Shoulders back, still all in white with a white handbag clutched, under her arm, she seemed buoyed along by some power outside and beyond herself. Against her pale face the eyes had acquired a blaze of what might have been ungovernable rage or even near-madness.
"Well!" she began through stiff lips. "Well! Camilla's not the only one who heard about that side door, you know."
"Well, ma'am!" retorted Captain Ashcroft, wheeling bull-like to face her. "Should I say this is an unexpected pleasure? You're back from town, are you?"
"I'm back from town. So are the others. The film at the Riviera was over at ten-thirty. Rip Hillboro came on to the Swamp Fox Room and joined Bob and me. Then we drove back."
"Are the others with you, ma'am? Here at the school, I mean?"
"No, they're not. Rip insisted he must watch the late show on television. On Saturday nights it goes on at eleven-fifteen, not eleven-thirty. Bob said, 'You've already seen one film tonight; must you have a damn dreary one to go to bed on?' But Rip insisted. They were both half asleep, so they poured a drink and sat down.—Can you guess why I'm here?"
"I expect, ma'am, you understood the blackboard message too."
"Oh, I understood the message; a child would have understood it. That's only what told me where to come; it's not why I'm here. I'm here," Valerie almost screamed, "to denounce somebody and tell the truth at last. There's all the wickedness of hell behind this, and yet you don't see it. You're supposed to be intelligent, especially Dr. Fell. But you're not intelligent; you just don't see!"
"See what?" demanded Captain Ashcroft. "If you want to accuse somebody, hadn't you better do it? And who would you want to accuse, anyway? You've stuck pretty close to Mr. Crandall, I've noticed. We thought it was because you liked him, maybe liked him a lot. But maybe you had some other reason. Do you accuse Mr. Crandall of murder now?.
"Accuse Bob Crandall? Are you crazy?"
Tick went the metronome, tick-tick-tick. The breath whistied through Valerie's nostrils. She had run to the front of the desk. Abandoning all pretense of addressing Captain Ashcroft, she was hurling her words straight at Dr. Fell
"He's a good man. I've said so before; I say it again now. He's too good for that house and the things he won't see either. No, I do not mean Bob Crandall! I mean somebody who's evil and damned as nobody's been really evil and damned since the days of sorcery three hundred years ago. I mean—"
The report of a small-calibre revolver, fired by somebody who had been standing outside one window and bending down, exploded with sharp concussion as a clean hole appeared in the glass.
Valerie was not flung backwards, as she might have been by the impact of a heavier bullet. Instead she lurched sideways and to the right. The handbag flew from under her arm. With ungainly movements for so lithe and graceful a woman, she staggered forwards in a diagonal direction, with both arms outstretched ahead.
Her hands struck the Victrola with its four small casters. She pitched on her face and lay twitching. Against the white dress, a fact not understood until later, blood welled up from a wound in the middle of her back. When the Victrola rolled backwards to thud against the wall, some trigger of mechanism released arrested song. With ghastly earnestness and unction, full-throated if scratchy voices soared to a finale.
"Den I wish I was in Dixie! Hooray! Hooray!
In Dixie land I’ll take my stand
To live and die in Dixie:
Away, away, away down south in Dixie—
Away, away, away down south in Dixie!"
17
Following the tumult that ensued, Alan did not see Maynard Hall again until the night of Sunday, May 16th, nearly twenty-four hours later. But there was news of Valerie Huret long before that.
Valerie had been shot about half-past eleven on Saturday night. Returning to their hotel at well after one in the morning, Alan and Dr. Fell were having a final smoke in the lobby when Dr. Fell had been summoned to the telephone. It was Captain Ashcroft, calling from the big hospital on Calhoun Street not far away. Lending an ear just outside the booth, as Dr. Fell picked up the phone and asked a question, Alan could distinctly hear the captain's voice in reply.
"Dead?" the voice exclaimed, with a kind of bursting incredulity. "No, the lady's anything but dead! As a matter of fact, though they've got her under sedation now, she's not even seriously hurt."
"Sir—!"
"It's a freak wound, the doctor says, not common but not unheard-of either. I don't have to tell you the set-up, do I? You yourself found two revolvers in the cellar at the Hall: a Smith & Wesson target .32 and a .38 police-positive. Remember?"
