“Yes, sir. And there should of been almost a full bottle in the library because I put one in there after dinner and nobody had more than two drinks out of it. But he claimed the bottle was empty. And Mrs. Lacey told us that if it was empty he wasn’t the one that did it because he was cold sober.”
“Odd, if true. . . . So, when he came down for a fresh bottle, Mrs. Lacey was in bed with her door closed and her lights out, but she wasn’t asleep.”
“It was her neuralgia. She was laying there figuring if she should take a pill when she heard a funny noise. So she opened her door just wide enough to put her head out. It was that dark. She thought whoever it was forgot to turn the light on, but the next morning she found out the bulb was gone. And she found out that two cellar steps was hanging down loose, right at the top. And broken glass all over the cellar floor. It would of killed anybody that fell all that way, the glass and all. Big chunks. I helped sweep it up the next morning.”
“I see. Now back to that night. She put her head out of the door. Did she go to help him?”
“Mercy, no! She didn’t know who it was or if it was human. Then all of a sudden the quiet came, quiet like when you’re waiting for a soul to pass. She just stood there in the dark, holding her breath and praying. That was when she heard the other one.”
“Ah! This is the part I could hear over and over! . . . She heard the other one!”
“Yes, sir. I’d have died in my tracks. She heard the one, which was Mr. Stoneman, groaning and crawling back. He’d only fell part of the way, poor man. And she heard the other one right at the top of the stairs, breathing. She could of reached out and touched it.”
“Why do you say ‘it,’ Violet? Are you absolutely sure Mrs. Lacey didn’t say ‘he’ or ‘she’?”
Violet shifted uneasily. “She never gave it any name but that. . . . Mr. East, do you think it was somebody she knew?”
“Could be. Tweeds have a distinctive odour, so do furs. And there’s always perfume. Now go on from there. She shut her door and got back in bed, didn’t she?”
“You see! You know it as well as I do! I don’t see why I have to tell you time and again.”
“Because you may remember something new. Go on.”
“Well, in about five minutes there’s a knock on her door and it’s Mr. Stoneman. He’s using his cigarette lighter to look at her by. His face is terrible. He says he’s had an accident and did she hear anything. She was so scared she lied and said she didn’t. He’s all dusty and his hand is bleeding where he skinned it on the rail. That’s how he saved himself, grabbing the rail. He keeps after her, saying she must of heard or seen something and if she didn’t, why not? So she tells him she was just dropping off on account of taking her pill. That made two lies she’d told, and it worried her. But I don’t think they’ll be counted against her, do you?”
“No. They won’t be counted at all.”
“Then,” Violet looked happier, “then he told her he’d had a little accident and don’t want it talked about. And he tried to give her five dollars to keep her quiet.”
Mark drummed on the table. “And then he went upstairs and wrote to me,” he murmured. “Sure you haven’t left anything out, Violet?”
“No, sir. Except how she asked Florrie and I the next morning if we’d taken the bulb and we said certainly not, what would we do with a bulb? And then she said she knew it was a sin to even think such thoughts as she was thinking and she hoped she’d be forgiven for what she was going to say. She said we was to tell her on our honour did we sneak anybody in that night, and she wouldn’t punish us if we did. She looked like she was going to faint when we said certainly not. That was when we dragged it out of her.”
“And Stoneman kept nagging?”
“Every time he thought she was alone. Always asking the same old questions, did she see or hear anybody. And had she kept her mouth shut. It used to make Florrie and I wild, hanging down the you-know-what.” She rolled her eyes.
“I still don’t see how he kept the thing hushed up. Didn’t anybody want to know about the broken glass and the steps?”
“If they did, I never heard about it. We swept up the glass and Mrs. Lacey told Perrin the steps must be rotted off and would he fix them.”
“Where was Perrin that night?”
“Sleeping in his room over the garage. He slept there until after the fire.”
“Did you or Florrie ever hear Mr. Stoneman mention his accident to the Moreys?”
“No, sir. I’ve told you every last thing I know. . . . Mr. East, what does it mean?”
