“So he didn’t stop.”
Ben leaned over and slipped his hands under Garvey’s armpits.
“Take the feet, Verdi,” he said. “And there’s one consolation,” he added. “At least I know who this is.”
CHAPTER XI
Ryan was standing at the door, keeping the household inside. Dr. Frayne stepped forward as they brought the wounded man in.
“I think he’ll be okay, Doctor,” Ben said. “If you’d look him over and give me a report, I’d be obliged. We’ll get the police surgeon out here but that bleeding ought to be stopped right away. Verdi, you and McGinnis carry him up to his room. You direct them, will you, Doctor? Thanks. McGinnis! You’ll stay there with him.”
Sherry came downstairs. As she passed the men carrying Garvey, she cringed away from them, but Dr. Frayne quietly reassured her. When she reached the hall, Sister Ursula asked a question.
“Your grandfather?”
“He slept through it, thank heaven.”
Uncle Brian made a loud noise intended to indicate relief.
“Ben—Lieutenant—I want to talk to you,” he said.
“Fine. With Garvey and the doctor out of the way for the moment, you’re the only one left for me to interview. Shall we go into the library?”
“What I’ve got to say I’d just as soon the women heard.” Brian Cain’s voice was hearty and his manner easy, but he wasted no words. Just as Ben had become Lieutenant Latimer, after Hatch’s death, so Liz now saw her Uncle Brian change into Mr. Cain, the executive.
“First to clear up a foolish minor point. We all told you no one saw this Hatch after his arrival. Well, I’m afraid I did. It’s not important. After I’d showed him to his room, I remembered a Hatch who was shop foreman for me some ten years ago. First-rate man. Never knew what became of him, and I needed an experienced foreman in the plant. He resembled the Hatch I had known, so I went to see him. If he was related to the fellow I knew, I wanted to ask where to find him. I had no luck, however. He offered me a drink, but I wasn’t feeling well and turned the offer down. That’s all I know. Everything.
“But when our roomer was murdered and you began your inquisition, I got the jitters—which was idiotic, of course. Since nobody had seen me, I decided just to forget the episode. You can understand why. I was the last man to see him alive and all that. But tonight I thought it over and realized how foolishly I acted.”
Ben’s eyes met those of Sister Ursula. “He offered you a drink?” Ben asked.
The nun waited eagerly for the answer.
“Yes. Seemed a friendly sort of fellow.”
“What sort of a drink?”
“I didn’t even notice. Hard liquor of some sort. Bottle was a fifth, I think.” Brian Cain waved his hand. “But enough of this, Ben. These irrelevant matters may be professional, but they aren’t getting us any place. There’s something else I wanted to discuss.”
“Yes?” Ben showed curiosity.
“My father is a very sick man,” went on Brian, unheeding. “Sudden shock could easily kill him. If he should learn that there was a murderer loose in this house tonight—well, he might die. If he does, I’ll hold you responsible. Dr. Frayne gave him a sedative and I think he’ll sleep through tonight. But tomorrow morning he’ll be anxious to know what’s been going on here. In time he’s bound to learn. When that happens, I want him to learn that the case is solved, the murderer arrested, and all danger has departed.”
Ben Latimer nodded. “I understand how you feel, sir. But it isn’t possible to have everything break the way we wish. There’s a lot of essential routine work which I can’t handle until offices are open tomorrow.”
“I’m not asking you what’s possible,” Cain shot back crisply. “The Government doesn’t ask me what’s possible when it wants planes. It tells me what must be done, and I see to it that it is done. Now I’m telling you that this case should be solved tonight. You’re Liz’s friend, Ben, and I respect your professional status. Nevertheless, you’ve only got tonight. In the morning I’ll put the Golden West Agency on the job. They’re used to my ways, and they never yet wasted time complaining about bad breaks.”
Ben stared after Brian Cain as he stalked away. He had given Ben his ultimatum.