"Oh, ah. I remember."
"From what they see on TV, people will think it's easy to shoot somebody dead. The murderer, a would-be murderer this time, stole the .32 and fired down through the window, aimin' at Mrs. Huret's heart. The bullet hit her a little below the breastbone. Instead of penetrating very far, it travelled around a rib underneath the skin and came out her back without going through the chest at all. Then our murderer threw the gun down and ran; no fingerprints, but no death either. There'll be some pain, maybe, but she'll be fine and dandy in a very short time."
" 'For this relief much thanks.' Is there any other news?"
"Is there any other news, blow me down? So much I can't tell you over the phone!" "Well?"
"I'm right proud to be in charge of this case, though you're the one who told me where to look. For most of tomorrow, Dr. Fell, I am goin' to be in charge; I can't put off the dirty work any longer. By 'dirty work' I don't mean the arrest; that's easy; that's a pleasure; anyway, it comes later. I mean—oh, never mind! So, if it's agreeable to you, I won't need you until early tomorrow evening, a little after dinner time; I'll send a car for you and say when. Then, if our plans go right . . ."
"If our plans go right. Oh, ah!"
"Tomorrow," said Captain Ashcroft, "it's likely to be a long night and maybe a rough one too. So I won't need Mr. Grantham until after I see you; well fix that up later. Meanwhile, go about your own business and take it easy; you’ll get word in good time. Understand?"
" Take it easy,'" said Dr. Fell, "is not quite applicable to the present business. But I understand. 'Varium et mutabile semper feminal' I understand only too well."
Both he and Alan slept late next morning, having breakfast at midday. The afternoon they spent at what sightseeing could be done on a drowsy Sunday. It seemed a time to explore the churches: gray St. Philip's, wrapped in peace under its tall spire; porticoed St. Michael's, whose bells ring special tunes for special holidays, and in whose garden it is a joy to linger. At the Gibbes Art Gallery, not far from St. Michael's, Dr. Fell stared long at Benjamin West's portrait of Colonel (later General) William Moultrie.
But no distraction would serve. Both had a tendency to fume and bite their knuckles with impatience. It was not merely that Dr. Fell refused to comment on the Maynard affair; contrary to custom, he refused even to hint, despite his obvious and growing worry.
"What did you mean," Alan burst out once, "by that Latin tag about woman being always fickle and changeable? Which particular woman, and under what circumstances?"
"If only," wheezed Dr. Fell, "she had stuck to one man at a time! It would have been much simpler, don't you think?"
They had a very early dinner to make up for the lack of lunch. At just past seven o'clock a police car driven by Sergeant Duckworth arrived at the hotel for Dr. Fell, leaving Alan to await his own summons.
In his own room at the hotel, with the paperback book of puzzles he had bought at a drugstore across the street, he did not even open the book. That the case was headed towards some kind of smash he did not doubt, but he could get no further. Darkness descended on Charleston; a plain of lights blossomed south to the Battery; endlessly Alan reviewed the events of last night, after Valerie Huret had pitched forward with blood staining her white dress.
By instinct they had rushed outside, finding under the third of four windows in the west wall a
discarded revolver with one spent shell in the magazine. They were phoning for an ambulance from the office upstairs when Yancey Beale, explaining that he had chased some purely imaginary intruder all over the gymnasium, returned cursing and apologetic. As a last try for evidence they had hurried to Maynard Hall, where Rip Hillboro and Bob Crandall—the late show just concluded—sat spiritless before the television set and had nothing whatever to contribute.
Still Alan pondered.
"Varium et mutabile semper femina" That wasVirgil wasn't it? Since both Dr. Fell and Captain Ashcroft swore no woman was guilty, it would be poetic irony if the murderer should prove to be a woman after all. Could Dr. Fell be holding back something for a tactical ambush to stagger slower wits? What if the murderer were Valerie Huret herself, and the apparent attempt on her life only error or a part of misdirection?
No!