“I wouldn’t tell you if I knew. In this house knowedge pays off in bloody dividends. And speaking of pay, would you kick me upstairs if I gave you ten bucks for a new hat?”
“Mr. East! There’s such a thing as friendship!”
“There is indeed. But friends can eat together can’t they? After this job is over I’m going to buy you a dinner, with orchids. And we’ll invite all your little brothers and sisters. And champagne for you, if you have a good head. Have you?”
“There’s only one way to find out,” she carolled as if she were talking to angels.
His face was grim when he returned to his room. He opened the door without ceremony and stalked in. Stoneman, pencil in hand, turned with annoyance.
“I expect you to knock when you enter,” he said shortly. “Even if it is your own room. You startled me.”
“I hope to startle you even more.” Mark picked up a chair and set it facing his employer. “Once more, why did you hire me?”
Stoneman threw up his hands. “Did you come bursting in here to ask me that—again?”
“I did. And don’t tell me the same story—again.”
“Dear me, you have something on your mind. It’s almost too obvious. Well, out with it, but for both our sakes, be brief. There is typing to be done.”
“Who pushed you down those stairs about two weeks ago? And why did you want it kept quiet? And why did you hire me immediately afterward?”
“I wasn’t pushed,” smiled Stoneman. “I fell. And as for not talking about it, when a man reaches my age he doesn’t discuss his infirmities. Those same infirmities made me realize that I needed help with my book, so I sent for you. I’m bored with this. I hope that’s all.”
“It isn’t. There were two steps removed from the top and if that didn’t break your neck the glass at the bottom would have done for your brachial artery. You were lucky.”
“You seem to know a great deal about it.” The old man slid a pencil into the sharpener and ground it carefully. “I can’t imagine where you got your information. One would almost think you had been there yourself. But that’s impossible, isn’t it? You were in New York, weren’t you? . . . Weren’t you?”
“Hey!” Mark glared. “Hey, what are you getting at?”
“Nothing. But I’m not an absolute idiot. You’re trying to connect me in some way with these tragedies, are you not? Very natural, considering your background, but I do wish you’d confine yourself to the work you’re being paid for. If you don’t, I may be forced to draw some conclusions myself. . . . After all, we led uneventful lives before you came. Barring my little vertigo, of course. When you look at it that way, it seems odd, doesn’t it? I wonder if Mr. Wilcox has noticed? I imagine he has.”
“Save your breath, Mr. Stoneman. My life is an open book, very clean and very dull. That’s why I’m not rich. And I’m not accusing you or anybody. But don’t you see how that cellar business may be a link?”
“To what, in heaven’s name? Cellar stairs have broken before this and will again.”
“All right. What about the glass?”
“I’m afraid we’re unpopular in the neighbourhood. Last night’s performance is a piece of the same cloth. And you recall the stone I was so unfortunate as to intercept? Young vandals, a commonplace in country villages. They got into the cellar and amused themselves.”
Mark held his breath before he asked the next question. “
Last night when you came into the nursery you didn’t think it was vandalism, did you?”
Stoneman looked out at the snow. “I had no thoughts beyond indignation,” he said slowly. “Children—and elderly women——It was ugly. . . . But all that is over now. We really are leaving. Arrangements are being made for crating our own things. Our lovely and extremely valuable things. Jim and Laura came to a decision last night. What should have been a pleasant country idyll has turned into a Grand Guignol. Laura has finally seen the light.”
“Wilcox says you can’t go.”
“My dear boy, we will wait for his blessing and full permission. I fancy they will come soon. Someone has come forward with the story of a tramp. Wilcox is inclined to believe it.”
“That’s more than I am. What about your trip to New York?”
“It all—depends. My little windfall, the one I need so urgently, is on its way. How would you like to try Greece with me, after the war? Look—I’ve been checking this chart. If we go down the Dalmatian coast—”
“Mr. Stoneman!” Mark rose in fury and desperation. “There is something hellish in this house and I stay right here until I dig it out!”
“You’ll have plenty of time for that. We won’t be leaving for several days.” His eyes twinkled as he turned back to his papers. “But in the meantime, would you mind getting on with these pages?”