“The Golden West,” Ben muttered. “If they could solve murders as well as they can break strikes, everything would be rosy.”
“The trouble with being a giant is that you’re forever disappointed with pigmies,” Sister Ursula said. “Mr. Cain is really flattering you, Lieutenant. He expects you to find murderers the way he builds planes.”
“You’d all better go to bed, ladies,” Ben said. “I think you’ve told me all you can. And don’t be worried. There’ll be men in the halls all night.”
Without saying anything more, he walked off, frowning.
“You two go,” Sister Ursula said to Liz and Sherry. “I want a word with the lieutenant.”
The two girls silently climbed the stairs. As they reached the top, Liz turned to her cousin. She hardly knew what she was going to say—something to convey a little human understanding in this coldly official night. Whatever was on her lips died there when she saw that the novice was crying.
Liz took her hand. “I know, Sherry,” she said.
Sherry’s husky voice was shaky. “It’s so different. I wanted to come home and make Graffer feel good so we’d all be happy for a little while. Now this had to happen.”
“I know,” Liz repeated.
Sherry snuffled and fumbled in her long sleeve for a handkerchief. “You can leave the world but the world doesn’t leave you,” she said. “Good night, Liz.” She went into her room.
Liz walked down the hall, nodding abstractedly at the guard stationed outside Graffer’s room. Further on she met Dr. Frayne as he came out of Roger Garvey’s bedroom.
“Oh! Hello, Liz.”
“Hello.” Before he shut the door, she caught a glimpse of Roger in bed, pale and still. He was asleep. Men in beds—so many of them!
“Is he all right?” Liz asked.
“He’ll be fine in the morning after a sleep. And once I thought I had retired! In all my hectic G. P. days up in the Sierras, I never really spent a night like this. Get some sleep, Liz. You look ragged.”
“I’ll try.”
“Would you like a sedative?”
“No, thanks. Oh, Doctor?”
“Yes?”
“Has Ben talked to you yet?”
“Not yet. Why?”
“I was wondering. When we came out from dinner after Mother screamed, you couldn’t find your bag for a minute. Remember?”
“I’m old, I guess. Always putting things down and never remembering where they are.”
He lifted his head and glanced sharply at Liz. “Hum! Could be! But that’s nonsense. Ridiculous. But I’ll tell your Ben. You’re a smart girl, Liz.”
Smart girl? She smiled wryly as she closed herself in her own room. “I’m so smart I can’t even get myself straightened out inside,” she murmured. “I keep worrying about Ben and about Graffer, and I see that dreadful Vitelli lying there dying, and I hear Roger saying he’ll be next. It’s awful!”
I’d take a drink now, she thought. I’d even take a drink from that bottle Uncle Brian saw and that’s vanished so completely. I wonder if their search was thorough. Of course, they were hunting for a man, not a bottle, and when I get to thinking this way it sets me worrying about Mother. Probably there’s no need to worry about her because tomorrow she’ll have decided this was all a special persecution devised just to worry her.
Her mind was still working busily an hour after she got into bed. Even her room, that bare narrow room which seemed more nun’s cell than boudoir, seemed strange to her. She was lonely and lost and she longed to talk with somebody. She n
eeded human companionship.
She also wanted to cry, she realized suddenly. Not because of any sorrow—she was too confused to feel sorrow—but the satisfactory release of crying, the easing of physical and mental tension. She needed a shoulder for tears.
But Ben had become Detective-lieutenant Latimer and Graffer, the best shoulder in the world, must not be disturbed. And Sherry was too closely involved in what troubled Liz. She naturally never thought of her mother, for Mrs. Cain’s shoulders were not that kind. There was one person in this house who would do. Sister Ursula!
Liz slipped into her plain tailored robe and her mules. It was an absurd nocturnal expedition she had planned. But she had made up her mind and was determined to go through with it. She opened her door.
In the hall Graffer’s guard stopped her. “Okay, lady,” he said. “What goes?”
