her lap, her blue eyes sunken, the life gone out of her.
“I hate this job,” she said. “I hate prying and spying. I’m through. I can’t go on. I can’t send a woman to the chair.”
He knew her through long association. He realized that in her present mood he could not push her.
“It was a woman?” he said quietly.
She nodded.
“How was it done, Hilda?”
“It had to be done by someone who knew the house,” she said slowly. “Someone who knew the light circuits. Someone who knew this radio and had a chance sometime to discover how to adjust the remote-control phonograph. It didn’t need much. It could be done in a few minutes. After you find the blank spot on the radio, all you have to do after that is to turn the dial to that spot. Then you could start the record, and it would play here.”
“Where was it played from just now?”
“There’s a young man in Carlton’s room,” she said dully. “I promised him ten dollars to come tonight. I’d better pay him and let him go.”
He gave her the ten dollars and she went out. She was gone a considerable time. When she returned she looked so pale that the inspector thought she was going to faint.
“He left the machine,” she said. “He’ll get it in the morning. If you want to see it—”
“See here, I think you need some whisky.”
“No. I’m all right. If you’ll come along I’ll show you.”
She got up heavily and led the way. Carlton was still downstairs with Susie, but his room was lighted. Sitting on the floor by a base outlet was what looked like a small phonograph about a foot in diameter, with a record on it. It was plugged into the wall, and the inspector, picking up the record, saw that it was the Habanera from Carmen. He started it, and going to Mrs. Fairbanks’s room switched on the radio. Almost immediately the Habanera started. He switched it off, and went back to Hilda. She was still there, standing by a window.
“How long have you known about this?” he demanded.
“Only today. Something Susie said. I saw the radio set where it is, and—I wondered about it. You see, there are almost no stations on the air at one or later in the morning, and when they are it’s dance music. I had just remembered it was something fro
m Carmen that night. I should have thought about that sooner,” she added, and tried to smile.
He had an idea that she was playing for time. He was wildly impatient, but he did not dare to hurry her.
“You see, it didn’t take long,” she went on. “I’ve tried it. Two minutes was enough to use the knife and turn the radio dial to the blank spot. And the doctor was in Jan’s room for five minutes, maybe more. Even at that she took a chance. A dreadful chance,” she said, and shivered. “She wasn’t quite normal, of course. Those bats and things—”
“Listen,” he said roughly. “Are you trying to tell me that Ida did all this?”
“Ida? No. She used them, of course. Amos saw her in the cupola. I suppose she was given a reason. Maybe to get Mrs. Fairbanks to leave the house. Maybe something worse, to scare her to death. And she hid the machine in the loft of the stable the next day. She carried it out in some blankets. That was why Jan was hurt, and I was locked in. The machine was hidden there, behind some trunks, or in one, I don’t know. It had to be taken away, of course. She was in the loft when Jan got there. She had to get out.”
She looked at her watch, and Fuller at last lost patience.
“Haven’t we played around enough?” he said. “What is all this? Are you giving someone a chance to get away?”
She shook her head.
“I don’t think so. No. I—” She closed her eyes. “Ida had to die, you see. She knew too much, so she got arsenic in a cup of tea. In the sugar, I suppose. The way Mrs. Fairbanks got it. If it hadn’t been for Ida—”
Downstairs the telephone was ringing. Hilda got up and opened the door. Carlton was talking over it in the library. He sounded excited, and a moment later he slammed out the side door. Hilda was standing very still, listening while the inspector watched her. Her eyes were on the stairs when Susie came running up. She was gasping for breath, and her eyes were wide with shock.
“It’s Eileen,” she gasped. “She’s killed herself with Frank’s service revolver.”
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