Mentally, even physically, Alan shook himself. He was thinking along the lines of a detective story, of the least likely person, and it would never do. Instead, a pleasanter field for speculation, he began thinking of Camilla. He could not have told how long he had been sitting there, his mind wandering down all sorts of byways with Camilla at the end of each, when the phone rang to rouse him.
"Yes, it's me," said Camilla's voice. "Yes, I'm at the Hall. Alan, what's happening here?"
"You ring me at the hotel to ask what's happening there?"
"Well, something did!"
"After Dr. Fell got there, you mean?"
"No, before Dr. Fell got here. In the afternoon, when it wasn't even dark!"
"Camilla, what are you talking about?"
"Lots of hush-hush comings and goings by the police," Camilla said mysteriously. "Fee! Fi! Fo! Fum! And—you remember late Friday night, when Valerie almost screamed the house down?"
"Well?"
"It wasn't Valerie today. I was reading Joyce in the library this afternoon when a woman's voice upstairs cut loose with one absolutely blood-curdling screech that nearly sent me through the roof. Just one scream; then silence and a kind of cover-up."
"Who screamed?"
"I can't find out; nobody seems to know; it was one of the maids, I think. Ever since Friday night poor George, the butler, has been having a dreadful time preventing the maids and the cook from leaving in a body. Outwardly you can't rattle George at all, though inwardly I think he's as disturbed as the others. He can hide it, that's all. I didn't scream, and I don't think Madge did. So I vote for Sylvia or Judith or Minnie Mae; who else is there?"
"What about Madge, by the way? How is she?"
"She's not incommunicado any longer. She's up and dressed and about, after a fashion; but very shaky and not speaking much to anybody, for which I don't blame her. Once Captain Ashcroft passed her on the stairs and muttered something. Madge just said, 'Not again, you silly boy?' and paid no more attention to him. That's not all, either. Are you listening, Alan?"
"Yes?"
"After the inquest tomorrow afternoon, Captain Ashcroft says, we're all free to leave here and go home. You wouldn't think that would make people more jumpy than they already were, but it has. Dr. Fell—" Camilla herself jumped and hesitated. "Just a moment! Here is Dr. Fell, wig-wagging at me. He wants to speak to you." ""My dear fellow," Dr. Fell’s voice interjected, "do you know what time it is?"
"Getting on for nine, I should think; does it matter?"
"Not particularly, though in fact it is a quarter to nine. If you would care to drive out here now, your presence would be most welcome."
"Yes, Alan," cried Camilla, "do come as soon as you can. .”
The phone clicked; the line went dead. Hurrying downstairs to get his car from the auto lobby, Alan found that the night, though fine, had turned unseasonably cool and even chilly. On the way to James Island he met certain thick remnants of Sunday traffic; it was a little later than half-past nine when he drove into the grounds of Maynard Hall.
In the dark lane outside the gate, another car was parked with somebody in it. Paying no attention, Alan went on. Under the portico he encountered a subdued, formally dressed Dr. Mark Sheldon just leaving the house.
" 'Ships that pass in the night,'" said the young doctor, " 'and speak each other in passing.' Whenever you and I meet, sir, I seem always to be dashing away somewhere else."
"Yes, it does look like that. Tonight—"
"Tonight," pursued the other, pointing towards the gate, "my wife is out in the car there. Annette wouldn't go in with me; she said it wasn't right or proper. I felt one had to pay one's respects. And yet wherever I turned, in whichever direction I went, there was your friend Dr. Fell standing in front of me.
"Now please understand, Mr. Grantham: I say nothing against Gideon Fell. He's a jovial soul, and has a reputation for being much more acute than he looks. But is he always—frankly, now, is he always quite right in the head?"
"I've usually found him sane enough. Why do you ask?"
"He had a pair of field-glasses," Mark Sheldon replied earnestly, "he told me he'd got from a lumber-room in the attic. He wasn't using the glasses, you understand; we were indoors. He held up the glasses without looking through them, he looked at me instead, and said something like, 'With the top part cleared away, there's a wooden crotch that would do for a resting-place.'"
"Well, Dr. Sheldon?"
"Really, now! I wondered if 'resting-place' might be some obscure reference to the funeral on Tuesday, and I asked him. All he said was, 'The windows may be raised or lowered without noise. Please observe, sir, that the windows may be raised or lowered without noise!' Possibly I'm too much of a materialist, but when somebody's mind wanders it makes me uncomfortable. Or could it have had a meaning?"