Her explanation sounded foolish. “I just wanted to go down and talk to Sister Ursula for a while.”
“Uh-uh.” The detective was polite enough, but plainly he disapproved. “We got orders nobody goes prowling around tonight, see?”
“But I won’t do any harm.”
“Yep, and I bet if we had run into the duck who was going into Hatch’s room, he’d have said the same thing. Not that I mean you’re up to anything like that, you understand, but orders is orders.”
The old house was dark and still, and the officer kept his voice to a gruff whisper.
“I’m warning you, officer, I’ve got to have a shoulder to cry on and, if you keep me here, I’ll damned well use yours,” Liz told him.
The officer made a warding movement. “Keep back, lady. I’m married. I dunno what this means, but you better get right back to your room.”
“Oh, officer!” Liz almost choked with suppressed mirth. Already she was feeling much better. This argument was so absurd the hysterical symptoms were departing.
At this moment Sergeant Verdi came around the corner from the direction of the stairs. When he caught sight of Liz he quickened his pace.
“Hello, Miss Cain,” he said, stopping near her. “This is luck. I’m glad you are still up. I was just coming after you. Sister Ursula wants to see you.”
Liz stared at him in surprise. “That’s strange,” she said. “By an odd coincidence, I was just starting out to see Sister Ursula on my own hook. I couldn’t sleep. But this officer halted me.”
Verdi nodded at the detective. “It’s all right. She can go.” He looked at Liz. “I’ll just walk along with you to see that you get there safely. Sister Ursula is in the room near the kitchen.”
“I know.” Liz grinned at the guard. “Better luck next time.”
CHAPTER XII
There was a light in the library, but Liz knew that Ben would not want to see her now.
When they reached the room which had once been occupied by the cook downstairs, Sergeant Verdi left Liz. She knocked, and Sister Ursula opened the door.
“Come in, my dear,” said Sister Ursula. “It was nice of you to come.”
“That’s all right,” Liz said. “I’ve been hoping to see you.”
Suddenly words were pouring out in a confused torrent. Sister Ursula listened quietly, with a tender smile of understanding on her lips. Finally the words stopped and the tears came.
When it was over, Liz found cigarettes in the pocket of her robe and lighted one.
“I didn’t know why I acted so silly. You’ve got a good shoulder, Sister.”
“I need one. Often. But you’re a child, Liz. In your own life, you’re a woman—no, let us say an adult—with no sex distinction. But since you’ve been cut off from your chosen career by your arm, you’re falling back on your emotions, and there you’re a child. You speak of Ben as though he were nobody himself—just a stock figure for women to dispute about. He’s not. Lieutenant Latimer is a man who has a very difficult job to do and is doing it well. He can’t be your gallant lover every minute of the day.”
Liz nodded. “But you can’t expect me to be sensible tonight, can you? With all that has happened?”
“No.” The nun’s quiet voice was grave. “But someone has to be sensible. I’ve tried to be. That’s why I sent for you.”
“I don’t think I understand.”
“I have a certain theory I’d like to test. I believe you heard Lieutenant Latimer mention that this is not my first contact with murder?”
“Yes. And the way you pounced on the point about that bottle was astonishing. It had uncomfortable possibilities. I’m afraid I’m still not being sensible. Anyway, you mean you’re still trying to solve the murder?”
“I have solved it. That’s why I wanted to talk to you. I wanted to tell you about it and see how the solution sounds.”
Solution to murder! The words rang in Liz’s ears. For the first time she perceived their full implication. It had been murder and the nun knew the answer. Suddenly Liz realized that this was it. A quiet scene here. Two women talking in a downstairs room of a silent old house. This was what the events had all been leading up to. This was the crucial moment.
It all seemed so peaceful, so undramatic. Sister Ursula began to speak.