Mark used his final shot, the one he was saving for Wilcox. “If you won’t talk to me,” he said, “I’ll go to Morey. I’ll tell him who I am. And I’ll tell him about the cellar business and how you gave Mrs. Lacey five dollars to keep her mouth shut.”
It scored. Stoneman turned slowly. For a fleeting second his eyes held the look of cold rage Mark had seen for the first time the night before. Never again would he think of Stoneman as a bishop-ridden little curate.
“I wouldn’t,” he said, and he measured Mark from head to foot.
Mark shivered. He met that steady gaze with all he had and held it. Stoneman broke first, and the old effacing smile returned.
“How very amusing that you should know about that little transaction. Who told you?”
“Florrie,” Mark lied. Florrie was already dead, and safe.
“I was sure the good Lacey would keep her word. Florrie must have eavesdropped, though I can’t imagine how. But it’s of no consequence to anyone but yourself. I gave Mrs. Lacey five dollars for two reasons; first, I had frightened the poor woman, and, second, I couldn’t have Jim jumping at conclusions. I used to drink rather more than was good for me and I’d promised to retrench. You must admit that falling downstairs at eleven-thirty with an empty bottle clutched to one’s bosom has a suspicious look”
“The bottle was really empty?”
“I see you know the whole story. I’m surprised at Florrie. I’m also beginning to suspect Mrs. Lacey. And spare me any discussion about the light bulb. Someone started to put a new one in and was called away before the job was finished. Afraid to admit it, of course. Now, can we get on with this work?”
“In a minute,” Mark said calmly. “One more thing on my mind. Did you know Mrs. Lacey took sleeping pills?”
“Certainly. That was brought out at the inquest.” He waited. “Is that all?” he added plaintively.
Mark uncovered the typewriter and shuffled papers. “That’s all,” he said cheerfully. “Here we go.”
Stoneman stood at his shoulder for a minute and then went quietly out of the room. Mark tapped the keys faithfully and carefully, but part of his mind stayed with the recent conversation. One evasion stood out. Stoneman had known about Lacey’s pills before the inquest. Lacey had invited death, standing in that dark little hall, telling her desperate lies.
It was twelve-thirty when Stoneman came back suggesting lunch. Mark said he didn’t want any. Stoneman counted the typed pages.
“Good work,” he said. “I didn’t expect it. You looked like a man who had better things to do.”
Mark grunted.
“Come now,” Stoneman continued, “you were rather impertinent, you know. But that’s the fault of your dreadful background. Have lunch with me and I’ll cajole a bottle of claret out of Perrin.” He closed one eye in a brotherly wink. “I’ll even let him go down for it.”
“Cajole it for yourself,” Mark winked back. “I want to finish this, and then I’ll go up and annoy the invalids.”
“As you say, as you say. But do keep one corner of your mind for Greece. Think of it—a Grecian spring, with flowering carpets on the bones of kings!” He left the room, humming.
Mark went back to his typing. “Damn sure he’s going to dig up a king,” he murmured. “So his little windfall is about ready to drop. If I have any luck I’ll be far away from here when that happens because I have a hunch something else will drop with it. Maybe my head.” He jumped like a cat when Violet walked in.
“Well?” he grinned foolishly.
“Nothing,” she said. After a quick, mysterious look around the room she began to whisper rapidly. “Miss Pond called up about fifteen minutes ago and wanted to talk to you, but Mr. S. said you wasn’t to be disturbed. So she said to tell you not to go out anywhere and she’s coming back as soon as she can. I was to tell you when nobody was around. She says to keep Miss Petty in her room. She says to lock her in if you have to.”
“I think Beulah’s acting up,” Mark said. “And I’m not the man to lock Bessy in.”
“I already did it.”
“It won’t do any good. If she wants out, she’ll out.”
“No she won’t. I put a pill in her lunch soup. The doctor give me an extra one in case.”
He sat back. “I’m not going to Greece with my Mr. S. I’m going to a South Sea isle with you.”
“Pardon?” said Violet.