"It had a meaning, though I can't pretend to guess what. Where's the maestro now?"
"In the lounge where they keep the television set and the backgammon-board. He's questioning Rip Hillboro. And now I must go. Let's see!" Mark Sheldon cast up his eyes. "Inquest tomorrow, funeral on Tuesday. Unless you'll be with us for the funeral on Tuesday, Mr. Grantham, there are reasons why I may not see you again. Good night, good night, good night!"
Away bustled the doctor. Alan crossed the porch and opened the screen door, but did not check his stride as he moved towards the lounge at the rear of the hall.
Madge Maynard, a figure of tragedy, stood just inside the door of the dining-room on the right. She wore unrelieved black, in contrast to white skin and golden hair. He would not have intruded on her even if she had seen him, but she did not see him. Madge stood motionless with her head back, fists clenched and eyes tightly closed; she might have been praying.
Alan passed her as he might have passed some image from a dream. In the lounge, all of whose glass doors to the garden were closed against cool night air, Rip Hillboro stood facing Dr. Fell.
"Look, Gargantua," demanded the former, "why do you keep bugging me?"
"Mr. Hillboro," Dr. Fell said gently, "is that your impression of what I am doing? Be more charitable! I have been obliged to corner you in this way, believe me, only because for some time I was unable to find you. Nobody could find you, or seemed to know where you were."
Rip lifted one shoulder.
"Most of the time after dinner," he retorted, "I was packing. They're releasing us tomorrow, as you may have heard, and I've got to get home. I was given a week's leave of absence; I've taken two weeks. The boss-man in my firm—old Jeff Channing, of Channing, Lowell & Bosworth—will have my ears on toast if I'm not back in Hartford within twenty-four hours. So I was in my room, packing . . ."
"May I point out," said Dr. Fell, "that you were not in your room half an hour ago? I visited every bedroom in this house; you were in none of them."
Rip strode to the table on which lay the packs of cards and the backgammon-box. Opening the backgammon-box, he took out its dice and rattled them in his hand without throwing them.
"After I'd finished packing, I went for a walk. Anything wrong with that?"
"No, of course not. I
t was only that . . ."
"Look, Gargantua! I know what you want: you want to hammer me about last night. But I've told you and the Prophet Daniel everything there is to tell. Between eleven-fifteen and a quarter of one—a ninety-minute show—I was with Bob Crandall watching a gangster picture on the idiot-lantern there."
Rip pointed.
"Maybe I'd had too much film already. At some time after it started I dozed off, and didn't wake up until there was a burst of gunfire near the end. Bob had been dozing too; he woke up too. During that time I hadn't stirred; I don't think he had either. Then the rest of you came charging in with your news about Valerie. But that's all! That is absolutely—"
"I am not concerned," Dr. Fell assured him, "with the events of last night. But there are several questions, all of them important ones. Will you cooperate?"
Rip flung the dice across the table, turning up a one and a two.
"Not so good for me, Gargantua, if this had been a crap-game. Never mind; I'll cooperate. Fire away."
"Mr. Hillboro, how long have you known the Maynards?"
Rip stared at him. "That’s important?"
"It is most vitally important, on my word! I could not ask you before; until last night I lacked evidence to support a thesis. How long have you known the Maynards?"
"Well, let me see. They moved from New York to Goliath in '56, I think it was. I met Madge in '59, during my last year in law school. Yes, '59! That'd make six years, more or less. So what?"
"Was there any occasion, to your knowledge, on which Henry Maynard was absent from home for several months?" "Yes!"
Clearly Rip's interest had been caught, though he might not be able to say why it had been caught.
"Yes!" he repeated. "Soon after they moved to Goliath, I've heard, the Chancellor of Colt University asked Pa Maynard to teach a course on advanced mathematics; lecture on mathematics, that is. He refused. He enjoyed lecturing, as you've heard Madge say. And Colt's quite a place; it’s very heavily endowed. But it lacks the centuries of tradition that appealed to the Old man. So he refused. Still curious, Gargantua?"
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