“There are so many things we have to account for, so many little things,” she said. “If we can find a pattern embracing all of them, we can be almost sure that that pattern is the truth. And we need the truth, and need it now. Your uncle is right. Your grandfather must know a safe truth tomorrow. We must spare your family the pain of a long investigation, and the worry of your uncle’s private detectives.”
“Also the danger of another murder,” Liz said. “Roger was so afraid.”
“Needlessly,” said Sister Ursula. “Mr. Garvey’s life is in no danger, unless my answer is shockingly wrong. Not at the moment, at least. But let me try to list what we have to explain:
“The murder of the real Hatch. The presence of the Fist under the body of the false Hatch. The disappearance of the bottle which your uncle saw. The shifting of Dr. Frayne’s medicine case. Roger Garvey’s fear of death in this house. Vitelli’s conviction that his plans will be carried out. Your uncle’s indisposition when we were all eating together.”
Liz had been listening quietly and nodding as the nun ticked off each point, but now she broke in.
“Uncle Brian. You think that the food poisoning, or whatever happened to him, was maybe a rehearsal?”
“I think your uncle’s poisoning is one of the most vital points in this whole case.
“Let us look at the murder of the real Hatch. It seems fruitless to search for motives in his personal history which we don’t as yet know. If he were killed for personal reasons and his impersonator happened to be killed for others, that explains much. I think we must assume that he was killed by the impersonator, and for the purposes of imposture. Now why should he be impersonated?”
“Because he worked at Marinship, I guess. That’s all we know about him.”
“No, Liz. We know one other thing about him. He worked at Marinship, and the Housing Bureau had assigned him a room here. Now as to the presence of the Fist; the symbol of the Fist has been found often before beside bodies, and always it was left there by the murderer. So we easily assumed that it had been left by the murderer in this case, too. But there is another possibility—it was left by the lodger before he became a corpse. It was in his possession before the murder, and fell out of his pocket in his spasms.
“Put those two ideas together. The real Hatch was killed because he had a room here, and the Fist symbol belonged to the false Hatch.”
Liz gasped aloud. “Then—then the impostor was a Fist. They killed the real Hatch so they could smuggle a man in here for evil purposes! They guessed we’d have a police guard after the threats, but they knew we wouldn’t turn away a defense worker from the Housing Bureau. And that’s what Vitelli m
eant. He didn’t know his man was dead.”
“Let us try to reconstruct it from there,” the nun said. “The false Hatch came to this house to kill your grandfather. But instead he was himself murdered. Why? It is next to impossible to assume that he knew anyone in this house. He would be running too great a risk of detection if he did. Or if the person was an ally who would not betray him, then that person could have undertaken the job himself without this elaborate masquerade. The false Hatch did not know anyone here. But he might have recognized someone, or have been recognized.
“Say that he knew something vital about the past of an individual here in this house. He may have attempted blackmail, or the individual may simply have feared that he might and forestalled him. The individual saw his chance in Dr. Frayne’s case.
“As to Mr. Garvey’s fright, ask yourself what happened after he announced that he would be the next victim?” Sister Ursula’s voice was insistent and loud. “What vital fact came to light in the evidence?”
“After Roger was shot, Uncle Brian told us about the bottle.”
Sister Ursula smiled. It was a mechanical, unhappy smile.
“The bottle!” she said. “And there we are at the crux of the whole case. How was that strychnine administered? According to your uncle, Hatch was drinking from the bottle. There was no glass for the murderer to poison. He would have to poison the bottle itself. And yet Hatch would be on his guard. He was here on a dangerous mission. All men were his enemies. Would he accept a drink from a person whom he distrusted?”
“It doesn’t seem likely.”
“But there is a way. One way in which that poison could have been administered with complete confidence. If the murderer himself drank from the same bottle.”
“But if you did that, you would poison yourself!” Liz protested.
There was the click of a light switch and the room was in darkness.
CHAPTER XIII
Out of the darkness a voice spoke. Its tones were hollow, almost inhuman.
The Big Book of Female Detectives Page 132