“Get along. I’m busy. See you later, and thanks. I’ll keep an eye on Miss Petty. Leave the key here.” He returned to his work with a smile. Beulah, he decided, had discovered that the legless Bittner was a werewolf.
He finished another page. There was no getting away from it, the old man loved his ancient dead with passion. The tarnished comb of a mouldering little princess could turn him into a lyric poet for—let’s see—three pages. He was almost as good as Omar; well, in a way he was. The same weeping over forgotten hyacinths and dusty courtyards.
He punched down a period, shifted, and reached for a cigarette. At that instant Morey strolled in.
“I was just going over to check on the infirmary,” Mark said.
“No need. I’ve done it. All took nourishment at noon and feel fine. Violet’s looking after them now. The Petty, though, has locked herself in.”
“She would,” Mark said easily.
“I tried her door. I think she’s afraid of old Joe. I wonder what we hired those women for? When I came by the station a while ago I saw the other one—the Pond—sitting inside with Partridge. Gabble, gabble, gabble. I thought she was off him.”
“On again, I guess.”
“Well, I waved my hand like a gentleman and she ducked as if I’d thrown a bomb. Partridge just looked silly. I wonder if she’s taking over where Lacey left off.”
“Maybe. He’s got the house and chickens.”
Morey looked over the typed copy. “Is this stuff really any good? Do you think he’s got anything?”
“He’s wonderful,” Mark said honestly. “He’s as good as the best. It’s got soul.”
“Has it now?” Morey marvelled. “Well, I’m not surprised. . . . I’ve got some news for you. Wilcox is releasing Florrie’s body for burial. They’ve got a tramp locked up. So we’re all right.”
“Are we?”
“Sure. Wilcox says we can leave now. If they can’t prove it on the tramp they’ll call it person or persons unknown. Wilcox says they had a case just like it in Minnesota last week.”
“What’s a case in Minnesota got to do with Florrie?”
“Search me. Proves the thing can happen, I guess. You’re going to keep on with Joe, are
n’t you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, I’m off to hunt packing cases. If anybody wants me I’ll be in the garage.” He turned back before he reached the door. “Wilcox asked about guards for to-night. I told him I’d let him know. What do you think?”
“That’s up to you,” Mark said.
“That’s where you’re wrong. It’s up to Mrs. Morey. She says they make her nervous. I have a feeling they’re going to go.”
Mark heard him clatter down the hall. “Then why ask me?” he said to nobody. He typed his last page slowly and closed the machine. So it was going to end like this; Florrie in her mother’s parlour for a day or two, then out in the snowbound little cemetery with Ruthie Lacey for company through the long winter nights. He suddenly felt cold.
He was standing by the window, shivering, when Beulah came in. Her lips were blue and her face was ashen. “If you have a drink up here I wish you’d give it to me,” she said quietly.
Something in her bearing alarmed him. He poured a drink from the bottle Stoneman kept in the desk and closed the hall door. “Take it easy,” he said. “What’s happened?”
She took a soiled white envelope from her purse, opened it, and handed him the contents. “There are two pieces of paper,” she said mechanically. “Read the top one first. . . . Florrie.”
It was a page torn from a pocket notebook, covered on both sides with crowded lines of block printing. Red lines.
“Isn’t this—?”
“Lipstick,” she said. “She used it to write with. That’s what bothered Wilcox. Read it.”
Mark looked up. “Then it was you at the dumbwaiter while I was talking to Violet about the lipstick.”
Beulah said impatiently, “What’s the difference! Read that.”
He read, bitterly: I CAME YOU SAID I COULD COME BUT YOU ARE NOT HERE I WILL TRY TO FIND YOU AT MRS. LACEY’S IF NOBODY CATHCHES ME SOMEONE IS BEHIND ME I FOUND THIS IN THE TRASH BAG IT’S WHAT THEY LOST BUT MAYBE THEY DON’T KNOW ABOUT THE LITTLE PIECE TORN OFF I CAN’T FIND THE LITTLE PIECE I GUESS THEY THINK I FOUND IT BUT DIDN’T MISS POND I AM AFRAID WHO IS DEAD?
Blood upon the Snow Page 17